Living with the Pain - Part 2
On Sunday we made the almost 7 hour drive to Livingston to visit with Josh's family. We were warmly greeted upon arrival and welcomed as though we were old friends. In some ways, it seems we were. We shared a common love for Josh, and a common pain at his death, although our loss could never equal theirs. It amazed me as we visited how many times they mentioned the times that Josh had spoken of us. We had done so little - had him over to eat a few times, and hugged him after the ball games. It becomes more clear to me that we minister most in the little things that we do for someone - a hug, a kind word, a meal, a visit to the hospital or the funeral home or wherever the need is.
His mom spoke of the shock that came with the knock at the door. The helplessness. "What do I do?" she asked. "What am I supposed to do?" Of calling her mother, of telling her that she had lost not one, but two grandsons in one night. How her brother and his wife were also on the phone, unknown to her, and so she was the one who gave them the message their son had also died. She spoke of the pain, of the hole in her heart. And she spoke of better times.
There was so much pride in their voices as they spoke of Josh and the person he was. How he touched people's lives with his kindness, and encouraged others to be better sometimes than they were. He was best friend to his sister and his little brother. His older brother wasn't there, but somehow I bet he felt that connection, also. Josh loved home. His mom spoke about how homesick he was during the time they lived in Malaysia. How he longed to be back home in Texas. Josh loved eating. He wrote notes to his mom, thanking her for feeding him. He left her notes in odd places. Notes that she saved and treasures. He loved playing tricks and surprising others.
John Harrison, Josh's younger brother, told us that Josh had told him about our cat - our very fat cat that all college students talk about and some take pictures of on their cell phones so they can send to their friends. Josh had taken Harrison on a kayaking trip just days before his death. "Just to make a memory" his mom told us.
Elizabeth spoke of her dog - the one she got from Josh. And another dog, that she and Josh had bought together. How she almost lost her dog soon after Josh died. You can still see the scars from the bullet holes left by a police officer's gun - a horrible tragedy that almost compounded grief beyond belief. But a story of how her dog miraculously survived the wounds. God's grace in the midst of grief.
That's all they have now. Memories. But they have lots of those. Memories of a son who told his mother "thank you" for cooking for him; a brother who wrote in his journal of his sister's birth, "a day that changed my life forever;" a brother who took time to make memories; a son who became his father's best friend.
There was laughter and there were tears. That is the way life is. Joy and sorrow. Sometimes it seems more sorrow than we can bear. But always turning to God for strength to bear the sorrow.
It seemed we didn't have nearly enough time to visit - they wanted to talk about their son. How, they asked, do you learn to live with the pain? We have no experience with that. But we know several people who do. So, we will try to connect them with those we know who have walked that journey. If you read this, and know someone who has been there, please let me know.
I am so thankful that we took the time to make the visit. Grateful that the Bigbys were willing to share their pain with us. Grateful to my daughter for pushing me to make the call, and for suggesting the visit. Grateful to God for showing me that ministry comes in many forms, and that reaching out to the hurting only takes a step.
God, please be with Pam, Elizabeth, Harrison, Brig and Brigham in their grief. Help them to hold on to the good memories and realize that you are the Great Physician, the one who can heal all pain. Hold them in your loving arms. Surround them with your care. In Jesus name, Amen.
May 23, 2006
Read more from Victoria's blog: www.rvwatson.blogspot.com
His mom spoke of the shock that came with the knock at the door. The helplessness. "What do I do?" she asked. "What am I supposed to do?" Of calling her mother, of telling her that she had lost not one, but two grandsons in one night. How her brother and his wife were also on the phone, unknown to her, and so she was the one who gave them the message their son had also died. She spoke of the pain, of the hole in her heart. And she spoke of better times.
There was so much pride in their voices as they spoke of Josh and the person he was. How he touched people's lives with his kindness, and encouraged others to be better sometimes than they were. He was best friend to his sister and his little brother. His older brother wasn't there, but somehow I bet he felt that connection, also. Josh loved home. His mom spoke about how homesick he was during the time they lived in Malaysia. How he longed to be back home in Texas. Josh loved eating. He wrote notes to his mom, thanking her for feeding him. He left her notes in odd places. Notes that she saved and treasures. He loved playing tricks and surprising others.
John Harrison, Josh's younger brother, told us that Josh had told him about our cat - our very fat cat that all college students talk about and some take pictures of on their cell phones so they can send to their friends. Josh had taken Harrison on a kayaking trip just days before his death. "Just to make a memory" his mom told us.
Elizabeth spoke of her dog - the one she got from Josh. And another dog, that she and Josh had bought together. How she almost lost her dog soon after Josh died. You can still see the scars from the bullet holes left by a police officer's gun - a horrible tragedy that almost compounded grief beyond belief. But a story of how her dog miraculously survived the wounds. God's grace in the midst of grief.
That's all they have now. Memories. But they have lots of those. Memories of a son who told his mother "thank you" for cooking for him; a brother who wrote in his journal of his sister's birth, "a day that changed my life forever;" a brother who took time to make memories; a son who became his father's best friend.
There was laughter and there were tears. That is the way life is. Joy and sorrow. Sometimes it seems more sorrow than we can bear. But always turning to God for strength to bear the sorrow.
It seemed we didn't have nearly enough time to visit - they wanted to talk about their son. How, they asked, do you learn to live with the pain? We have no experience with that. But we know several people who do. So, we will try to connect them with those we know who have walked that journey. If you read this, and know someone who has been there, please let me know.
I am so thankful that we took the time to make the visit. Grateful that the Bigbys were willing to share their pain with us. Grateful to my daughter for pushing me to make the call, and for suggesting the visit. Grateful to God for showing me that ministry comes in many forms, and that reaching out to the hurting only takes a step.
God, please be with Pam, Elizabeth, Harrison, Brig and Brigham in their grief. Help them to hold on to the good memories and realize that you are the Great Physician, the one who can heal all pain. Hold them in your loving arms. Surround them with your care. In Jesus name, Amen.
May 23, 2006
Read more from Victoria's blog: www.rvwatson.blogspot.com
posted by pawatson at
5/23/2006 07:09:00 PM
