Writing out the story of how Oliver died ended up being harder than I thought it would be. I avoided writing for the first time since starting this blog. I also felt down and sad after writing. I hold these memories dear, but I don't necessarily examine them closely with much frequency. One of the reasons I have resisted sharing in the past is I wanted to wait until sharing didn't hurt anymore. I've realized that isn't going to happen and am dedicated to sharing anyway, but I was still a little surprised at how much typing these words out hurt. I am praying for this post as I do for the rest of the blog, that God would use my sharing to heal me, encourage others, and bring Him glory.
In the summer of 2019 we had just moved to a new house because the owners of the house we were renting decided to sell the house. Oliver was 10 and our daughter was 8. They were busy playing baseball. As the season wound down, we were preparing to take two or three weeks away to visit our parents in Michigan and Wisconsin. We went to Oliver's last game on a Friday night. He played catcher for a few innings and left us a memento of an extremely sweaty, salt-stained baseball hat. Our daughter was supposed to have a game the next morning, and then we were going to drive to my sister-in-law's house for the night before heading onward. It ended up raining unexpectedly, and the game was cancelled. With the extra time we now had, we decided to drive to my parent's house instead, which was a few hours further away. We spent a quick but fun night with my parents, and the next morning the kids helped with the farm chores of caring for the dogs, cat, cows, pigs, sheep, and chickens before we headed to Michigan for a week with my husband's parents. We planned to be back in Wisconsin the following week to spend more time with my parents.
My memories get pretty foggy from here. Some of the specific moments, like watching the nurses jump on the bed to do CPR, are seared in my memory. I also remember the doctors being thoughtful and dedicated. Somehow my daughter and in-laws were there waiting and joined us once the nurses stopped CPR. I am not sure how long we stayed with him after he passed. We took off his insulin pump and continuous glucose monitor, which he used to manage his diabetes, and we realized he was free of this world of sin and heartache. We prayed together, and somehow the three of us walked out of that building.
We cried and cried and cried, and we planned a little, let our family take care of us, and started doing the next right thing as we were able. We received a phone call with the preliminary autopsy results the morning after Oliver died. They had found a heart anomaly related to the placement of his coronary arteries. I haven't actually researched his condition a lot, just enough to know it isn't genetic and it often results in a sudden death like Oliver experienced. A few days later, we had a funeral for Oliver at my parents' church in Wisconsin. We stayed there for a few more days before heading back home, where we had a small memorial gathering with our local church and friends. And then my husband went back to work, and two friends took my daughter and me blueberry picking to help us through our first day back in the real world but without Oliver.
It is as hard to end the telling of this story as it was to start it. There is no way to wrap everything up. In many ways, the rest of this blog is dedicated to telling what comes after: the ocean of emotions, the waves of grief, the feelings of despair, the hard-won lessons learned, the hope and the joy, the continued pain and grief, etc. I do have one thought about God's presence that seem to fit here best.
In one of her history lessons last week, Leah was reading about the explorations of the North and South Poles in the early 1900s. Included in the curriculum was an excerpt from Ernest Shackleton's book "South!" where he recounts when his ship, "The Endurance", became trapped in ice, and he undertook a remarkable rescue mission. The excerpt included the following quote, "When I look back on those days I have no doubt that Providence guided us, not only across those snowfields, but across the storm-white sea that separated Elephant Island from our landing-place on South Georgia. I know that during that long and racking march of thirty-six hours over unnamed mountains and glaciers of South Georgia it seemed to me often that we were four, not three." When I look back on this time of losing Oliver, I feel fresh pain and don't know why it happened, but I can say that God was with us through it all.
I see God's hand of grace everywhere in this part of the story. My husband and I could have been apart on the day Oliver died instead of together with him. We were able to do all of Oliver's favorite things with him in his last days. Oliver got to see his Nana and Papa and Grandma and Grandpa one more time before he passed. We were surrounded and supported by our family immediately. In less than 24 hours we were given assurance there was nothing we could have done to get a different outcome. And the list could go on, but the point is when God allows something to happen to His beloved children, He laces each situation with His grace. (I got this concept from the Tony Evans family as they have shared their own stories of grief and suffering surrounding the deaths of numerous family members over the last few years. Unfortunately I haven't been able to track down the right source to share with you, but I will keep looking and will share once I find it.)
Isaiah 43:1-2
But now, this is what the Lord says-
he who created you, Jacob,
he who formed you, Israel:
"Do not fear for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze."
