Milestones

There’s another reason I don’t want summer to end. This one would affect me even when living in eastern Washington, when the summers were hot and dry and often smoky, or in northern Kentucky, where the summers were hot and humid and seemingly endless. Oliver was born in October. I dread the milestone of his birthday each year.

In general each year gets a little easier, but some milestones stick out a little more than others. His birthday has always been one of the hardest milestones for me, and this one seems especially challenging. He would be turning 16 this October and that seems unthinkable. Somehow the little boy of 10, just starting to develop signs of turning into a man, would be well on his way now, with facial hair, a deep voice, and a driver’s license. I was reading for fun the other day (well, every day), and the author described one of the adult male characters greeting his mom with a hug and a kiss to the top of her head. It made me wonder how tall Oliver would be and how he would greet me after he came home from driving alone for the first time. His birthday always brings such thoughts to the forefront.

Eating a piece of cake on his first birthday!

When Oliver first passed away, each day felt like a milestone. The first day without him, the second day without him, the day of his funeral, the day after his funeral, our first time in our house without him, the first trip to the grocery store without him, the first time back to our church without him, the first time walking down the children’s Sunday School hallway to drop off our daughter but not him. Each moment was excruciating, and it brings tears to my eyes now just remembering how painful each moment was. 

Slowly the firsts become further apart: the first week without him, the first month, the first birthday, the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas, the first six months. Each one was hard for its own reasons, but mostly just because we missed him, because it wasn’t the same without him, because it felt like nothing could ever be good again, because the emotions were so powerful and out of control. There was no taming or understanding the feelings, only walking through them. The dread leading up to the milestones was intense and so was the numbness after the milestones passed.

Some milestones come at me unaware. For example, the first April after he died, I was going for a walk and found myself with tears streaming down my face. What was wrong, I wondered? Tears were not unusual nine months after Oliver died, but I was surprised that day by their strength and the feeling of defeat and hopelessness I felt. And then it clicked for me. It was April 16th, Oliver’s half birthday. We didn’t celebrate or mark half birthdays in any way besides just mentioning them whenever we happened to remember. But that day, even though at first I didn’t consciously remember, some part of me knew and was very sad.

Celebrating an 8th and 10th birthday while living in Tennessee

One thing that makes Oliver’s birthday particularly hard is our daughter’s birthday is three days later. Oliver was born in the middle of October in Alaska. There was two feet of snow on the ground already, and it didn’t melt until the following April. Our daughter was born two years and three days later in Missouri. It was still hot enough to wear shorts! I had been on bed rest for quite some time, and the doctors were talking about inducing me now that I had reached full term. I stated a preference not to be induced on Oliver's birthday. Instead the doctor scheduled the induction more than a week after his birthday, and she came on her own time, three days after we celebrated Oliver’s second birthday. With two kids with birthdays three days apart, we typically celebrated a party or special event together on one of the days in between, but made sure to set aside their actual birthday to celebrate just them with a meal and dessert of choice and a present. Now each year my husband and I get whiplash, mourning the milestone of a lost year of Oliver’s life and then turning right around and celebrating the continued growth of our little girl, who even though she is our second born, eventually became as old as he ever was on earth and much older than that now.

Oliver received a turtle sandbox for his 2nd birthday!

Oliver gave his sister a teddy bear, a balloon, and some cake

These milestones have gotten easier with time. The dread that used to last for months and feel so heavy is now just a nagging sadness. The numbness afterwards is still present but is quickly overcome by the busyness of a very good life. The pain of the actual milestone day is not as intense, and contains its own joy as well as we take time to stop and remember all that he meant to us and all the reasons we love him still. Many times the dread leading up to the day is now worse than the pain of the actual day. 

I share this for my own benefit. It feels like a release each time I write and publish about my experience with grief. I also share for those going through something similar. May you know that it does get lighter with time, you will always remember, emotions come and go, and feelings are not meant to be controlled but accepted and experienced and processed as part of the healing journey. Mostly may you sense the presence of the Heavenly Father as He walks with you every step of the way.

Remembering Oliver on the day of his birth in 2021.

Celebrating our daughter's 10th birthday a few days later with her
favorite dessert.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

Fruitful

My mom's word of zugunruhe (a restless surge to migrate) had me looking for other words and sayings about the end of the summer. I never did find a word that means ‘not ready for summer to end’ or ‘clinging desperately to the last days of summer’, but I did run across a line by author Evelyn Waugh, which described summer as "the fruit always ripe". This thought stopped me in my tracks and has had me thinking all week.

It is true in a literal sense, for anyone who has ever owned a zucchini plant at least. We didn’t plant many vegetables this year with our move, but my cousin did give me two cherry tomato plants, and we can go outside each day and pick one or two ripe ones. Summer is full of bounty.

I think so often we long for only ripe fruit in our spiritual lives, progress rapidly developing into perfection or completeness. To know our teenagers are going to be OK because we see ripe fruit in their lives rather than immaturity and hints of development. To know we picked the right house to buy because we see everything as it "should" be, rather than projects and surprises. To feel connected with God, to see dreams coming true, to watch ourselves respond to all situations with love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control. To not have to confess sins or deal with the consequences of the same sin appearing in our life again and again. To be able to see and label the good that has come from the valleys of our life.

Instead we are called to keep leaning on God, embracing the ever changing seasons of our personal lives and seeking a homeland. In Hebrews 11, Paul details the faith of Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Sarah. Then he reminds us:

All of these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on the earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. Hebrews 11:13-14.

That sounds a lot more like a restless urge to migrate than an attempt to make summer and its fruitfulness last forever!

Our dog has a new, restless urge to chase all the 
restless squirrels hurrying to gather nuts for
winter.

The title of this blog, Carrying Sheaves, comes from Psalm 126. In this psalm, the people are joyful because of what God has done, is doing, and will do. They cry, weep, laugh, sing, rejoice, sow, and reep in response to exile, return, and restoration. It reads like sorrow turns to joy and only joy remains. But here in this life, before the complete restoration of Heaven and Jesus' second coming, we experience joy and sorrow together: the bounty with the weeds, the ripe fruit mixed with overripe and unripe, always planting and sowing with tears and laughter, trusting God with the final restoration.