Wednesdays

Wednesdays were horrible for us.  Elizabeth Leigh Rowan, our youngest daughter, died on a Wednesday.  There's really no easy way to put that--no comforting blanket of words to wrap that statement in to avoid the sting.  It is just there.  Kathryn and I faced that harsh reality every day--every moment.  The soul crushing hurt of the loss of a beloved child, the breathtaking ache of moments lost, memories taken, hopes shattered.   The foggy existence where you don't really feel connected to the world and its events, but also where you don't feel completely removed from them either.  As a parent who has lost a child, you feel like you are in a constant mist of emotion, the edges are blurry and the light is slightly less brilliant.  You slog through the day putting up your best front--trying hard to be "normal" and "strong"--when all you really want to do is wail and cry.  You feel the nonsensical heavy guilt of not mourning Elizabeth enough--not spending each and every moment thinking of her and who she was and what she meant--while at the same time strangely longing to have a moment where you can feel unfiltered joy again without the burden of loss.  In your deepest heart, you want Elizabeth back in your arms, smiling and laughing and being a Diva--but, then in that same deep place, you also know without any doubt that Elizabeth is finally where she needs to be--longs to be-- with her Creator, perfect and peaceful--and you don't want to take that from her.  This grief thing is a weird, wildly illogical, deeply emotional place of glaring inconsistencies, chaos and peace intertwined.  It's heavy and ephemeral at the same time.  You find yourself laughing through your tears.  You find yourself hoping and despairing in the same thought.  And, it was especially bad on Wednesdays...

{Now, before you each begin to wonder if this will be the most depressing blog of all time, let me assure you that the complete opposite hopefully will be true.  Elizabeth was an amazing person who has such a truly God-affirming story that it literally begs to be told.  And, I have attempted to do that while she was with us.  Elizabeth was a person who defied any explanation--fought any expectation-- and who lived so uproariously for God that it made you jealous of her relationship with her Creator.  Her story was dramatic and subtle.  It was truly unbelievable and affirming.  It was my greatest honor to be her father.  I would encourage any of you who never met or heard of Elizabeth Leigh Rowan to take the time to read about her life.  I attempted a little blog about our experiences.  It is imperfect, but shows how Elizabeth was truly unique and blessed.  Hopefully, Elizabeth's life will speak to you about how we can all live our lives to the fullest.  Here's the address:

www.elizabethleighrowan.blogspot.com

Honestly, I don't think this blog will make any sense without you knowing the life that has inspired it. }

And, so, our family was now learning how to deal with Wednesdays.  It seemed that the emotions of loss hit Kathryn and I much harder on Wednesdays--the tears were much closer to the surface, much easier to find the pain emerge in our routine.  At first, we just let the emotions come on down.  We embraced them and let those tears flow.  Everyone who offered advice to us (and there were MANY) told us to not ignore these emotional times and fully embrace them.  (Great advice, truly.)  So, we cried a lot and allowed ourselves to be sad.  At first, that helped.  It gave us some closure and release.

But, then, it became a bit TOO much.  Wednesdays became this weird new obstacle for us to "overcome".  We would always see that day coming around and almost became conditioned to have it be horrible and sad.  We were projecting all this stuff---grief, sadness, disillusionment, hopelessness, etc.--onto a day of the week.  We were giving this day too much power.  We were losing the point of our grief.  We spent too much time worrying about the Wednesday that we seemed to lose the very point why we were sad.  Elizabeth and her story--her happy, encouraging, joyous, inspiring story--was being relegated to the background while we "dealt" with these dumb Wednesdays.  And, so we made a change...

Kathryn and I decided to "reclaim Wednesdays"--  to not let the grief and sadness hold sway over us and that silly day.  We knew that the only reason that day held any importance to us was because that was the day that Elizabeth died.  And, why should we place more importance on that day, when the focus should be on the days she lived--and how she lived!  While this may sound very simple and obvious to all of you, I can promise it was a big moment for us.  To mentally switch our focus to seeing the blessings Elizabeth brought instead of missing the time we could have had with her has allowed us to truly see the legacy she left us. 

And, you know, God is pretty awesome.  He began to show us wonderful, miraculous pieces of encouragement about our lives, Elizabeth's influence, and the joy that comes with a life focused on Him---all seeming to ironically happen on Wednesdays!

So, that is what this blog will be about--telling those stories of the encouragements and miracles, the gentle nudges toward healing, the dramatic statements of His love that are given to us on Wednesdays (and other days of the week!).  It will be a blog about an imperfect family mourning the loss and celebrating the influence of a wonderful young lady who we all miss and who teaches us every day of the grace and power of a loving God.  It will hopefully, most of all,  also be an encouragement to each of you to push aside your personal "Wednesdays"--those moments you  dread and worry about-- and embrace the wonder of a new focus on the blessings He provides every day.

                   

Grief is both universal and unique.  It is an emotion that everyone on this planet shares.  We have all---ALL-- had a loss in our lives, where someone who is dear to us is taken away, leaving us to pick up the pieces.  And, yet, although this is one of the most universal of emotions, it is also the most truly personal.  Though everyone has experienced it, we all are absolutely convinced that our grief is unique--our pain is stronger--our experience harder-- than our neighbors.   It is such a dichotomy--two diametrically opposed standpoints occupying the same mental space--that it seems to be almost impossible to figure out.  I think that is one reason why it is so hard to explain and experience grief.  It almost forces you to go inward and deal with the most personal and deep of your emotions--and, at the same time, also seems to be the most difficult to coherently share with others.   Though everyone will experience it in their lifetime, we all think that others "just won't understand", or "they don't get it".  And, if we are being honest, they don't--nor, honestly, will we truly understand when others experience it. 

                         "No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."
                                                                          C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

So, we all just stand there when faced with a grieving person and wonder what is the best thing to say.  We don't want to say the "wrong" thing, to make this difficult time even more heart-wrenching.  But, to say nothing seems horribly insensitive--callous--cold.  Well, I can say from my perspective saying anything is the best way to just "dive in".  I find it interesting that so many people have told me that they are hesitant to talk about Elizabeth in front of me.  They feel like the mention of her would cause the delicate house of cards that I have built to hold my grief to fall apart and I will melt into a puddle of tears in front of them.

But, I am always thinking of Elizabeth.  Every. Minute.  She's never far from my mind--the life she lived is playing on constant loop in my head.  It is always present.  She is forever in my memory, never fading...  But, Kathryn and I find it joyous and refreshing to talk about Elizabeth.  She is still very much a part of our lives--our experience in this world.  So, to have a conversation--a true, meaningful conversation with another person-- about how Elizabeth taught us about peace, strength and God's immeasurable wisdom and love--is the most refreshing and encouraging thing imaginable!  Don't avoid it!  We embrace it.

                 "Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o'erwrought heart and bids it break."
                                                                  William Shakepeare, Macbeth

So, let's start a conversation... a conversation about Elizabeth.  Where we can see through the eyes of this truly amazing, strong, expectation-shattering Diva the wonder of how God shapes our lives.  The joy found in every day accomplishments.  The power of seeing peace as a gift, and not a goal. 

Elizabeth is my daughter.  She is a medical mystery that was never solved.  She is a force of nature to be reckoned with.  She is a source of joy for all who knew her.  She is the lens by which we can see God more clearly.  She is the impetus for many great conversations.  Let's get to talking...