Letter to Julia

I share the following with you, my brothers and sisters in Christ who have stood with me and for me these past 2 years, in hopes that these expressions of my heart's struggles and triumphs may enable you in the days to come to somewhat understand another bereaved pilgrim in the future. It is inevitable that death comes. May we learn how to come alongside or even strengthen our own hearts when that day arrives. Dearest Julia, your daddy's rugbug, your mother's Julia-Marie-flowergirl-Sarah, your sister's best friend, and your brothers' compassionate cheerleader: It was 104-weeks ago today that you left us. Dad has counted every week since that 4th October Friday in 2011. I only counted to 40; the number corresponding to the time you spent in my womb. And of course week 52. While the official records will always list the day as 10/28/2011, for us it will forever be the last Friday of October that your mother found you still conscious but barely clinging to life. It was that last Friday that the Kaiser doctors, nurses, respiratory therapists, and pharmacists worked for more than two hours to reverse the devastating effects of the drugs and alcohol upon your heart. It was 2011 October's last Friday evening that we sat huddled in a bleak ER hallway watching the medical personnel file out of your room with heads down, avoiding our looks. We were offered your shoes and sweat pants as you were prepared for the coroner's office. It was the day that my world came crashing down. Today we remember. It must have been at least 6 months before Fridays did not cast an even grayer cloud over the Halligan home or hold me in the grip of that gnawing sickness that only the bereaved know. It would be 52 Sundays before I attended church without weeping, and 19 months before I sang a hymn or song with heartfelt praise void of those why?s and no!s screaming in my head. It took me 18 months to live a day in which every moment was not consumed with thoughts of you. C. S. Lewis described in perfectly in A Grief Observed, "I never knew that grief felt so much like fear." You, more than anyone, would understand, and it has been in this experience that I now understand the pangs of fear, anxiety, and hopelessness that engulfed you. I will be forever sorry that I did not comprehend the weight of your burden. How distressing to a mother's heart to learn only after your death the enormity of your soul's malady and of the Christian ministries that could have helped you heal. We all failed you, Julia. All of us. From doctors and psychiatrists to pastors and counselors to family and friends, we were all ignorant. Only the two women at Alternatives Pregnancy Center pointed you and urged you in the direction of tangible help...the road you purposed to take in January, but it was not to be. Dear Julia, I have never been angry at God like so many of the bereaved mothers I have met. That aching why that screamed for so long has quieted. It has been replaced by a surrendered acceptance that He is God and He is good, even when the healing doesn't come. I would not have chosen to lose you for a million others I might help, and I still wouldn't. Despite the knowledge that my questions will never be answered this side of heaven, I have finally gotten off my face and have risen to the place of quiet resolve to press forward and take what the Lord's hand has given, and taken away. I have finally come to the place where I can minister to others without an explanation from the Almighty. On this 4th Friday of October 2013, I know as I have never known before how little I really know. Even in sharing the burden of fellow-grieving mothers, I acknowledge only partial understanding of those who suddenly lost a healthy, happy child to a motorcycle, car, or plane accident, a drowning, a freak fall, a murder, or while fighting in Iraq. I cannot truly understand the sorrow of losing a 4-month old, 4-year old, or 14-year old upon whose young, carefree life sorrow had not yet made its mark. And I can only begin to understand the horrific distress of losing one's only child. But there is One who understands. He is the One who voluntarily gave His only Son to die that many sons might be brought to life. How deep the Father's love. It is incomprehensible. Lord, help me today to understand, to REALLY understand the Father's love for me and for my Julia. May I know Jesus Christ and the power of His resurrection, for it is only those who have died that can be brought back to life. As I close the door to the last 24 months, may I press on and follow You. May I obey Your call on my life, no matter where it takes me or requires of me. May I heed the Holy Spirit's promptings and proclaim the Good News to all the broken Julias of this world. So I want you to know, dear Julia, that felt joy and peace and hope have returned. I am wholly involved in my God-given duties without that distracting sense of loss. You will always be in my heart and thoughts, but my mind is no longer obsessed with the remembrance of your short and painful life. There is still the felt-awareness that a part of my heart has been ripped from me; that an absent limb is staring me in the face. But I am purposing to focus on the now and that you are at peace and in the care of Christ. I have now traversed the valley of the shadow of death where for so long everything and every moment was held in the grip of that shadow's darkness. My soul and mind have broken through to the other side and the light is shining again. The beauty of autumn once again thrills my soul. Your sister and I took a 6-week road trip, avoiding I-80 and the sorrows we feared its memories would bring. We had fun. We breathed, and tasted, and saw, and heard all the wonders of the creation. You were with us."Ooh, wouldn't Julia have liked this!" was declared time and time again, except during our 3 days of camping! Just think, no spiders or cold ground to sleep on, kiddo! You would take delight in the goings-on in the Halligan home. Jennifer continues to persevere in her quiet, unpretentious, serving ways, always looking to the Lord's leading as to how she can bring happiness to others. Your sister has taken your place on the living room sofa with her textbooks, binders, class notes, and index cards strewn about. I have returned to hushing conversations and closing doors to muffle sounds because "Jennifer is studying!" You'd be so proud! You'd surely chuckle if you could see! She's had 4-5 books going at once this past year. She's taken up your Bill Bryson books and purchased some to boot. Who Moved My Cheese has joined Walk Through the Woods in the car for filling up wait times. She read Your Half of the Apple and now gives copies to girlfriends. We've continued our Sunday evening book reading, adding many more Christian biographies and autobiographies to our finished list while Jennifer's stack of cross-stitching pieces gets higher. She even hushed me in hotel rooms so she could read! I guess somebody had to fill your shoes! And your mother! Oh, Julia, you'd be so pleased! Before our road trip I read the original 2000-page, Victor Hugo-authorized translation of Les Miserables and Notre Dame de Paris. How often I wished you had been next to me to discuss all I was reading and learning! Yours and Grandma's gravestones are well attended! Jennifer visits 4-5 days/week. You rarely lack a bouquet of flowers! She keeps Trader Joe's floral section in business as our garden roses don't hold up in Sacto's heat. The Lord knew when Trader Joe's was going in that you and Grandma would have plots just down the street! Well, good-bye my dear. I look forward to that bright day when I shall again see you and all tears are wiped away. The beauty we enjoyed on this earth will be far-exceeded by the magnificence of the new heavens and earth! Love Always, Your Mother