Wednesday I found myself in the local emergency room. My temperature was 104 and my heart rate was 124. It was obvious my body was in pain and fighting something bad. I thought I had passed all of the kidney stones throughout the past week, yet something was still wrong. I remember walking into the ER holding on to my husband. My best friend and her husband along with our youngest two children were in the waiting room. I do not recall leaving though. I don’t know if our children were with us or if our friends had taken them home. I had no clue what time it was. I had been given some serious pain medicines and don’t even remember going to bed. I am certain that my husband helped me through all that.

The evening before, Tuesday, I had spoken with my mother-in-law (MIL) for over an hour. I was encouraging her to hire a full-time nurse to help with the care of my father-in-law. He had been quite sick for months and was now at home receiving care there. I knew she was over-whelmed and it was the only thing I could think of to help her through the difficult task of caring for him. I reassured her that we would talk each night to plan a short “to do” list for her for the following day.

Thursday, after the ER visit, started off as normal as possible. I was still in a lot of pain and feverish, but went about the morning routine. Breakfast had been served and as I helped my son with phonics, my husband was helping our daughter navigate multiplying fractions.

Then the phone rang. It was my MIL, who I call Mom. I was surprised that she was calling so early as we had agreed that we would talk each night. I answered in a cheery tone, “Good morning, Mom!”. There was a pause. In reality it was probably only a second or two, but it seemed ominously longer. My mind began to reel before she said a word. She only managed to get two words out, “He’s gone.”  My heart sank and my knees grew weak as I began to speak. She could only cry. Yet, through her tears and sobs, I encouraged her to let it all out and feel however she felt.

My husband saw the look on my face and he knew. I handed the phone over to him and then went to pray. There is really nothing else I could do. I collected myself and tried to be as “normal” as possible with my children and their school work.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart”.…I hear it in the well of my soul whispering to my heart as if from some distant, safe place.

My husband went about the heartbreaking task of calling his three sisters and our three older children. I grabbed his suitcase and started packing him up. I knew he would leave as soon as all the necessary calls were made. I tasked myself with getting him a rental car, packing him a cooler full of food and drinks, texted for people to get a prayer chain going, and kept myself busy until it was the dreaded time to tell our youngest two.

There are only 6 and 10-years old. I knew this would be hard. This was their first loss and Grandpa Harley is their larger-than-life Harley-riding hero. I can still see them sitting on the couch looking so little and frail not knowing why Mommy and Daddy have tear-stained eyes. I can’t recall the exact verbiage my husband used, but I remember with too much clarity their instant reaction. Our daughter (10) collapsed into my arms as tears instantly overflowed from her heart and exploded through her eyes. Her anguished cries are still echoing in my mind and heart. Our son (6) clung to his daddy not sure of his emotions. He did look up at one point, held his hand to his throat and said, “My throat hurts because the tears are stuck.”

My heart ached and I wondered how we would be able to help them through the days, weeks, and months to come. How would they react the first time we travel back to Tennessee to visit only Grandma? I tried to recall how old I was when I lost the grandparents who meant the world to me. Much older than them.

Earlier I had called their youth pastors asking if they could stop by. We wanted our children to know that they had people to talk to if they couldn’t find the words with us. Mark was packed, we had picked up the rental car, and he was ready to leave. He left while the children played, laughed, and cried with their pastors. Somehow, it made it easier that way.

We went through the rest of our day pretty numb and I simply loved on them. They cried a lot and when those tears ran out, they found other tears. Tears when they bumped their toe. Tears because we didn’t have any bananas left. I understood it was their body’s way of releasing the hurt even if they didn’t fully understand it.  Matthew 5:4 “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” (NIV) continued to run through my mind and heart. I knew the comfort would come in the most unlikely of ways and so I waited for it, anticipated it, and needed it.

I didn’t sleep but an hour that first night. Mark didn’t arrive at his mom’s house until a little after 1:00 AM. I knew I wouldn’t sleep until I knew he was safely there and yet, sleep still evaded me. I played through the last few visits we had with Grandpa Harley. I remembered the last words I spoke to him while he was still in the hospital. I remembered his request that I sing an old Hank Williams song. I remember the promise I made to him. I remembered his last, “I love you, Baby Girl.” I didn’t want to remember him lying helpless in that hospital bed so my mind meandered to the last motorcycle ride he took me on. I recorded it and I will treasure it. It will help me through.

