Sara
The morning of Shea's funeral I sat outside on the porch, thinking about what today would be like. Lindsey and I had decided not to speak at her funeral, so we wanted to write to her- tell her the things we didn't think we could stand in front of others and say. I wanted to write her a letter, but where would I begin? How do I sum up our lives together in one letter? As I sat out there, mostly crying- still so in shock of what I was actually doing. It was hard to believe that this day was even happening, let alone, trying to tell Shea goodbye. Most of this letter was me trying to tell her how much I loved her, how much we all loved her and how she impacted our lives. I told her ways I looked up to her and how I would try really hard to follow in her example. I talked to her about some of my favorite memories- random dinners, special days, vacations, or conversations we had, that I will hold onto. I told her about my feelings and shock- how she was supposed to be cancer free... she was supposed to be here. I wrote about what it may be like for her in heaven and what it was like for us, still here on earth without her. After writing for a while, I felt like I had gotten what I needed out at that time. Still today, there are things I think about and write them down in my journal. Memories I don't want to forget about us, things she said or maybe something I found that reminded me of her. I want my children to be able to read these memories later on, so they can know more about her too. I rolled up the letter, tied a small string around it, and tucked it away in my bag to bring with me to the church.
When we got to the church, Lindsey and I tried to move around the flowers and help set up for today. The people from the funeral home were so sweet to let us place an arrangement here or there- I think they could tell we just needed something to do. I went over to see Shea- for some reason I felt like this was a "big day" for her, but now I realize her day had already come. She was already there. This day, this service and burial was just a way for us to "celebrate her life" and the ways God was showing us he had her, to comfort each other, to mourn her and say our goodbyes. She was already perfectly happy, perfectly at peace, perfectly healed and loved.
I walked over to Shea...to give her my letter. Her sweet hands were laying crossed over one another. As gently as I could, I pulled her hands apart so that I could slide the letter inside them. A few minutes later, the rest of the family arrived. Kinsley and Mack were there too, I wanted them to be able to say one last goodbye to their Shea Shea before the visitation and service started. Chad and I held the kids up to the casket, to kiss her. We listened to them tell her how much they loved her. How much they already missed their Shea Shea.
Today’s visitation was in another room from the day before, a smaller chapel so that people would be able to take their seats in the larger sanctuary for her service. This room was much more intimate and quiet. No music from her slideshow was playing. You could hear everything from someone crying to the sound of people hugging. After going through the line, some people would stay and sit with us in this room, others went into the larger room to watch pictures of Shea scroll through. I don’t know if it was just the smaller room, being able to really see everyone’s faces, hear everyone’s heartache, but that day was different. I really don’t even know how to explain it- just seemed so much more real, so intense and heavy.
Lindsey
On the second day of visitation towards the end the motions of the day started to change and it began to get real...that's when it started hitting me, all this time people come hug you, talk to you, then they leave but it was different now...people were staying after they talked to us, they were standing around and it was getting so full. I felt so many eyes on us and it made me want to crawl in a hole. People weren't leaving anymore, it was almost time for the funeral so they were waiting for it to begin. There in the line with people I knew and people I didn't know... I completely lost it. I was so focused on why everyone was just hanging around. At that moment there in the line is when I feel like it was starting to hit me, what we were actually doing. The funeral was about to begin and that meant this would all be over, that meant Shea would be buried in the ground. That meant us running around town planning everything was going to stop. What would we do now to keep us from thinking? I was scared for this part to end because then our life without her would begin, that's when all this would actually have to become our reality.
It was time for the funeral to start but the line was still so long for people to talk to us. The director wanted us to walk through it to make it go quicker so we could start the funeral, but I was done! I felt completely broken, mad, sad, done with talking to people, done with the "show". ...it reminded me of the feeling I got in the hospital, not wanting visitors, just wanting to be alone with her and family. I felt it all over again like i just wanted everyone to leave and for it to just be family. I selfishly left the line, I was crying so hard and I remember telling Cody and Cindy I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was going to faint. I was panicking trying to catch my breath. It was getting too real and I didn't want to talk to anyone else, my family went ahead walking through the line and Mrs. Cindy sat me down and instantly started praying over me. She prayed with me and asked me to repeat after her. I didn't even know what I was praying at the time, but since then I have recited it probably a hundred times. The enemy was trying to get control of me and it was definitely working, just like how it happened my first night at home after she passed. It was overtaking me so much I literally couldn't breathe and I was shaking. Cindy and I prayed and spoke Jesus's name over the emotions I was feeling that were not from God. I took deep breaths while she thanked God for filling me with His peace. Slowly I felt the weight start to come off of me and I began to feel His calm again. With God I was able to gain control of myself again.
