I’m not one to look for signs, I never have been. So as I write this story out, it still sounds unreal to me, like something that would happen to someone else, just not me.

We are home from a weekend vacation with Jim’s side of the family. This is a tradition we started when Grace was just a year old, so for 17 years we have all packed up and spent a weekend together, usually up north. This tradition, like so many others now, causes me more sadness than joy. I want to be a part of the fun, I want to enjoy the family time, but it’s all a reminder to me of what isn’t…who isn’t.

This weekend was no exception. As the departure day grew closer, my trepidation grew greater. I wanted to dig my heels in, unpack the bags, crawl into bed and pretend that this life I’m living was someone else’s. But for so many reasons, mainly a 13 year old one, I went along.

As we drove up north, tears filled my eyes, at each expressway exit passed where a memory took place. Frankenmuth, Grace and Evelyn’s favorite place to visit. Grayling, where we took Grace on our first, family of three, vacation. Hartwick Pines, Gaylord, Wolverine. As the exits rolled by, the tears streamed down my face. How was I ever going to make it through this vacation without being a mess of emotions? (And if you know me, you know that emotional is not a word usually used to describe me. I work hard at keeping it together, sometimes so much so, that I think people often wonder if I feel at all. You laugh, but I have actually been asked that very question a time or two in my life.)

Day 1 and day 2 were not without their difficulties, but I kept myself busy with Evelyn, my sweet nieces, with visits to the beach and the giant cross in the woods. I also had a book, a fictional romance, given to me by a friend, a welcome change of pace from the how-to-grieve books that have been my steady diet.

On Saturday, as everyone was resting from the morning activities, I took my book and went outside to sit in the sun and read. I was sitting alone on the picnic table when I heard something in the trees around the side of the house. I got up to check, and around the corner came this beautiful golden retriever. (Here’s the part where I could go into a ton of back story, but I’m trying to keep this simple.) Of course, I called the dog to come by me, because, although I have been attacked twice by dogs and should have a healthy fear of them, I don’t. She came and sat right by me and just received the love that I was willing to give. After a couple of minutes, I told her that we were going to have to return her, so I checked her tags. This is the part that I wouldn’t believe to be true if it hadn’t happened to me…can you guess what her name was? Yeah, it was Gracie.

As I sat there with Gracie, stroking her gorgeous blond/red fur with one hand, and wiping the steady flow of tears from my face with the other hand, I was reminded of how much God really cares. I would’ve felt God’s love for me today with or without this little blessing over the weekend, but God knew how much I was missing my Gracie on this trip, and in His goodness and constant love for me, He provided, for me, a reminder.

 These little “hugs” from my Heavenly Father break up the hard clay of grief and put in its place a workable soil, something that can have life planted in it. Seeds that will grow and produce a harvest. If I allow grief to continue to harden the ground around me, I will see no fruit come of this loss, but if I allow God to break up this ground, I know that He will bring life from this death, because He is the God of living, not the dead.

Grace loved writing notes…she would leave random notes of encouragement, scribbles filled with love, life quotes on binders, and her name, spelled out with a heart to top the i, pretty much anywhere and everywhere she pleased. I know that many of you reading this had received some of these notes, and you could probably tell a story about where she left it. She had mastered the art of encouragement. She would see a look of fear, anger, sadness or unease in a person’s eyes, and write them a note. I know that these notes, often on yellow post-its, have been a source of comfort to many over the last 5 months. 

I could use one of those notes today. Yesterday evening, we received the news that there will be no trial. Although the other driver was speeding and had alcohol in his system, there isn’t enough proof that it was entirely his fault; and there it ends. So it’s our job now, to close the chapter on the accident itself and move on.

As I move onto our next chapter though, I start a paragraph filled with hard words, words like how to forgive and not be angry, how to let go without growing bitter and how to remember without wallowing. I began to wonder though, what children do when they are faced with words that are too difficult to read? They usually ask someone they trust. So I turn to my Rock, my Helper, my Comforter, Jesus, and as He often does, He directs me back to His Word and I can hear Him say…

Sara, you may feel pressed on every side, but you are not crushed, you may be perplexed, but you are not in despair, you may feel persecuted, but you have not been abandoned, and you may have been struck down on January 25^th, but you were not destroyed. (2 Cor.4:8&9)

So after I finish reading that, I understand the next chapter a bit better. I can read the hard words and I can try to work through them. And when I need a break from reading, I will put a bookmark in. My bookmark happens to be a yellow sticky note, from one of my biggest encouragers, and what it says, what she wrote and would say if she was standing right here, gives me the courage to finish strong…

I can almost see her, sitting on the couch, chewing on a pen, scribbling out these words….

