“Covered Mercies” A Call For First Readers

I’m in need of a few First Readers for this next book. But this book is not for everyone, so I’ve posted the intro to help you decide if you want to read the 72 pages of the manuscript. I’m asking for First Readers to read for ease of reading, if they spot any glaring errors, and any suggestions to make this better. I will gift First Readers a paperback copy of this book as a thank you. If you are interested in being a First Reader, please email me: jeanann_w@yahoo.com. Thank you!

INTRODUCTION

I’m the mother of a child who died by suicide on March 16, 2004, at the age of twenty-five. I asked many questions during the early grieving years, but the one that bothered me daily was, “Why do I not feel Your love, Lord?”

Even now, all these years later, I’m uncertain about the answer to why I felt that way during my heavy grieving season. Perhaps there are several reasons for this. Did I grieve so fiercely for my dead son that I couldn’t “feel” God’s presence any longer? Was my relationship with God all about a good feeling in my heart? Or could it be that I was subconsciously upset with God for allowing this horrific loss in my life, even though I understood it could happen to anyone?

“For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good and sends rain on the just and the unjust” (Matthew 5:45b).

God made Himself known through specific circumstances—beginning on the day Joshua died—even though there were no happy feelings attached to the blessings.

The first and most important blessing was that my husband, Jim, was home with me when Joshua took his life. I believe our grieving as parents would have been in a state of disconnect if I had been alone in the house with Joshua when he died. Just as we shared the joy of holding Joshua at birth, we shared in the saddest moment of our lives as we held him at the time of his death. This might seem harsh, but in hindsight I’m grateful Jim was with me.

Also, I sensed God’s care as people came alongside me and gave needed support. Friends met me for lunches, tea time, or at my home. One friend didn’t act stoic. Instead she wept with me. I’ll never forget her generous gift of compassion. This friend cried tears and spoke of Joshua and me as she and I sat together at my dining room table. That moment was instrumental because she validated my feelings as a grieving mother, and that helped me begin the painful journey of heartache—which eventually led to a mature healing.

There were also negative situations which brought more sadness, however I understood God had allowed them and he had a plan.

One friend of ten years left our friendship within months after Joshua died. Was my burden too much for her to bear along with her own life challenges? Probably. At the time, I was hurt and couldn’t make sense of it. What had I done wrong? It took me years to come to terms with this sorrow.

There were people who said well-meaning words of comfort such as, “At least you have your other two children.” Or, “Think of your grandchildren. They need you.” Were they dismissing Joshua from my life? No, I see now they hurt for me and were desperate to help.

One issue caused me to cringe inside and was a bit harder to accept. Often when I mentioned Joshua’s name, my words were often met with what felt like cold silence. My heart would cry, “Please, acknowledge my son. Let’s talk about Joshua.” But in truth, they kept silent for fear of upsetting me further.

The blessing in the negatives? I drew closer to God when I felt misunderstood or when I was disappointed by others. If I knew nothing else, I understood without a doubt God knew my heart.

Along with prayers and scriptures, I memorized and quoted often Philippians 4:8 which says, “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”

This verse gave me solid tidbits of peace in an otherwise chaotic life.

During the summer after Joshua passed, Jim and I needed to get away for a few hours, so we motorcycled to a function for biking enthusiasts at the fairgrounds. There was a food court and booths offering motorcycle trinkets. One booth caught our attention because it was a Christian motorcycle club. The gentleman behind the table began chatting with Jim.

I was browsing the table of pamphlets when I gasped. There were several booklets on suicide loss. I grabbed one and said to the man, “Sir, our son shot himself and died in March.”

The man made eye contact with me and Jim. “I, too, have lost a child the same way,” he said. “Do you know the divorce rate of couples who’ve lost children to suicide?”

We shook our heads no.

“About 99.9 percent.”

Jim and I gazed at each other with wide-eyes and said, “Oh.”

We left the booth … me with the pamphlet in my fist and Jim with a grip on my other hand—clinging tight to each other. This knowledge of marital statistic was a huge blessing because it reminded us of Satan’s dangerous tricks and lies used to divide families experiencing loss. As a couple, we became even more dedicated to walk down this new path shadowed by our son’s death.

In those difficult, early months when Jim and I grieved somewhat differently, the smallest words or situations could hurt the other. And yet, when it counted the most, we learned how to hold each other up and at the perfect moments.

When Jim and I discovered that statistics prove the divorce rate of couples who’ve lost children is a bit over 99 percent, we tried much harder to please each other. I prayed for us by quoting the scripture of the full armor of God found in Ephesians 6:10-18. I believe this scripture prayer is the glue which has held us together as a couple.

For us, the first three years were the most difficult. We had to learn how to live alone without Joshua in our lives. He had never completely left home because of life-long health problems. This sudden and tragic empty nest was almost more than we could bear. However, as we clung to the Lord, we trusted His wisdom to guide us and to help carry our burdens.

My inability to feel God’s love became a point of wretched frustration. I called out countless times, “I may not feel You, Lord, but You will never get rid of me. I need You in my life.” Later, when I thought about my words and how I wrestled with God, I trembled at how bold I must have sounded to Him. Later, I realized that if my heartfelt words had been disrespectful to the Lord, the Holy Spirit would knock on my conscience, and I would confess it as sin.

Over the following years, I became more aware of His care and power in my life. I’m grateful God’s mercies continue today as I travel on the journey of losing a child to suicide.

“Deep calls to deep at the roar of your waterfalls; all your breakers and your waves have gone over me” (Psalm 42:7).

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