The next day, Friday, I took the kids to the local Harley Davidson shop. We picked out new shirts to wear to church Sunday in honor of Grandpa Harley. We walked around all the bikes and chose which ones we thought Grandpa would like. My fingers slipped across the shiny gas tanks and leather seats trying to remember the smell of Grandpa’s garage where all his Harleys were. We found a Christmas ornament with an eagle and the Harley emblem on it. We hung it on a picture of Grandpa gracing the “family wall” of our home. We talked a lot about everything we could remember about Grandpa.

Friday evening I was still not feeling well, but ignored it. The children’s youth pastors picked them up for a night of fun at their home. It gave me time to rest, grieve, and talk to my husband for hours. I knew he was hurting just as much as we were and it seemed weird to be apart at such a time. We are better together and it just “wasn’t right” to be apart. We cried a little, but mostly we encouraged each other. He was busy helping his mom with all the arrangements and I was trying to keep our children on task with school as to not get too far behind and yet allow them to mourn their loss in their own ways.

Little did we know what Saturday had in store for our already fragile minds and bodies. Early Saturday morning, I had called the same Harley store that we had visited the day before. I had a strange request and yet they were so willing to help me with it. Grandpa Harley didn’t want a funeral and a Celebration of Life was not on the immediate horizon. I had asked if a group of riders could do a 21-Harley salute so the children had a form of saying good-bye and maybe a little closure. I was told to expect a call. So, when the phone rang an hour later, I was excited to answer.

That excitement quickly changed to serious concern. The hospital ER called to inform me that one of my cultures had come back positive and I needed to return ASAP. What? Why? I couldn’t begin to process. I called my friend, who happens to work at the hospital. “We are 5 minutes from your house, we will be right there.” My brain could not think. She seemed worried. She talked me through getting overnight bags ready for the kids. Why did they need overnight bags? My mind couldn’t synapse quick enough. I packed their bags, called their youth pastors once again, and tried to appear calm. I grabbed my purse and my friend took me back to the ER while her husband stayed with the kids.

Again, I hear the whisper…”Lean not on your own understanding.” I was not really understanding much, so this whisper was easier to nestle into my heart.

I called my husband and told him what was going on. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want him to worry. I didn’t want one more stress on his plate. He was trying to keep me calm and yet 30 minutes later it would be me calming his spirit. We were helping each other through from 740 miles away. I was admitted to the hospital.

What? I can’t be admitted. My husband is a couple states away. I have two small children to care for. I wanted to run out of there and find it was all a bad dream. As they wheeled me to my room, with friends by my side, a peace came over me. Don’t ask me to explain it, it is not explainable on this earth. Philippians 4:7 states, “And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (NIV) Mark would head back south against my begging that he rest first.

“Acknowledge Him in all your ways…” This Proverb was taking on a life of its own in the secret places of my soul.

His trip home landed him in the “wrong place at the right time”. The horrific event that he would find himself in the middle of torments his mind and heart.  But, he was finally safely by my side and I was able to sleep for the first time in days. He wouldn’t be afforded that luxury quite yet.

I was in the hospital for 3 days. Monday evening, just 5 days after that ER visit, 4 days after losing a loved one and facing other tragedies, our family was home together. We are exhausted and I am not sure how any of us are even functioning.

When events like this happen we want out. We want out of the pain. We want out of the storm raging all around us. The only way out is through. We must walk through it. We can’t stay there, it will eat us alive within the battlefield of our minds. Psalm 23:4 “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” (NIV) There is no circumventing life’s storms. We never have to walk through them alone. Some walks take longer than others. We will walk through this storm as husband and wife, as a family, as a church, and as the children of a loving and gracious God.

“He shall direct your paths.” Our family would never have chosen THIS path. We wouldn’t have chosen the difficult moments; the loss, the fear, the panic, the feelings of failure, none of those paths were our choice. Those paths were just life happening around us at warp speed. The people we met and helped, the young man who “received because I believed”, the woman who now thought of herself as God’s princess daughter, the family reaching out in their own loss, and so much more…THOSE were the paths of the LORD.

There is almost always a rainbow, some sort of comfort, after the storm. Ours came today, one week after the passing of Grandpa Harley. Welcome to the world baby Aidyn, you little fire and our 8th grandchild.

Start a fire in my soul
Fan the flame and make it grow
So there’s no doubt or denying
Let it burn so brightly
That everyone around can see
That it’s You, that it’s You that we need
Start a fire in me
–Unspoken, Start a Fire