Norma Sawyers-Kurz - The Grieving Parents Book of Hope: How to Survive the Loss of Your Child

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THE GRIEVING PARENTS BOOK OF HOPE

Copyright 2014 by Norma Sawyers-Kurz

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, microfilming, recording, or otherwise, without permission of the publisher.

Published by Dogwood Publishing, Bolivar, MO

Scripture taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE, Copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. www.Lockman.org

Printed in the United States of America

Publishers Cataloging-in-Publication

(Provided by Quality Books, Inc.)

Sawyers-Kurz, Norma, 1943

The grieving parents book of hope : how to survive the loss of your child / Norma Sawyers-Kurz.

pages cm

Includes bibliographical references and index.

LCCN 2013947140

ISBN 9780963003188 (softcover)

ISBN 9780963003164 (hardcover)

ISBN 9780963003171 (e-book)

1. Grief. 2. Children--Death. 3. Parents-- Psychology. 4. Adjustment (Psychology) I. Title.

BF575.G7S299 2014 155.937085

QBI13-600141

Dedication

T O N EAL , H UNTER, AND L ANDON, MY THREE GRANDSONS, WHO HAVE BEEN A GREAT BLESSING IN MY LIFE

Contents

Introduction

Y ou have lost your child. In your heart you have come to know deepest pain. Your grief has brought emotional suffering that seems beyond your own capacity to survive. Your soul cries out with a sense of despair that feels so overwhelming. You feel incredibly powerless, deeply helpless, and seemingly hopeless.

It may be difficult for you to believe right now, but you can survive this tragedy. I know you can, because I have survived myself what you have experienced: the loss of a child. Here is the personal story of my own struggles after the death of my child.

A H INT OF S ORROW

It was Christmas 1981. A festive mood filled the atmosphere of our modest farm house as my loved ones and I gathered about our glittering Christmas tree surrounded by gaily wrapped presents. My eyes moved to my good-looking son and daughter, sixteen and fifteen, as they happily opened their gifts. I was so proud of them with their strong, young bodies and intelligent minds.

Suddenly, as I watched my children tearing paper from their packages, the air around me became kaleidoscopic with memories dancing merrily about like the tinsel reflections on our glittering tree. My thoughts retreated sixteen years to a Christmas long ago and to a baby boy, soft as silk, snuggled against my breast, his small body bathed in the warm light of our twinkling tree. Time moved onward another year to the gurgle of laughter as the baby boy, now a toddler, hid from me behind a similar Christmas tree while I rocked his newborn baby sister to sleep, her tiny head reposing peacefully upon my shoulder. Year by year, the remembrances passed in memorys eye. Two little tots with stars in their eyes opened presents on early Christmas morns. Squeals of delight were heard as velvety stuffed animals and brightly-colored pull toys were clutched to their small chests. As the years flashed by, a parade of dolls, trains, trucks, and games marched before my recollection until suddenly the small tykes had changed to splendid teenagers.

Abruptly returning to the present, I felt a familiar surge of gratefulness for my wonderful family. In bygone days I had often felt a wonder that I had been blessed with my beautiful children. Now, once again, my gaze fell upon my beloved son David, his fawn-colored hair shining in the luminous glow of the tree, and upon my daughter Karen, her light hair catching the nuance of colors from the flickering bulbs. I could hardly believe my good fortune.

We were carefree that Christmas Day in 1981, not realizing that soon our circumstances would change. The next week passed normally until one cold evening when we all sat gathered around our television. It was a tradition at our home to watch football during the holiday season, and this winter was no exception. Family members had been continually engrossed that week in watching the sport, but Karen and I were bored.

Turning to me, she sighed, Mom, do you want to go into the bedroom and read to one another while they watch football?

I replied, Thats an excellent idea.

From the time my son and daughter were small, they had always enjoyed having me read to them. Reading was the source of many of our best times. Over the years I had read story after story to my children, but now we had graduated to reading to each other.

Gathering up several issues of Readers Digest, my daughter and I snuggled under the covers to read to one another. After reading several articles, we came to a story which touched our hearts deeply. We were both so overcome with emotion that we had to take turns reading.

At the time we had no way of knowing that the narrative we had just read would indirectly affect our lives forever. The written account was not only a hint of sorrow which would soon enter our lives, but also an instrument which God would later use in a remarkable way to change my entire life.

T RAGEDY

March 4, 1982, the day before my daughters tragic accident, is etched in my mind forever. I have relived that day and those following it a thousand times.

Although usually an outgoing person, there were times when Karen could be introverted. Both aspects of her personality were evident the day before her accident. On that afternoon Karen was particularly quiet. She came in after school, pulled up a stool, and watched television while I finished my work. My daughter seemed to have something on her mind. Later that evening the outgoing aspect of her personality was evident as she and her brother wrestled around playing horse after supper.

Karen always had a good sense of humor. That night as I was doing dishes, I asked her to come dry them for me. She replied, Oh, Mom, I cant. Ive got a broken leg! Then she hopped into the kitchen on one leg as if the other were broken.

After my family went to bed that Thursday night, I thumbed through a seed catalog forming plans for planting a garden later in the spring. Plans were also running through my mind concerning a spring house-cleaning project for the weekend. I had no idea that my happy plans would soon change.

Tragedy struck on Friday, March 5, 1982. Finishing with my last customer at my beauty salon, I glanced up at the clock to notice it was 3:05 p.m. The busy week was almost over, and my attitude was cheerful as I contemplated the weekend. As I was handing change to the customer, a young high school boy came running into the shop flinging his arms around aimlessly.

I wondered, What is wrong with that boy? He was so overcome with emotion he was speechless, but finally regained his composure sufficiently to tell me Karen had been involved in an accident. Immediately, my husband at the time (David and Karens dad), and I started sprinting toward the scene of the accident one block away. As I ran, I reasoned that the boys urgency was undue alarm. I told myself repeatedly that the accident was probably a minor mishap; surely it was nothing serious.

When we arrived at the scene, someone tried to restrain me, but I pulled away; I had to see about my daughter. Horrified, I saw her lying unconscious on the street, her eyes fixed and staring. People familiar with first aid were administering CPR and doing everything they could to keep her alive.