Just hours after helping Micah deal with his overwhelming guilt, I faced the pain of my own. What follows is a continuation of the chapter of my book, Good Grief?!?, I shared yesterday.
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I completely understood Micah’s feelings of guilt. I was struggling with my own. When I had talked with Amy’s family on that fateful morning, I left one small detail out of the story, and that detail was sitting on my chest causing panic to rise.
What will they say when they find out? I had asked myself.
They won’t forgive you!
Lying in bed later that night, I began to really wrestle. I knew my family, Amy’s family, loved me. I knew they knew I loved Amy and was doing the best I could to take care of her, that I always had.
I don’t want to give undue credit to the devil, because I think he gets blamed for many things in which he has no part. Not that he minds, I’m sure. But sometimes I think Christians find the devil in the details of many things, even when he isn’t there. This time, however, I’m pretty sure my boys and I were right in the middle of spiritual warfare.
One of the names for the devil is “accuser”.[1] He is also called “the father of lies”.[2] I know that “He walks around like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.”[3] I also know that his lies are usually subtle, but deadly. If he could entice Micah to believe his mother’s death was his fault, he could cause a lot more havoc and possibly pull Micah away from his faith. If he could get me to continue thinking Amy’s death was my fault, I would end up a shallow, defeated man. My faith would be shaken, and I would most likely begin pulling away from God and the church as well. I’ve seen it happen to others.
Upon realizing the battle my boy was fighting – that I was fighting – I decided to talk with my father-in-law right after I talked with Amy’s sister. If Lisa forgave me, Gary probably would too, I reasoned.
It was an awkward conversation that Friday.
“Lisa, um…I need to tell you something.” It sounded ominous as I heard myself say it. The two of us were going through photos for the slideshow of Amy’s life. Lisa stopped and looked at me. “I missed the last alarm on my phone to go check on Amy.” I had set an alarm to check on Amy every two hours through the night, like any other night. She’d gone to bed with a migraine. “I wasn’t there with her when she died. She was alone.” I paused.
“Thom, it’s not your fault.”
“I was afraid you’d be mad. I haven’t told Dad either. I don’t want him to be angry.” In truth, I didn’t want him to blame me for his baby girl’s death. Typing it brings revulsion. Gary took on the role of being my dad when I entered this family. He loved me like the son he never had. I didn’t want to tell him, but sitting there, talking with Lisa, I realized that if I didn’t tell him, I would hold on to the guilt. I would also be holding on to the assumed anger I expected Gary to have toward me.
When I finally talked with Gary and Mary, I could let go of the guilt crushing me. He was not angry with me.
“Dad, I thought she had a migraine. I slept on the couch so I didn’t disturb her while she slept. I checked on her every two hours, but I slept through the 3:00 a.m. alarm. She died alone.” I paused to let it set in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d be mad.”
“Thom! It’s not your fault. I know that. I know you loved her.” Gary hugged me. I broke down. The irony of him hugging me like I had with Micah is not lost on me.
[1] Matthew 12:24. [2] John 8:44, NIV. [3] I Peter 5:8, NKJV.
Good Grief?!? 