After each of us battled through the horrible weight of guilt and self-loathing, there was yet one more battle that had to be waged. I had asked too much of my oldest, and the repercussions of that event had a ripple effect I did not foresee.
What follows is the final excerpt from the chapter in my book, Good Grief?!?, by the same name – “So, it’s not my fault?!?”
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Right around the time of Gabriel’s incident, Micah grew incredibly anxious. One Sunday morning I was trying to get everyone up and out the door for church. I had minutes to get out the door when Micah came down the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” I was able to ask in spite of the irritation I was feeling.
“I didn’t get to sleep until around 4:00 a.m.”
“How come?”
“When I close my eyes, I keep seeing Mom’s body. Then I open my eyes and I can’t fall asleep.”
“How long has this been happening?”
“For a few months.”
I was stunned. Immediately I felt guilty for not knowing, for being an unfit father, for not having expected this problem. Then a crushing realization hit me. I had caused this.
“I’m sorry I had to wake you up and ask you for help,” I managed.
“It’s not your fault, Dad.” I could tell he believed what he was saying, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. We talked for a couple more minutes, then I hugged him and sent him back to bed.
At church, I reached out to Miss Michelle, asking for prayer. She’s a counselor who specializes in working with teenage girls, but I knew she’d know how to pray. What I didn’t know was that God had a plan to fully relieve me of my own, self-imposed guilt.
Michelle texted me back to meet with her after the service ended. I filled her in on my conversation with Micah.
“It’s funny, Thom,” she began, “I was just in a class about the brain this week, and I learned something that I think was meant for this moment right here. Micah’s self-conscious is trying to deal with the trauma. While we sleep, our brains deal with the events of the day and file away each event for future recall. When trauma happens, it can prevent that process from happening correctly. Micah’s brain is trying to file away the pictures of his mom, but as soon as he sees the pictures in his head, he wakes up and can’t get back to sleep.”
I listened raptly as she was talking, trying to take it all in. The anxiety building in me, however, was threatening to take over my vision and hearing.
“There’s a way you can help his sub-conscious file these pictures in his memory banks and move past this. Let me show you. While we talk, I’m going to tap on your knees. Keep talking. The action will help, I promise.”
I was nervous, thinking This isn’t going to work. Michelle is a good friend, so I decided to at least hear her out and “go with it.”
“Close your eyes, Thom,” she began. “I’m going to ask you to get a picture in your head, and then I’m going to begin tapping. Are you ready?”
I closed my eyes and nodded.
“Focus on the moment you first saw Amy the morning you found her dead.” I fixed the picture in my mind, wincing a bit. “Tell me what you see.”
I explained the scene to Michelle, including all the details I could, including Amy’s purple fingers.
“Now, how do you feel?”
I opened my eyes, startled.
“Close your eyes, fix on the picture again, and tell me how you feel.” Michelle’s tone wasn’t demeaning or correcting. She was simply compassionate. I closed my eyes again, slowly, and brought up the picture.
“I feel guilty,” I managed meekly.
“Why?”
“Because I wasn’t there. She died alone.” The words came out of my mouth before I really heard them. Then I fought to keep my eyes closed. My epiphany startled me greatly. I hadn’t really known I was still holding on to this guilt.
Michelle prayed.
“Now tell me what you see, Thom,” she directed.
I refocused on the picture in my head. It had changed drastically. Amy was no longer alone in the room. Standing just behind her, with His hand on her shoulder, was a man in a white tunic. He was glowing slightly. I couldn’t see Him clearly, but I knew immediately who He was.
I stumbled with my words, continuing to stare at the picture in my head.
“Um…Jesus is standing behind Amy. She looks at peace. Her hands are still purple, and she’s still leaning up against the wall.” I paused. “But she wasn’t alone,” I finished.
Time stopped. I couldn’t hear the many people still milling about in the church sanctuary.
I never left her side, Thom.
Rivers began cascading down my face. A weight I had not realized was crushing me lifted in that moment. I exhaled a breath I seemed to have been holding on to for nearly five months. Then I opened my eyes. Michelle had stopped patting my knees. She was grinning.
“Sounds like Abba wanted to heal you too,” she said.
I stood up and hugged her. I was overwhelmed with Joy and Peace.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I managed quietly.
“No, Thom, it wasn’t. And Jesus was with her the whole time.”
That night, after the younger boys had gone to sleep, I sat Micah on the couch and walked him through the same process. He was as hesitant as I had been. I reminded him that Miss Michelle was a counselor with a PhD. I also reminded him that she loved us greatly and she loved God too. He finally agreed to the “odd therapy” (his words). That night, both Micah and I slept soundly. Relieved of guilt and night terrors.
It always astounds me when God uses every day, “non-holy” things in our life to move us from point A to point B. For each of my boys, what moved them from point A to point B through the battle with guilt was different. But each vehicle God used was specific to each boy’s needs, personality, and maturity level. I don’t think they’ve all “made it”; grief doesn’t just vanish. The loss of loved ones stays with us for life. We miss them. We remember them with tears and with laughter. We wish we could talk to them, and we sometimes do, as we go about our day, as if they were still right next to us. The pain doesn’t go away. I don’t think it lessens either. I think God teaches us how to grow from it, and live with it, without it destroying us completely.
Good Grief?!? 