Death is not Victorious

So the story behind my story. I didn’t tell the judge, but I will tell you guys. The day I got my ticket was my saddest day on-call at the ICU. I didn’t even really know how to write about it, it made my head spin. Instead, I stopped writing about my time as a chaplain at the hospital all together- not a good thing, but my coping mechanism. Recently, we went out to a great dinner at Quinn’s Pub (highly recommended!!) with our wonderful friend Jodi, who is a therapist. She made me consider illuminating this to get closure on that piece. So here is what I wrote about that day and why my head was elsewhere when I was pulled over:

What is it about when young people die that impacts me more than when older people do? My heart reels- it seems like such tragedy when young lives are lost. This past week I’ve spent time with the family of a 20-year old WWU student. He just thought he had a cold. A COLD!?!? People get those all the time, why would you think twice about it? But then it morphed into pneumonia, and before he asked his buddies for help, it became too late. What is it about our pride that gets in the way of asking for help?

By the time he made it to the hospital, his organs had started shutting down. He looked healthy and handsome, like your average vibrant student… but the inside of him was slowly dying. And what makes me so upset is that it could have been prevented! The value of community is another blog to be written, but augh!!! To see machines keeping him alive was devastating to his friends. They wept at the sight of him; and there’s something about strong, young males weeping that stirred me.
(segue: I’ve only seen my brother cry out of sorrow one time, and it was also at the death of a friend. Why does our culture say it isn’t okay for men to cry? That is ridiculous, because the squelched sorrow usually turns into anger or depression. I am all for free-flowing tears, get the emotion out people!)

By the time Chris’ parents disconnected life-support, 20 people had gathered into their son’s room. People were coping very differently, pacing up and down the hall, wailing and shaking, or frozen numb. His sister’s eyes were flashing with anger and she berated her parents for not matching her level of emotion. Melody, I will never forget her. Her parents are Christians, and although devastated at the loss of their youngest son, they also had a “peace that passes understanding.” Death is not victorious in their mind and while they will miss him like crazy, at least in the hospital, they seemed to have perspective that was a consolation. Melody, on the other hand, doesn’t share their faith, and had nothing to root her, so her powerful emotions were blowing her around with hurricane force.

I tried my best to be strong for her and for them, as well as all of Chris’s friends as they grieved in their varied ways. In all of my time at the hospital, I have never cried with a patient. Some times I would cry on my way home, or later in a day that something powerful happened. But not that day, I had barely stumbled back to my office when I couldn’t hold my sorrow back any longer. That feeling of helplessness just sucks. I imagine that’s something I’ll encounter a lot in parenthood too, people need to go through what they need to go through to grieve, learn, and heal, and there’s nothing you can do to rescue them- it would actually be dangerous and unhealthy to do so.

I hold on to the promise of Jesus’ resurrection, that in the end all things will be made new, and that death does not get the last word. But that only helps so much when you’re watching people writhe in pain. There’s no neat and tidy way to end this blog- it is what it is; and it took me 3 months to even say this much, so I’ll leave it at that. But I will say go hug someone, be intentional with those you love and for God’s sake, TELL someone if you’re not feeling well!