Shining Tears

    “But please, please - won’t you - can’t you give me something that will cure Mother?” Up till then, he had been looking at the Lion’s great feet and the huge claws on them; now, in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion’s eyes. They were such big, bring tears compared with Digory’s own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his Mother than he was himself. 

    “My son, my son,” said Aslan, “I know. Grief is great. Only you and I in this land know that yet. Let us be good to one another.” 

“MOM!” My brother screamed, as me and my mom were eating downstairs. My other brother was at work, and my sister was at her basketball game. As soon as I heard his scream, I just knew. “Dad’s on the bathroom floor! He’s not moving!” 

I ran up the stairs as fast as I could, tripping on them on the way up. “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I said out loud. “Please God, no, please.” 

“STAY IN!” I screamed, two minutes later. “GOD! PLEASE!” I was covering dad’s mouth trying to keep the air in his lungs as I started to perform CPR. It wasn’t working. I stood up and punched the wall as hard as I could, hitting a stud and breaking two of my knuckles. I couldn’t even feel it, and I punched it one more time trying to get the agony out of my chest. I fell back against the sink and cabinets in my parents’ bathroom, sobbing, my whole body so heavy and weak. “God, please, please, no, please bring him back,” I prayed with all of my heart. 

I ran downstairs and outside, ripping my t-shirt in half and breaking my rope necklace in two pieces, driven by the adrenaline and fear in grief. “WHERE THE F*** ARE YOU?!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, begging the ambulance to come faster. The EMT’s got there and ran up the stairs, and brought him out into the bedroom to try to bring him back. I remember seeing his body moving from the shocks, and thinking it meant that he was coming back. But all of a sudden they stopped, and came out to tell us that he was gone. 

I think we were all screaming and crying and begging God as soon as they told us. My mom and I went into the bedroom and just held him and sobbed. We waited for the whole family to get home, and that was that. He was gone, forever. 

Today marks 8 years since that horribly traumatic night. The one person I left out of this story was my boyfriend, who was staying with us for Christmas break. I leave him out of the story because two nights later, he sexually assaulted me with my family and friends sleeping just 5 yards away from us. The whole situation, that entire year, was horribly traumatic. Within a year I had to get a restraining order against him, lost almost all of my friends in the process, was ostracized by my entire college community, and ended up dropping out after the Dean of Student Conduct declared him innocent of all charges. 

This time of year, my body feels the grief of everything that happened that night and all that unfolded in the months that followed. I lose sleep from the constant nightmares, flashbacks, and panic attacks. I shut down and withdraw because I don’t know how to talk about all of this. Writing it is so much easier, because I don’t have to see any of your faces. I don’t have to see your expressions. 

One year ago on this same exact day, we also lost my grandma - my dad’s mom. A beautiful treasure, a woman who suffered more than anyone I know. She was the one person in this world who I knew understood everything I went through with my chronic illnesses. She could deeply empathize with me in a way that no one else could. Losing her was losing another piece of my heart, and another piece of my dad. 

It’s excruciating. 

And yet, I am consistently astounded by God’s faithfulness in this time of grief. 

The first quote in this post is my interchange between Aslan and a character in The Chronicles of Narnia. I think C.S. Lewis perfectly encapsulates how God reaches out to us in our grief. I think that there’s not much else in this world that pains our Father than seeing His children in pain. 

I’ve shared this before, but I want to again. When I fell back against the cabinets that night, begging for God to bring my daddy back to us, I literally felt Jesus’s arms wrap around me. I felt Him holding me as I sobbed, and heard His gentle whisper, “It’s okay, Taylor, he’s with me now.” 

Wonder of wonders, I felt God’s grief for me as if it was greater than my grief itself. 

This was an extra long post, so I’ll end it with this: if you are suffering loss in this season, you are not alone. Don’t underestimate God’s presence in the pits of your grief. He is there, grieving with you. 

Below is a picture of a poem my dad wrote in high school.