“In Jesus name I pray that the spirit of anxiety will leave me now and I command it to go in Jesus name, in Jesus name I pray that the spirit of grief will leave me now and I command it to go in Jesus name, in Jesus name I pray that the spirit of fear will leave me now and I command it to go in Jesus name. God please fill me with your perfect peace and overwhelming calm and allow me to feel your presence come over me. God please help me to keep my eyes on you only. In Jesus name I pray, Amen. ”
Sara
It was getting close to time to start the service. The director came to tell us that we would have to walk down the line in order to start everything on time. As I started to walk by each person, one by one I felt so much anxiety about what was about to happen. I went down the aisle, hugging and shaking hands. Listening to them tell me how much they loved Shea and cared for her. I nodded and agreed- feeling like I was in some sort of fog. The end of the line was out in the foyer, I could see into the sanctuary that her service would be held in. There was so many people. It was becoming so real. I could see pictures of her flashing up on the screen, pictures of some of her happiest times. I wanted that back so badly- I wanted to see her smile again and hold her baby again. How was this even happening?
The director motioned just the family back into the chapel, to say our last goodbyes. These last moments are so precious- our last time to look at her body, to be "with" her. Each of us took turns going up to her casket to see her once more. After several quiet moments, the director said it was time. This was it. We all made our way to the foyer area. They rolled Shea’s casket in front of us and we followed her down the aisle to the front of the church. As we took each step behind her- making our way to our seats, I couldn’t bare to look up. I just thought I might lose it if I saw someone else crying, if I saw their eyes- so I just stared at the ground, never once looking around to see who was there, or how many people came to grieve her. We finally made it to the front pew. Each of us had a program for her service, her “celebration of life” waiting for us. It just didn’t feel much like a celebration at all. As we sat there, I couldn’t help but think is this real? Is this really my sister’s funeral? I just couldn’t believe it was happening. As the service began, we had a video made with clips from home videos and her wedding video. It began with her voice as a young girl- I couldn’t imagine how hard that was for mom and dad to hear, their baby girl's voice, their sweet pea. What we wouldn't do to hear her voice one more time. It ended with her as a little girl again, saying “I’ll see you later, I’m going to California,” as all three of us walked down the gravel driveway together. I thought about that- “I’ll see you later”... yes.. okay.. I will see you again.. I will see you again.
Lindsey
The funeral felt almost like a horrible wedding day to me...as I walked down the center aisle in the church it was that same feeling of eyes like on my wedding day, but this time you don't want them, no one wants to be "that family". I remember tucking my head into Cody's shoulder and watching my family ahead of me hold there head down as they walked in, it's like a walk of shame that no one wants to do. It was a numb feeling, I don't remember many words that were said through the service.. just my family's faces. I remember looking down at mom and dad and at my cousins to the left of us. I saw faces of depression, shock, and anger. I couldn't believe it was happening and I couldn't believe we were just sitting there watching it go by. I wanted someone to be reached, someone to give their life to God. I wanted something good to come out of this, that's what Shea would have wanted. I knew what was planned, the beautiful music specifically wrote for Shea, the video that captured her personality and love for her life and I knew what Mrs Cindy was going to preach would really open everyone's eyes and make them think about how amazing our God really is. We wanted it to touch and impact people but I personally just felt numbness.
I remember them playing the very last song, we planned this whole thing out so we knew when we heard that song that it was over...just like that, it's done. As we walked out I didn't dare make eye contact with anyone because I knew what kind of look I would see and it scared me. I would see someone look at us with pity and sadness and I knew no one in that room wanted to be us in that moment..it's a shameful feeling. I tucked my head down and walked out. Once we got outside I hugged my dad for so long, I could tell it was building up inside him and he didn't know what to do. I squeezed him tight and didn't let go and after a little bit he bursted, I felt his body shake and I felt his head rest heavy on my shoulder as he cried. I will never forget that moment.
