So far during this social distancing experiment I have written and completed three separate lengthy “to-do” lists.  I am literally down to picking up sticks in the backyard to make the soon-to-be mowing easier. Part of my stir craziness can likely be chalked up to some form of adult ADHD.  Or maybe it’s the lack of March Madness. Speaking of that, I’m finally over it and quite honestly I wasn’t sure that was going to happen any time soon… especially because it was our year!  

 

Yes, the cat is out of the bag that we are selling our house.  We literally listed it the day the coronavirus mess blew up here in the U.S.  Fantastic timing indeed. Our plan is to sell the house with about 40 acres. The front property that was formerly known as the ranch will not be sold, neither will the acreage west towards the Ford dealership.  In fact, we are planning on building a barndominium on that land to live in. Just don’t bring that part up to Keely, though. She is a little horrified. I think she still pictures horse stalls inside of bedrooms whenever I use the word barndominium.  Regardless, we are hunkered down for the selling and building process to be a bit lengthier than we originally expected considering the whole world is basically on hold right now.

 

 As a very preliminary step towards selling our house, I have decided to use my house-bound time to clean out and organize my storage rooms and closets.  I don’t think most of you understand what a process that was for me. I am married to a hoarder of all things dumb plus I am awful at throwing things in a room because I don’t want to take the time to put them in their proper places.  After two 8 hour days, my step-dad and I had cleaned out two humongous storage rooms. Everything is in Rubbermaid containers, labeled, and stacked. Troy’s nonsense has gone to different charities (FYI he never reads my blogs so unless one of you tells him that he will never know).  Those rooms were time consuming but not tough to clean.  Tough came today.

 

The first item on my list today was to clean out “the” closet.  It’s the closet I haven’t touched in 5 ½ years. It is his stuff.  And, by stuff, I mean everything that was brought home to us after the funeral was over.  You know all the personal things you see at a child’s funeral? That stuff. The pictures, trophies, 1st communion tie, his baby blanket, the bottle that little fart drank out of until he was 6 freaking years old, his baseball glove, his sunglasses.  Shoved in that closet too was a box of the leftover funeral programs, the guestbook that held over 500 signatures, a DVD copy of the funeral itself, and a tiny cloth pouch that held a lock of his hair. I pulled out that hair and rubbed it between my fingers.  Beside me standing there feeling as though a panic attack might come on was Dawsyn demanding my attention because she threw a sticky hand too high on a window and couldn’t reach it. For a second I felt robbed that I couldn’t even have that moment to feel.

 

I eventually got her situated and went back to the task at hand.  There must have been hundreds of cards people sent. They were all opened so I knew I had seen them.  Except it was actually the first time I was really seeing them.  I wished I had replied to people.  I remember reading a few of them after the accident and wanting to reply but lacked the strength.  Behind the cards and handmade gifts was Dalton’s basketball practice bag. I opened it for the very first time.  His belt was still in the inside-out jeans he had taken off before his last practice. His black collared WCS shirt was balled up in there, a pair of socks, two likely unused bottles of deodorant (trust me they looked brand new), and five huge packages of bubble gum.  I was shocked not to find a half eaten bag of cheese puffs. Stuffed into a corner of the closet was another set of clothes all balled up. I felt the pain before I even pulled them out and opened them. It’s like I just knew.  These were the accident clothes.  A pair of grey sweats, one Adidas slider, and three shirts.  It had been so cold that November day. He had been wearing a white Hanes tee, a Butler County Cubs pullover and a grey hoodie.  Each one had been cut down the middle and the right sleeve. I had so many questions about why the EMS workers would have done that, yet I know I couldn’t handle it if knew the answers.  Did he ever feel pain?  Did he ever have just one single second where he had a conscious thought?  Was he watching while we fell apart?  

 

I finished organizing all his things and placed them all in a Rubbermaid container with only his name written on the side, much like you would package up your old clothes or linens you don’t use anymore.  I quietly walked his box into the storage room and stacked it on the others, tracing the letters of his name I had recently written. One of the things I hate the most is how I hardly ever get to write his name, let alone say it.  Walking away, I realized why this social distancing seems to be so hard for me. It reminds me of the last time I felt this isolated. After the funeral, I holed up for weeks moving from the couch to the bedroom to the kitchen counter to the couch.  And repeat. Maybe I’m doing all this ridiculous cleaning right now because I’m scared to just sit still. The sitting still reminds me of that time.  Losing him.  

 

So I get the panic, people.  I get it. You are scared you might lose someone you love.  Of course you are because why wouldn’t you? This virus is real and it is serious.  However, the difference between you I might be that I have assurance of where I am going one day.  I don’t have to live in fear for one second because the ending to my life has already been worked out. One day, maybe near or maybe far, I’ll leave this place and walk into the arms of a brown haired boy with beautiful blue eyes who is going to make an introduction for me to the greatest person that has ever walked this earth, some 2000 plus years ago.  That part is set. Nobody knows exactly when it will be, but I will be ready when the Good Lord calls me.  

 

That kind of blessed assurance is what everybody really needs.  That assurance where they don’t have to be so afraid. I can tell you whenever I go meet a family that has lost a child, I always come with my little chicken scratch notes I wrote once while listening to Rick Warren talk about how you can get through anything you’re going through.  To be clear, this advice by Pastor Warren came after the loss of his son to suicide, but I thoroughly believe it can be adapted for this fear-mongering situation we are all finding ourselves in right now. So here are the bullet points of what I say whenever I go make house visits to families who have also suddenly lost children:  

 

1. Accept what cannot be changed.
2. Remember it’s not the end of the story.
3. Take care of yourself.
4. Refocus on God thru worship.
5. Do something productive.
6. Keep on loving despite your pain.

 

Now keep in mind Rick Warren is discussing “loss” here, but I think you could easily adapt that to say “fear,”  When he speaks of loss he says it generally does one of three things to a person:  1) Does it destroy you? 2) Does it define you? Or 3) Does it develop you?  What if you substituted fear for loss?

 

I want you to ask yourselves those things.  You may decide tomorrow that you don’t have to live with man’s use of the word “fear” any more.  Maybe you will wake up with a bit more confidence in an all-powerful God that can calm any doubt or anxiety and replace them with peacefulness and rest.  Listen to these promises!

 

“I will never leave you and I will NEVER abandon you.” Hebrews 13:5

 

“We often suffer, but we’re never crushed.  Even when we don’t know what to do, we never give up.  In times of trouble, God is with us, and when we are knocked down, we get up again…. BECAUSE WE KNOW God raised the Lord back to life.  And just as he raised Jesus, he will also raise us back to life, and will bring us into his presence together.’’ 2 Corinthians 4:8-9,14

 

“So we don’t focus on the troubles we see right now; instead we look forward to what we don’t see yet.  For the troubles we see now are temporary, but the joys to come will last forever.”  2 Corinthians 4:18

 

So stay cautious.  To not would be dismissive and unintelligent.  I’m just urging you to let your confidence in a big God do the work for you.  Continue to do your social distancing and being mindful of healthy habits right now… but don’t forget that trust in Him goes a long, long way.  You will never regret it.

 

And, finally, I would like to take the time to dedicate this blog to Dalton’s dear buddy, Gavin Payne, for including my boy in your very special senior pictures this week.  It is hard to put into words what that meant.  I know how close you two always were. 

Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Jenny.