I love my yard. If you have been to my house, you most likely know that my landscape consists of numerous “memory” trees, flowers or plants. I began this tradition so many years ago when Amy and I wanted to get a “droopy tree.” (I’m aware that there is correct name for this type of ornamental tree, but I have no idea what it is, and our name is so much cuter). So we both went out and bought one. She has moved since she planted hers, but mine still stands in my front yard, and is now commonly referred to as my Amy tree.

Six years ago in the spring, I went out and purchased a Wisteria. Those are the beautiful purple flowers that hang so perfectly on other people’s vines. I say other people, because my dad had a Wisteria that he tenderly took care of and it flourished, but it never flowered, and now I have a Wisteria that is flourishing, but doesn’t flower. Figures, eh?

And so the list goes on, each friend that I have had to say goodbye too and some that are still in my life, I have planted something for. I often walk around my yard just remembering things that I did with the people that the plant reminds me of. It’s probably a very weird thing to do, but I really don’t care.

Whether or not people knew this was a tradition of mine, we have received 3 different trees to honor Grace, all with pink flowers. They are strategically placed so that I can see them outside of most of my windows.

As I was thinking about those trees the other day, I realized that my grief, grief in general, is so similar to a tree. Hear me out…

Our trees stand firm in the yard, but all you can see of them is what is above the surface, what is visible and obvious. Our loss is obvious, it’s glaringly obvious. It stands up, out of the ground, for all to see. But what people don’t see, the real tragedy of grief, is the roots.

The roots spread, they entangle, they suck the nutrients out of the ground. Often times, you seek to dig up a tree and find the roots have traveled 20 feet away. They are tough, unwavering and unwilling to give up. They take over every area of ground that is directly beneath that very obvious tree, completely unseen and unrecognized.

Grief…losing someone you love…losing a child…takes over every area of your life. What people don’t see (and this is not their fault, until they live it), is the massive undertaking it is to carry on with daily life. You see my loss, but I wake up early and realize the TV is quiet, for the 4^th month is a row, because there is no early bird watching it. You see my loss, but I can’t remember what the song was that we sang in 4^th grade about buttons, and I have no one to ask. You see my loss, but I don’t get brownies when I’m crabby, because she just knew I needed them. You see my loss, but I see how my entire family dynamic has changed and I can’t fix it. There are roots to grief that will stretch throughout my entire life…10, 20, 30 years away from that cold winter day in January.

And sometimes the realization of the limitlessness of loss can be overwhelming. There are moments when I look at my life, what I perceive as my forever, and I realize that this emptiness will never be filled. There will always be a place that remains hollow, unable to be occupied by anything or anyone whose name is not Grace Elizabeth. That is a fact. That is my reality.

However, Paul says in Philippians 3:13-14 ^“One thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”

Is Paul saying that we should just forget what we have been through, where we came from? I don’t think he is. What I think he is saying is, instead of allowing your past to dictate your future, learn from your past and allow it to shape your future. I will continue to strain ahead, when the days are long and lonely, and when I have a good day filled with love and joy. I will continue to grieve my loss, while I rejoice in our eventual reunion. I will press on toward the goal, eternity with my Savior and my Grace.

But while I am here, while I walk on this ground, I will allow the roots of grief to tangle and twist in my life, but I will not allow them to bend or break me.

I have made a career out of dieting. I know all the good diets, the bad ones, the completely ridiculous ones and the ones that should just be plain old common sense. I can count calories, count points, count steps and count the beats of my heart during cardio. I’m not obsessed with it, it just gives me motivation to stay healthy and fit. I can and have given up all sorts of food. Dairy (because I am allergic) gluten (because everyone was doing it) sugar (because, well, it’s sugar) meat and even eggs (because there for a while, someone said they were bad for us). At this point in my life, food is fuel, I enjoy it, but I can quit eating any combo of the above, at any point, and it doesn’t faze me at all.

Losing the option to eat sugar (an obvious, self-imposed restriction) is easy, but the many other things I have had to let go of (beyond my control) in the last 3.5 months, have been heartbreaking.

Security, safety, a well-functioning home life, my daughter, who was also my best friend, my dreams, my future, my plans and my purpose. Losing so much, leaves a person in a very vulnerable position, one that can trigger a couple different responses, neither of which are healthy or Biblically sound.

One thought that immediately became very real, was a need to hold on tight to everything and everyone. God has unimaginably blessed me with some amazing new friends to walk beside me recently. My initial response to these new friendships was to close my fist around them and hold on as tight as I could. I also became aware that I was doing the same thing to Jim and Evie and my family. Leaving these people with little room to breathe or heal or function, becoming dependent on anyone other than the Lord, is a dark place to be, because as tight as you hold on, in the back of your head, you realize, they too can be taken away. It creates a circle of fear with no finish line. The Holy Spirit gently revealed to me where I was at fault, and I have slowly been releasing my grip, maybe one finger at a time, but in doing so, I have watched many of the above relationships begin to thrive, like a flower in a desert land.