Sara
After the funeral service ended- we walked to our cars to follow the hearse out to the farm to bury Shea. As we were waiting, everyone who exited through the side door of the church walked past us. I watched each person pass by. Some would nod their head and tell me how sorry they were, some were so shaken and upset that they just locked eyes with me, some held their heads down in their own grief. I could tell the people that were in that church shared this heartache and shock with us, we were not alone.
As we pulled up to the farm, each car parked one by one in the field. Each family member took their seat beneath the tent, under the large hickory tree. It was quiet- you could hear each car door shutting as more and more people arrived to join us at her grave. I felt like all my tears were gone- I had nothing left. I listened to the words spoken about the importance of this burial place, beneath the hickory tree on the farm. As they began singing the song, Good Good Father- my heart was breaking… I so desperately wanted to feel and believe that God was good- that something good would come out of this, but sitting there- looking at her casket getting ready to go down into the earth- it was so hard to feel that way. I felt so empty. After we finished her graveside service and prayer, we watched as the men prepared her casket for its burial. This is the part that I think is the hardest- watching the dirt cover her. Thinking about her being so many feet below the ground- the claustrophobic part of me couldn’t stand the thought of her being closed in like that. We walked closer to her, as some of the men in our family began taking turns shoveling the dirt onto her. Kinsley and Mack threw in flowers and stood with us we as just stared. At one point, Lindsey and I held onto one another as we watched our big sister be buried… what would life be like without her- how were we all going to get through tomorrow or the next few days... with nothing else to plan, nothing else to organize or think about.. It’s done.. It’s all over.
I stayed down by her grave and waited to come up to our home. Inside, several ladies from our church had prepared a meal for all of our family and friends. The house was full of so many people who loved us and cared for us. There were flowers and cards, crosses and statues everywhere- the smell reminded me of the church or a floral shoppe. As the night went on, one by one people started to say their goodbyes and head home. The house began to get quieter and quieter. I finally took off my shoes and laid my head down on the kitchen table. I was emotionally and physically just drained.
Lindsey
For the first month or two after she passed the best word to describe my feelings is NUMB! Completely numb to everything ... you could have literally told me anything (your house is burnt to the ground, you have cancer too, you lost your job) and it wouldn't have even made me think twice. I didn't care about anything and I wasn't present at all. You could have taken away everything I owned and every person I loved and it wouldn't have surprised me. I wasn't naive any more. I knew that bad things do happen and even to the very best of people. Everything reminded me of her and about every other word people said only made me think of Shea ...cancer, death, photo, baby, sister, daughter, wedding ...the list goes on and on. I have a lifetime of things, places and words that make me think of her. I couldn't focus on a normal conversation because she was on my mind 24/7. I was nervous to go back to work after only taking 2 weeks off, I was scared I would cry all day. I have a job where I have to talk about it, it would be very odd to sit with a client whom I have probably grown close to after doing their hair for so long and not talk about my sisters passing. Each client was different, some wanted to talk about it and console me, some tried their best to talk about anything else, and some stayed quiet..I think they didn't know what to say either. I felt bad because I knew it had to be awkward for them. Sometimes I would cry silently while doing their hair, they had no idea as long as I turned them away from me. Other times I could cry quickly in the backroom in between clients. For the first 2-3 weeks I called Cody every single day bawling and telling him I couldn't handle it and I wanted to go home, it was so hard to try to hold it in all day long. By the time I would head home at the end of the day I would burst as soon as the car door shut, I would cry the whole way home and then again when I laid down to go to sleep. Those two times always seemed to be when I cried the most. I think it's because it's the only two times I stopped long enough to really think about what was happening. A local magazine wrote a long article about Shea and put her picture on the cover, in the picture she was wearing the same white lace cardigan that we buried her in.... it was a nice gesture, but the timing of it was hard for me. I was barely okay with going in public and then when I did I would see her face on the front cover at a store on the counter while I checked out. I remember going to lunch with my family one day and my 3 year old daughter spotted it on the magazine rack by the door and said loudly "look momma that's Shea Shea!" I held in my tears till I got back to the car, desperately wanting to go back home.
