the annual recurrence of a date marking a notable event;broadly :  a date that follows such an event by a specified period of time measured in units other than years (Webster Dictionary)

Today marks an anniversary for my family.  My step-sister, Tiffany, lost her son one year ago today.  He was 21.  He had three brothers, a Dad, a step-Dad and Mom, grandparents, cousins, Uncles, Aunts, friends, coaches, co-workers, and a deeply loved young lady in his life he affectionately called "the love of his life".  For a year, they've all walked a journey toward today.

A notable event, to be true.  A life taken too young, too soon, too tragically due to poor choices.  We don't fault the one who made the choice.  Instead we grieve the action that took his life.

According to Webster, the date that follows an event is measured in units.  I wonder what units his Momma measured this past year?  What do you call the "units" that measured the times she thought about her man-son when he was little and would climb into her bed ... whispering in the darkness "I love you to the moon and back!"?  What does his DaBaw call the "units" that measured the times she cried over seeing something related to China that reminded her of the bright future her grandson aspired to achieve?  What do you call the "units" that measured the dreams his brothers may have had in which they were reunited with their eldest sibling?  Everyone touched by the ripple effect of having known Stuart, despite the deepness of the relationship, all took stock of his life and measured it by some sort of "unit".

This morning, as I sat in my chair, sipping my coffee, and talking to my Father ... I'm reminded of how He sees "units".  According to the Bible, time is measured in years ... 1,000 of them in heaven being as 1 on earth.  Believing by his own admission that Stu knew God through His Son, Jesus Christ, I have an anchor of truth that tells me Stu is measuring "units" of time far differently than we are who are "celebrating" this first anniversary.

I have no idea, other than what the Bible tells us, what Heaven will be like.  I know that Jesus will be there ... and that's all I need to know.  Where Jesus is ... it's got to be OK.  Stu may be in a cozy bed, sleeping off his "earth" gig with a cup of Chinese tea waiting for him by his bedside.

In the mean time, I guess what I want to communicate to the rest of us living out our days in earth time and in "units" that are vastly different from person to person ... where Jesus is ... it's going to be OK!  God's Spirit is the only thing that could have eased broken hearts, troubled minds, and addicted bodies during this last year.  Anything good and perfect and right and true came only from the hand of God ... loving all of us and comforting each heart in a personal way.  That's what God does.

Whatever journey you are on ... and by whatever way you measure "units" of time ... know how very much God loves you.  It's a basic fact.  It's an extravagant love to be treasured.  He is always there ... and I think Stu would tell you the same from his new perspective.



measure well your "units",
christina

After writing three blogs about our nephew's death, it seemed enough.  Not necessarily enough for me, but enough for everyone else.  We grieve, but don't want to go too far, be too sad too long, be seen as emotionally stuck.  What a joke.  How do you move on quickly?  How does a young girlfriend shut her heart off and cancel dreams of a future with the love of her life?  How does a Momma resume normal when she feels like a part of her is missing.  I want to write more ... about Stuart, about loss, about grief.

In a recent Facebook post, Stuarts' Momma wrote the following:

This sweet sweet young man. My heart is filled with grief. No mother should ever have to bury her child. ... My life will never be the same and I believe the world won't either. He had big plans. Plans to change the relationship between the US and China, plans to affect the treasury, plans to create an even better military response than currently in effect. There was so much he wanted to accomplish. He had very big dreams. I believe once he settled on his hearts desire he would have worked tirelessly to make it happen. Stuart Spencer was an old soul with incredible intuition in a very young mans body. Lost from this world way too soon. I love you Bubb. To the moon and back a "gabillion" times.

Heartbreaking, isn't it?  I ran across a great article on mourning (http://www.cancer.org/treatment/treatmentsandsideeffects/emotionalsideeffects/griefandloss/coping-with-the-loss-of-a-loved-one-intro-to-grief-mourning-bereavement).  If offers good information and a healthy response to how long this process can/should last.

The truth is those who mourn are expected to resume "normal" as soon as possible.  Bills must be paid.  Clothes thrown into the dryer.  Cars filled up with gas.  Death certificates ordered.  Job responsibilities carried out.  All the while ... mourning.

Be gentle with those who mourn.  Notice the sadness in their eyes, that tone in their voice, that slower response to your jokes.  They are hurting.  They are souls in need of comfort living in busy bodies that must perform.  Hold them longer when you say goodbye.  Call them more often to just say hello.  Text them "I love you's".  And if you are a person of faith, pray.  Pray for them to mourn and find comfort in Jesus, alone.

Mourning blurs senses.  Mourning desires answers.  Mourning can bring quilt, loss of sleep, and dependency on things that don't make sense.  Pray.  Pray that through the hurt - the loss - the believe that this is too incredible to walk through - they will find healing, regain life, and they will walk through.  It is my belief that this is only possible through the guidance and love of God.  God, a Father who knows the loss of a dear son.  God, a Father who cares so tenderly for us, His children, that He carries our grieve.  Pray they know this love too great to write about - to vast to describe - too tender to imagine.  It can only be experienced.  Pray for those who mourn to experience it.

Dear Friends of Stuart,


I know most of you are young, vibrant, brave, feel invincible, unstoppable and eternal.  You are supposed to be experiencing this.  It's your trademark.

However, don't think yourself  immune to tragedy, accidents or incapable of bad mistakes.  Let Stuart be an example.  His young, vibrant, brave, invincible, unstoppable and eternal life on planet earth ended just over a week ago.  He would want you to learn from his mistake.  He would want you to be even braver and just say no.

