Christine has been one of my best friends for many years and I've been holding on to her contribution to post along with my remembrance of the funeral because it seemed right. I got to visit her and her family in April at Pascha, the Greek Orthodox Easter, and I enjoyed being with them to celebrate new life because for some time it seemed like we only saw each other to hold each other up in hard times.
I felt relief and joy when I heard Christine was coming to be here, even if it was only for a night, and I will always be thankful to her friend Angie for driving with her all the way from South Carolina. Any time Christine comes, be it when we lost Garrett or when we lost my dad, I know it is at great sacrifice because she works and her husband has to adjust his own work schedule in order to care for their 7 (almost 8) children. It meant a lot. And it meant that in the afternoon and late into the night, we had someone to talk to, someone who could talk to visitors when we were still spacing out occasionally, and someone who hadn't already been fielding questions and phone calls so we didn't have to feel guilty about it.
Thank you for the years, Christine. And thank you for the post. Your "nothing" is actually quite a lot. And I'm glad you keep calling me. I still vote for the name Violet for your little girl.
 |
| Christine, Christine, and me in 2006!! It seems forever ago but just yesterday at the same time! |
* * *
“
When
Israel
passed
on
foot
over
the
sea,
as
if
it
was
dry
land,
and
they
beheld
their
pursuer
Pharaoh
drowning
in
the
sea,
they
cried
aloud
unto
God,
“Let
us
sing
a
song
of
victory!”
Give
rest,
O
Lord,
to
the
soul
of
Your
infant
Garrett
Michael,
who
is
fallen
asleep.”
I
haven’t anything to say.
“O
Word
of
God
Who
did
impoverish
Yourself
in
the
flesh
and,
without
change,
was
well-pleased
to
become
a
child:
Join
the
child
whom
You
have
received,
we
pray,
to
the
bosom
of
Abraham.
Give
rest,
O
Lord,
to
the
soul
of
Your
infant
Garrett
Michael,
who
is
fallen
asleep.”
Sharaze
has
talked
about
what
not
to
say
to
grieving
parents,
and
though
I’ve
tried
hard
I
know
I
haven’t
been
perfect.
She
knows
me
well
enough
to
take
my
intentions
over
my
actual
words,
thank
God.
Now
I’m trying to write something for Garrett’s birthday, and I have
nothing.
“You
Who
did
exist
before
all
the
ages
was
seen
as
a
child,
and,
as
You
are
good,
You
did
promise
Your
Kingdom
unto
children.
Number
there
the
child
here
present.
Glory
to
the
Father,
and
to
the
Son,
and
to
the
Holy
Spirit.”
So
I’m relying on an Orthodox Canon sung for an infant’s death, in
Tone 8. I am new enough to Orthodoxy that I couldn’t tell how “Tone
8” goes if my life depended on it.
What
I have learned, however, is the comfort of a “pre-written prayer”
for certain situations.
“You
have
accepted
this
undefiled
child,
O
Christ
the
Savior,
before
he
had
been
tempted
by
earthly
sweetness,
counting
him
worthy
of
eternal
good
things,
as
the
Lover
of
Mankind.
Now
and
ever
and
unto
ages
of
ages.
Amen.”
My
own
prayers
are
bitter
and
confused.
This
doesn’t make sense. It isn’t fair.
A
child’s whine, I know.
It’s
been many years since I expected life to be fair. A few less years
since I’ve learned to be grateful for that very lack of
fairness…especially here in America.
Right
now that doesn’t make me feel better.
My
friends
are
hurting,
bereft
of
someone
precious,
a
child
they
loved,
and
it
doesn’t
make
sense.
It
makes
me
feel
angry.
It
makes me feel guilty.
“O
You
who
ineffably
did
bear
the
Wisdom
and
Word
of
the
Father,
heal
the
cruel
wound
of
my
soul,
and
appease
the
affliction
of
my
heart.”
I
suffer
from
a
form
of
“survivors’
guilt.”
This
August,
my
eighth
child
is
due.
And
there
is
no
doubt
in
my
mind
that
I
don’t
deserve
her.
In
no
way
am
I
better
than
Sharaze.