The second response, also one I struggle with, is at the complete opposite end of the scale. It’s what I like to call the Wall-Building Response to Tragedy. It has been my defense mechanism my whole life. Just put up more walls, block people out, block feelings out, block pain or hurt out, block loss out. Just keep stacking the bricks higher and higher, after all, I still have the Lord in my little fortress of solitude, what else do I need? And I know He will never leave me. This is also, an incredibly debilitating response, and the Holy Spirit prompts me, often, to let this one go. In boxing myself in, I box so much out. If I get afraid of losing people and I push them away, I have taken God’s perfect plan of fellowship, and told Him, it might work for other people, but it’s not for me. I end up boxing out the comfort that other people can provide, I box out the joy that new friendships bring and I box out the security of life-long relationships, with the people who know me the best. None of which was God’s design. He created us with a strong desire to be with other people. To open our hearts and souls to others, because there is strength and growth for all parties involved.

So what is the correct response then? If I can’t hold on too tight, but I can’t keep pushing people away, how am I supposed to properly deal with this loss? I wish I had the perfect answer. I wish I had it all figured out. I wish the Holy Spirit was less willing to show my what I’m doing wrong and more willing to just tell me what to do next. I wish for so many things.

So I land somewhere in between on this scale. And I fluctuate back and forth like a teeter-totter, often multiple times, with the same people. Sometimes I push people away, just to hold on too tight. I’m desperate to tell my best friends how I am feeling, just to get them face-to-face and build a wall (which often looks and sounds like small talk). But I am a work in progress. I remind myself daily of 2 Corinthians 4: 8 & 9 “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.”

What does center look like? I’m not entirely sure, because I don’t know many people who live their lives perfectly balanced, but I have a crazy close relationship with the One who did. And what I learned and am learning from Him is how to love people…unashamed, unrestricted and unafraid. But, in that massive, fierce love, He was willing to walk away from all those relationships to serve His purpose and to carry out God’s perfect plan, knowing that the end result was Glory, a place where we will never be separated again.

If I can live like Jesus did, letting people in, but also letting people go, really, what do I have to lose?

Theology is something Grace exceled at. The study of the nature of God, just came natural to her. Bible was her favorite class in school and she just understood it. She passed me up a long time ago when it came to memorizing scripture, she was able to identify false religions in small conversations she encountered, and wrong doctrine was just that, wrong. She just knew. I know part of it was her school and the time and effort her teachers put into her. I know that part of it was us, and our extended family, pouring scripture into her whenever we had the opportunity, but some of it was just Grace’s tender heart for Jesus and for others.

As we began going through her room in the days following the accident, we started to find notebooks filled with prayers, letters, poems and words she felt God was speaking to her. I think we all have been a little overwhelmed by just who she really was. It made it that much harder dealing with her loss, in some ways.

I am going to be completely honest, I can’t handle this. A loss of this magnitude is not something anyone should have to handle and yet, almost of a daily basis, I hear the phrase, “God won’t give you more than you can handle.”

I’ve known a great amount of people that have been “given” more than they can handle. A marriage that feels cold and lonely, a child who refuses to get their lives on track, a diagnosis that leaves little hope, an alcoholic father, or a mother that has lost the ability to nurture. All things outside of what we can handle.

This well-meaning saying has no scripture to give it validity. Without digging too deep into what the Bible actually says, just know two things….God, most likely, was not the one that gave you the item to which you are struggling with, and you can’t handle it, but He can.

Paul, arguably the greatest missionary of all time, talks about struggles, items to which he felt under qualified to deal with, areas in his life that he pleaded with God to remove, but he resigned himself to the storm by a quick look at his reality. A reality that becomes our same reality if we have a relationship with Jesus. Paul says, “I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong, because of Christ’s power that rests on me.”

We need to learn that we can’t handle all that this life throws at us. If there were a shipwreck, and you were in the water, when the rescue boat came pulling up, would you yell “I can handle this, thanks though?” Of course not, you would receive the help, because without it, you would drown.

Let God rescue you through Jesus. He desires to carry your burdens, He desires to unload your backpack of doubt, fear, worry and pain. He loves you.

Almost daily now, I am up at 5:00 AM. I don’t know why, but it gives me time to pray, read and write. It gives me time to cry and sometimes tell God how unfair this all is. It gives me time to say to my heavenly Father “I can’t handle today, I can’t be the wife and mother I need to be. I am in a million broken pieces and I feel unfixable. BUT YOU, O LORD. You can handle today, because You have gone before me. You can help me be who I need to be today, because Your mercies are new every morning, and You, my Savior, can take this broken heart, bind up the many shattered pieces, and make it whole again.”

I can’t handle this, but God, You can.