What I would want you to know, as a responder to his death, is the path he left behind.  I am relatively removed from the intense grief that his parents and immediate family are going and will go through.  I knew Stuart only from afar.  The last time I saw him was 6 years ago.  Despite hearing about him, my daily life didn't intersect with his ... like yours did.  Yet, I have been ... my family has been ... my friends have been profoundly affected by his death.  Should you choose to make the same choice, here's what you may not know:

• People far removed from you, people who don't even know you, but find out about your accidental death will mourn because they know and love someone you know.  It will be on their minds.  It will make them hug their own kids, nephews and nieces and whisper prayers in young ears that they don't make the choices you did.
• There will be a sense of sadness and/or depression that lingers throughout the days that follow your death.  It will grip those who didn't know you well at the oddest times.  It will cause them to question their own ability to make sense of the world.  It will cause them to doubt the goodness of God.  It will cause them to see the dark side of life.
• Others will dream about you ... and your Momma ... and wake up and cry.  They will wonder what you were thinking.  They will wonder why you didn't see the danger of what you were doing.  They may even be mad at your choices, but not for long.  They will wish they could have had a heart-to-heart conversation with you and shed some light into your decisions.
• At your funeral, others will cry for you and cry for the hurt they see in those who knew you better.  When they see your Momma, your Dad, your Grandparents cry and see the pain in their eyes that hangs there like deep pools that may never run dry ... they will cry all the harder.
• They will have conversations with their children, who feel that a young life was taken too early, and they will have questions that will never be able to be answered.  They will feel helpless.

Again, dear friends of Stuart, consider these things.  Your life is bigger than you think.  Your life is touching a far bigger spectrum than you may know.  Your life matters.  Your life counts for something.  Your life ... it's just beginning.  At this point, you have so much more to do, to say, to become, to invent and to reinvent.  At this point, there is nothing too big that can not be undone or  nothing too small that can not be grown.  You are unique.  You have been designed for a purpose that only YOU can fulfill.

Hold on young friends.  Your life matters.  Your life matters because someone, bigger, wiser and perfect, created you.  God.  God loves you.  God knit every part of your gorgeous body to do good things.  Look past church, look past t.v. portrayals of religion, and look past tradition.  There is a God who chose you to be a force to be reckoned with in this universe.  He has such a beautiful and effective plan for your life ... and He desires that you know it ... and live it.  It's no secret.  He wants you to know it ... and to know Him.  Search for it, friends.  You will find it.

Signed,
one deeply affected by the young life of Stuart Spencer

Yesterday we attended the funeral of our nephew, Stuart.  Today we wake up feeling weird.  I guess if we woke up feeling "normal" there would be cause for worry.

So many thoughts roam this vast wilderness that is called my mind.  I keep coming back to one word that surfaces:  through.  This loss, any loss, must be walked ... through.

Yesterday the words of one called a pastor comforted the family with a visual of grief, this grief, being like carrying a backpack.  Right now, the backpack feels like it's too heavy to carry.  Yet, carry it she must, this Momma who lost her son.  Carry it he must, this Daddy who found the body.  Carry it they must, grandparents who felt they could have done more.  Carry it he must, this brother who now steps into the role of first-born.  Carry it she must, this Aunt who heard her name mispronounced by her departed nephew as a toddler.  This grief must be carried ... it must be gone ... through.

Stuart's death was an accidental death due to an overdose.  His parents made this statement clear to the mostly young audience that gathered yesterday to say goodbye to their friend.  He made a poor decision.  If their warning is headed, they feel Stuarts death counted for something.  Noble and heart-breaking all at the same time.

Now, as "weird" hits all of those involved, the going "through" has begun.  Some may get stuck. Unforgiveness, questions, anger, denial may keep them in deep waters, allowing them to feel the weight of this invisible backpack of grief.  Some may want to run.  Running may feel good, but in the end it only makes you tired.  Going through is slow and necessary each step by painful step.

Being a follower of Jesus doesn't make one immune from pain.  Loss is loss to any human.  However, it gives me tools to walk - through.  This morning with a headache from tears and a heavy heart from thoughts of my step-sister, Tiffany, I open  my book, the book that keeps me grounded and I read the following:

When you go through deep waters, I will be with you.  When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown.  When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.

God's desire for me, in great loss, is to feel the weight of that backpack and ... walk ... through.  Not to get stuck.  Not running to ignore the pain.  Not alone.  I - walk - through - with - God.  I walk through, honestly, and I walk with someone who knows me and the pain and will guide me to the other side.  He's big enough to handle my fear, my doubt, my anger, my questions, all of it as I step-by-step walk through.  He's even big enough to carry me ... through ... when I can't find the energy to walk on my own.  He is there.

The great mystery is not the absence of being in the middle of deep waters, rivers of difficulty or in fires of oppression.  That's a given in this life. However, in the middle of the junk ... He goes through with me.  He is big enough to erase the obstacle.  Yet, if all were erased, I may never experience the nearness of One so great, so loving, so near that walks with me through when the pain feels too deep, too hard, too permanent.

My hope ... for Tiffany, for all who grieve for Stuart, is that in the walking through, we feel the nearness of God.  He is there.  He's walking us all ... through.

My Mom died in 1996.  Two years later, my Dad married my other "Mom", JoAnn.  My family grew to include two sisters, Tiffany and Whitney and has since expanded to many nephews and one niece.  

One of those dear nephews, Stuart, passed away this past Thursday.  He was 21 years old.  He had just celebrated his birthday October 17th.

Stuart with his Aunt Whitney.  He's the one who "named" her Aunt Wee Wee.

Stuart doing what he did well, wrestling!