Emergency Mode

January 12, 2019 — Laura House

The moment I knew he was gone, I switched into “emergency” mode.

Actually, I’ve always been decent in emergencies, only crashing emotionally when they were over. Once when Nathan was nine, he was chasing Megan through the yard after a brother-sister squabble. Running into the house, Megan slammed the back door, her arm shattering the glass. Blood was everywhere and panic ensued. Ryan and Nathan were distraught, pleading to know if she was going to die, Gary was asking if he should call 911, and the neighbor child who had been playing with the kids was cowering in the corner watching the fiasco and asking if Meg was going to be okay. With the cacophony of chaos, it was hard to even think. Finally, seeing no other option, I shouted an expression that was never allowed in our house. “Everyone shut up!”

Silence followed my little outburst, and my mind assessed the situation. Although the wounds were deep, no artery had been severed. We were safe to wrap her arm in a clean towel, drop off the traumatized siblings and friend at someone else’s house with the assurance that Meg would be fine, and head to the hospital.

The moment I heard that Nathan had died, I switched into emergency mode. After begging Jesus to help me trust Him, I began making phone calls to verify that he was really gone. There was no acceptance in my mind, only frantic attempts to talk to the right people to be sure that Nathan’s body would come home to us, to pack a suitcase to head to the airport, and to call our remaining children to tell them to hang on and that we were heading their way. I suddenly remembered that there would be a funeral and I needed to take pictures and memorabilia. It was surreal, but nothing could stop me from doing what was needed to “help Nathan.” Taking the biggest suitcase we owned, I gathered pictures in frames from around our house and dug through boxes to find his diploma, flight log, and other special memorabilia. It didn’t dawn on me that checking a bag with glass picture frames wouldn’t really work. Unpacking shards of glass on the other end, I discovered that truth.

I remember being shuttled to the airport by my compassionate employer, checking our giant bag at the counter and walking through the airport. Did we look like bereaved parents? I wasn’t sure what that even looked like. I remember the pleasantries of the stewardess and staff who had no idea where we were headed, my mind in a completely different place, whirling to grasp the reality of what had happened.

We walked numbly through planning two memorial services and had hours of conversations trying to comfort family and friends. There was precious time alone at the funeral home with Nathan’s body followed by a graveside service with family, laying his earthly body to rest next to my mom who had been buried less than sixteen months earlier. Exhausted, mentally and physically, we headed home, alone again and across the country from our other children.

The “emergency” was over. There was nothing else I could do. He was gone.

Then began the daily grind to continue living in the midst of the detective work of figuring out how and why he was gone. Could it have been different? Why did God allow this to happen? What were we supposed to do now? How could we go on?

Going to work, I stayed focused and tried not to let myself think about Nathan until I was back at home. And the nights? Soooo long. Before Nathan died, if I woke up at night and saw that there were several hours left until dawn, I was grateful for the opportunity to turn over and fall back asleep. But now? The nights never ended. Gary and I both lay quietly for hours, hoping the other was sleeping. Finally, one of us would ask, “Is it almost over yet?”, relieved to see the sun peeping through the blinds.

Some days, these memories of Nathan from nearly four years ago seem very distant, and other days, like it was yesterday. Grief is funny like that. But revisiting them today, I am deeply touched as I clearly see the hand of God holding us, comforting us, and using others around us to minister to our broken hearts.

Are you still in “emergency mode” today? I want to assure you that Spring will come again to your shattered heart. Be patient with yourself and express your deepest pain to the Lord without hesitation. He already knows your thoughts, loves you more than you can fathom, and will comfort you. Step by step, your wounds will be sutured together, leaving some scars from the battle — the reminders of a parent’s love, earthly loss, new-found trust, and the knowledge that our time here is short as we anticipate being reunited in eternity.

Isaiah 43: 1-3a “But now, thus says the Lord, your Creator, O Jacob, And He who formed you, O Israel, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, Nor will the flame burn you. For I am the Lord your God, The Holy One of Israel, your Savior…”

John 14: 1-3 “Do not let your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me.  In My Father’s house are many dwelling places; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you.  If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also.”