We left the courthouse that summer day. Legal papers were signed, statements made under oath, sworn commitments to the Judge. We would care for these two new kids in our home to the very best of our ability. It was legal now. As we went through the steps toward becoming legal guardians, the world didn’t stop and take notice and we wouldn’t have noticed if it had. In contrast to what many view on social media, no one shed a tear or sent us off with any upbeat encouraging words. There was no ceremony with friends; no photographs. We took a lot of deep breaths and we learned how to keep stepping through each day with what seemed like new permanent knots in our stomachs.
With it being only a few months after the loss of my sister and her husband, we had spent much time making the arrangements, traveling from our home to theirs, constantly back and forth. Our family said goodbye to what was home in Central America. It was abrupt, and dangerously painful to every member of our family of 5. No one wanted to leave but everyone knew there was a grave injustice in our family to step into. We arrived in Texas one late night with an idea of where we might stay short term, no home, no cars, and a new job. There was so much to be done. Rest was elusive and our minds were racing to each new decision. It was time for the next thing.
We had entered new positions as guardians for two kids that had lost both their parents in an instant. Our niece, a young adult and in her first year of university would return home for a time living nearby. Our nephews, were still in elementary and high school. Everyone had lost any sense of safety, had no say or control about how life would look going forward. If you can imagine for a minute the disillusionment, anger, and frustration any kid might experience when your life as you know it vanishes. It was all that and more. We were going to have to be resolved in our commitment to them, and do our best not to look back longing for what we had left behind. They would need to learn to trust us. We would again remember what ‘home’ has meant to us. Home is family. The community around us often misunderstand our reality, that our niece and two nephews weren’t the only ones that lost life as they knew it in an instant, but we would certainly be confronted with that reality with the sunrise of each new day. This was a season when loss would scream louder than anything that had been given. Once two families of 5, we were now a much larger grieving family.
My husband and I needed to learn about their needs, and understand their coping skills, as well as find counselors to help us walk out a difficult and bumpy road. Our three biological kids would be a consistent reminder of the loss of our family identity; something that inevitably happens when making room for a new one. For months that lasted more than a year, there was a familiar sound of soft knocking at our door at night, one by one, each kid in tears, aching with loss. Loss of a way of life, family dynamic; loss of the feeling of a safe home; loss of the sacred safety of a close family; loss of parents, loss of an aunt, and the list continues. We gave kisses and hugs and also felt the complete helplessness to ease pain. Only a shared grief, presence and love. Our niece and nephews had lost the most precious of all, a mom and a dad, and everything that goes with that. They kept only a city and a familiarity of friends and scenery, but everything had changed. We were a house pulsating with grief, and moments in each day seemed to bring void stares, disbelief, anger, and over time it felt like any helpful words just ran dry.
And after months of what felt like endless needs, the limits of humanity began to show in our faces, our bodies, and even our emotions and capacities when numbness became a common ‘feeling’. We continued going through motions fulfilling the roles we’d accepted. Most often we were like empty vessels filled only enough for what was needed, and then many days we fell short.
For Jimmy and I bedtimes came and hearts pounded from the anxiety due to the weight of the responsibility. In each moment of each day we only had the simplest of choices to make and these were the ones we made. Do everything as if we are working for God, and do the next right thing. While the temptation was real to let things go, bury our head and give in, with God’s help we chose consistent, authentic work to create an environment for these young people to usher healing, develop character, integrity and hope for better days. And just as much is realized in loss, and we appreciate light because of darkness, there were days we would experience this contrast. We often wanted to medicate with Netflix, avoidance and sleep. And only God remained strong enough to grab our hand and pull us away from those things time and time again. Numbness has a natural drift to it. It makes you believe you’re too weak or too entitled for the constant and grueling work of processing grief while trying to mimic some semblance of a life. Our love for these precious kids, all 6 of them, would fuel our desire to get up, start again, and press on.
Since that day we walked out of the courthouse to our car, we have navigated the ‘foreign land’ of a small town in Texas and even more foreign behaviors we’d never contemplated how to manage or give consequences for. We felt like an island and many days we still do. We welcomed visits by well meaning ‘saviors’ coming to save the day for us that day, or that hour and thank God for them. However, they would have little staying power or ability to grasp the brevity of how stripped away everyone in our home became over time. Jim Branch wrote, “ It is so tempting to try to come and rescue, but rescue is not really possible, or even preferable because something much deeper is going on.”
Most prevalent from the beginning, was how the newness of this “blended” family wasn’t something that anyone actually wanted. It was a step taken toward a tragedy from a place of faith, duty and love. It was not one of certainty. But it was one of Hope. God would have to provide the way and the strength. And He has. What took place in reality was a dismantling of our existing family joining another broken one. It was like trying to put two different halves of a puzzle together to make one. And often it felt impossible. God would still be God and we would still believe He was there. But the silence we endured from the heavens and the nights when hopelessness was the loudest emotion, we felt as if we might go crazy. But each day was new, prayer was still our most powerful tool. Tiny victories would come, and God would be consistently faithful in his intentional way that to us felt painfully slow and drawn out, cutting us straight to the deepest part of our most vulnerable selves.
“Take Courage, it is I. Don’t be afraid.” Swiftly we would see more clearly, and again abandon our distorted thinking, over and over, that fueled our greatest fears. Perspective was found in acknowledging perfect love described in 1 John 4:18.
And now, today, as we approach in just a few months, the 2nd anniversary of our loss this March, we still have no ‘gotcha day’, no happy memories of signing the papers, but rather reminders by the very fact that for us to reside together, an unspeakable sadness occurred. But no amount of darkness can ever win over light. Goodness exists because God exists. Love lives fully in our home and will win, even when what we experience at times points to the contrary. There’s real freedom in risk and great risk in real love. The total defeat, rejection, and humility we will inevitably continue to walk through is just as the apostle Paul talked about. He told us all about our momentary suffering and called it “light” in comparison to what beauty was to come. And it’s that beauty we hold out for. Not a perfect family but one that’s messy, broken, and grace-filled. Not a comfortable, safe existence, but pressing on for a joyful one. It’s something new, still often unrecognizable, impossible to define or limit.
“No one can escape it; everyone must somehow either make friends with suffering or be broken by it.” Jim Branch
Each day, there is only one truth that keeps my heart open and my strength willing. And I know without a doubt that I am not alone, but rather Angels are keeping watch, and that because I know whom I follow, He will continue delivering me far from the sadness, anger, and the lowest places where I feel there are no options but to forfeit totally and let someone else try. He ushers me back every time to his feet in prayer and his cross for grace, and then His Spirit alone renews something in me inexplicably… and I know. I’ve literally got nowhere else to go. At the end of myself I am at the cross. He is our home. A time such as this, and every such time in our life, can be lived for Him, and Him alone. That so much of the valuable work will always be behind closed doors, unknown to any human, but known fully to God. And this allows us to continue calling out the best in all our kids, ourselves, and all that we want in our lives. And I remind myself of the reality of redemption, reconciliation and a wisdom that surpasses our own understanding and continues to be revealed little by little, slowly, but permanently etched in our spirits, and for this we give thanks. Choosing Gratitude one day at a time, over and over. Not only for our family, but for a God that has carried us through each step to boldly do the next right thing in the most difficult of circumstances.
“But if we are willing, the experience of grief can deepen and widen our ability to participate in life. We can become more grateful for the gifts we have been given, more openhanded in our handling of the events of life, more sensitive to the whole mysterious process of life and more trusting in our adventure with God.” The Blue Book – Jim Branch