A couple of years ago, I felt a sensation I had not felt for some time. The only way to describe it is a guttural cry welling up in the pit of my stomach. It was such a deep and sorrowful feeling, and it rose through my throat and out of my mouth as a wailing cry. That’s the only way I can describe it. Have you ever felt this way?
Sometimes we have no choice but to suppress something so ugly-sounding, because we don’t want anyone around us to hear it. At other times, we either have the luxury of releasing our sorrow or simply don’t care who hears or sees it.
This deep sorrow overcame me after I spent hours on the phone trying to reschedule my flight to my dad’s memorial service after a snowstorm that day caused it to be cancelled. When it was clear I wasn’t going to get to the service, I was overcome with this deep sorrow and released this guttural wailing cry. It was such a sorrowful sound that it frightened my husband. He’d never heard me cry like that before.
Yesterday afternoon, I watched my grandson play soccer. It was beautiful outside, and it should have been a pleasant experience for me. My grandson was playing against an elementary school our three older children had attended, and my husband and I kept running into people we knew but hadn’t seen for several years. Sorrow started to overcome me when my husband started talking with one of our oldest son’s classmates.
“Hi, Mr. Leverence. Do you remember me?”
“Oh, of course, Casey. It’s so good to see you. You were in Aaron’s class, weren’t you? Do you have children playing soccer?”
“Yes. I have a fifth-grade son and an eighth-grade son playing, and I have a daughter in high school.”
The guttural cry started to build in the pit of my stomach.
“Wow! That’s so cool.”
As we walked away, Casey made one more passing remark that caused my sorrow to build a little deeper and stronger.
“It was nice to see you, Mr. Leverence. Please say “hi” to Aaron for me.”
You see, Aaron, our oldest son, lives in a CBRF, Community-Based Residential Facility, at a neuro-rehab hospital. He is very physically and mentally disabled. When Casey knew him, he was far healthier. There was no reason at that point in Aaron’s life to doubt that he would marry someday and have a family like Casey. After all, Aaron was a very intellectually gifted teenager. He was on track for a normal adolescent life and a promising future.
Unfortunately, Aaron developed a very difficult-to-treat case of schizophrenia when he was 15. In the past 26 years since then, he’s heard voices telling him to jump out of windows, over balconies, and in front of cars. These actions have contributed to severe physical disability in addition to being severely mentally disabled.
When Aaron’s having a good day, he’ll tell me, “Mom, I really want to get married.” He’ll even tell me who he wants to marry. He’s been infatuated with one girl he knew when he was in high school, and he’s convinced she’s still available for him to marry. He so desperately longs for the kind of life Casey has. My response to Aaron is always, “When the time is right for you to get married, God will bless you with a wonderful woman to marry.” Though I know that I’m being less than truthful to Aaron. He will never marry. His physical and mental conditions are too extreme for any woman to consider marrying him.
Seeing Casey and hearing about his family brought me such deep sadness that I couldn’t wait to get away from that environment. I didn’t have the luxury of releasing that guttural wailing cry on the sidelines of my grandson’s soccer game.
Grief can overcome almost anyone, regardless of age or the magnitude of the loss. A child might be overcome by grief simply by losing their favorite blankie, hindering their ability to go to sleep at night; adults are overcome by grief for any number of reasons, such as divorce, the passing of a loved one, and persistent lack of work.
According to Psychology Today, “Grief is the acute pain that accompanies loss. Because it is a reflection of what we love, it can feel all-encompassing.” Grief is not a single emotion, but rather a complex mixture of different emotions that come and go, with sadness being one of the most prevalent. Grief should not be ignored. While living our lives to the best of our ability and following our normal routine may help us manage our grief for some time, it likely won’t be enough. Journaling, therapy, seeking spiritual guidance, and spending time with friends can help us move through our grief.
To temper the deep sadness I felt about missing my dad’s memorial service, I reminded myself that while I was missing the opportunity to mourn alongside my mother, siblings, and extended family, it didn’t take anything away from the fact that my dad was no longer feeling any pain, but rather he was resting peacefully in his Savior’s loving arms. I knew this deep sadness would soon pass.
To temper the deep sadness I feel when I’m faced with the fact that my dear Aaron won’t get married and have a family, I remind myself that our earthly existence is just a temporary state. This is not Aaron’s permanent home. Like all of us, he’ll only be here for a short time. After he’s sprinkled enough gospel seeds to his neighbors and staff in the CBRF or other institution he’s living in, God will call him to his true home, heaven. Aaron has what matters most. He has what matters more than the earthly blessing of marriage and a family. He has faith in his Savior, Jesus. He believes that Jesus lived, died, and rose from the dead for him, and that saving faith ensures he’ll be in heaven. That’s really all that matters, and for that I’m more than grateful!
I may never be free from the different emotions of sadness, regret, and pain that make up my grief over the trajectory Aaron’s life took when he developed schizophrenia, but I have learned how to manage it and live life doing my best to focus on what matters most.
Raising Healthy Minds 