In
no
way
do
we
provide
a
more
stable,
loving
home.
We
do
our
best
and
we
love
our
kids
and
each
other
etc….but
better?
This
isn’t a self-esteem issue.
I
don’t
regret
having
all
these
kids
in
any
way.
When
strangers
call
me
crazy,
stupid,
or
irresponsible
I
am
unfazed,
and
usually
have
a
snarky
comeback
of
my
own.
But
when
talking
to
my
best
friend,
or
other
friends
and
family
who
are
having
their
own
issues
with
infertility,
loss,
and
sickness,
my
face
grows
hot
with
shame,
my
voice
stutters,
and
I
usually
say
something
stupid
and
self-centered
‘cause
that’s
just
how
I
deal
with
those
kind
of
feelings.
Sometimes
I
want
to
“fix”
it.
Well,
since
my
womb
works
pretty
well
I’ll
just
loan
it
out!
I
feel
like
I
“owe”
those
who
can’t
have
children
as
easily
as
I
do.
Womb
time,
or
an
egg
or
two,
or
God
forbid,
my
advice.
Much
of
the
time
I
feel
like
I
owe
it
to
them
to
stay
away,
to
not
call
them,
to
not
ask
them
how
they
are
doing.
To
not
talk
about
my
kids,
or
my
pregnancy,
and
especially
to
not
share
my
own
struggles.
No
mentioning
any
money
problems,
marital
disagreements,
or
anything
that
might
make
someone
think,
“I
deserve
kids
more
than
she
does.”
“There
is
none
so
holy
as
You,
O
Lord
my
God,
who
have
exalted
the
power
of
Your
faithful,
O
Blessed
One,
and
have
established
upon
the
rock
of
Your
confession.
Give
rest,
O
Lord,
to
the
soul
of
Your
infant
Garrett
Michael,
who
is
fallen
asleep.”
Sometimes
I
am
afraid.
If
Mike
and
Sharaze
can
lose
a
child,
so
can
I.
Why
haven’t
I?
I’ve
had
it
too
good.
“Life
isn’t
fair”
doesn’t
imply
that
it
will
always
be
good
to
me.
I
am not willing to sacrifice my child just so that I can “relate.”
I clutch them tighter, knowing that I am living in a moment of grace,
surrounded by grieving friends and knowing that I am not special.
“O
Most-perfect
Word,
Who
did
reveal
Yourself
as
a
perfect
Child:
You
have
taken
unto
Yourself
a
child
imperfect
in
growth.
Give
him
rest
with
all
the
Righteous
who
have
been
well-pleasing
unto
You,
O
Only
Lover
of
Mankind.
Give
rest,
O
Lord,
to
the
soul
of
Your
infant
Garrett
Michael,
who
is
fallen
asleep.”
I’ll
never
forget
that
tiny
white
casket.
I
ache
over
Autumn’s
innocent
grief.
A
year
later
I
still
cry
when
I
remember
Mike’s
call
to
me
that
Sunday
morning,
and
Sharaze’s
tight
grip
when
I
hugged
her
at
the
funeral.
I’ll
never understand.
That’s
okay.
Death
is a tragedy, an unnatural separation of what was a created to be
one, the soul and the body.
Death
has been defeated; it is temporary.
Jesus
didn’t stay dead and because of that, neither will Garrett.
Neither
will
Sharaze
or
Mike
or
Autumn
or
I
or
my
kids
or
anyone
else
who
accepts
God’s
gift.
I’m
angry and sad over Garrett’s death and thankful and joyful when I
think of his and our salvation. Someday Mike and Sharaze and Autumn
and the rest of his family will all be together again and I am so
excited for that. So I pray the prayers that remind me that God isn’t
fair, He is Love, and I try to love because that’s the only thing
useful in this situation, or any, for that matter.
“Make
this
most-pure
child
whom
You
have
been
well-pleased
to
take
unto
Yourself,
O
Savior,
a
partaker
of
the
heavenly
chambers,
of
radiant
repose,
and
of
the
most-sacred
Choir
of
the
Saints,
O
Lord.
Now
and
ever
and
unto
ages
of
ages.
Amen.”
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