I would talk to people and have full conversations and not even really be thinking about what I said. When I tried to talk about a different subject I felt guilty for it and fake because I was only thinking of Shea. I would try to play with my daughter or do any normal task and I just couldn't focus or be present. Anytime I went out of the house I felt eyes all over me, I was probably just paranoid, but I felt like everyone was starring and talking to each other.."that's the girl whose sister just died." I pictured their small talk...maybe only because I work in a salon and hear it all the time, but I pictured them nicely talking about how sad it was for a moment. Then I thought how easily they get to go on to the next conversation of the day and forget about us. While we have to keep living this nightmare everyday. I felt jealous because it seemed like everyone else was so happy.
Once the grief started to truly hit Satan played tricks with my mind over and over. Telling me I shouldn't live anymore, and that it would be easier to die and go to heaven with Shea. Telling me my child would be fine without me, that Cody would be fine without me, that I can take the baby in my belly with me. And so many days I agreed with him. I would cry and yell at God for leaving me here in the pain and grief and I would beg him to please take me too! I felt like I couldn't wait to just be alone so I could weep out loud, grieve her, and feel all these horrible thoughts. I missed her so bad and I felt so much guilt even crying in front of family because I felt like I had done it too much already, aren't they tired of seeing me cry everyday? And I knew that when I cried it was because deep down I just wanted to leave this earth. How could I possibly feel that? I have a family here, I have a loving husband and child and I'm pregnant!.... but I'm sitting here thinking how I just want to die? I should be ashamed. Shea fought so hard to live. I saw her spend an enormous amount of hours getting her chemo and radiation, get stuck in the chest with that huge needle, feel so nauseous and so tired she could barely even take care of her baby, but she tried her hardest anyways. She wanted to be here and I'm just thinking how I want to leave? How selfish of me. My mind would go down a long spiral going out of control to the very worst thoughts you could think of. I knew that wasn't me and it wasn't okay but I was scared this is what my daily battle would be from here on out? How could I live with these thoughts every day?
Sara
As time went on, I looked for other ways to occupy my time- other things to focus on or help me not feel. Having Shea buried on the farm, right beside our house made me feel a sense of protectiveness over the cemetery. It was already such a special place to us and in my mind at that time it was kind of like taking care of that cemetery was taking care of her. Mom and dad were planning how the cemetery would look. It was as if nothing was good enough in mom's eyes for the place where Shea would be buried. I'll be honest- this was extremely difficult for her. Her emotions were everywhere- and to be down there, trying to think and make decisions was really impossible at times. They went went through lots of ideas on how it would be, and ended up with the beautiful idea of a circular cemetery around the hickory tree. Dad loves a good find and he searched and searched through Craig's List for the right fencing. Him and mom were able to find different pieces of iron that he could weld together to create the fence. He even found a few rare decorative pieces with a willow tree and lamb sitting under it to add to it. Dad traveled to St. Louis and Springfield to pick up all the iron...he was determined to complete the cemetery.
Once he had all the pieces cut, we sat under the hickory tree in the dirt, taking measurements and figuring out the exact size of the cemetery. Dad ended up asking an old friend to come out and level the ground, having to add 4 feet of dirt on Shea's side of the circle. The ground had to be perfectly level for the iron fence. Once the ground was ready, mom and dad spent all day- every day digging the holes, pouring the concrete, and placing each piece of fence at just the right angle. Mom was a bit of a perfectionist about this, but she just wanted it to be perfect for Shea. After a couple weeks of working nonstop, in late October it was complete. I couldn't have imagined anything more beautiful for that area. This was definitely a labor of love for mom and dad, and I hope dad found some peace in creating this for her- it is sad to think about him making something for her for the last time. Even though the fence is done and the grass has grown- dad still finds something to work on down there. I'll watch him from my kitchen window, walking around looking at the fence, checking out the tree, making sure everything looks good. Our sweet daddy loves a good project, and he keeps himself busy doing something around the farm everyday.
I think dad and I handled our grief very similarly. We both pushed it down, ignored it for a while- we both tried to stay busy in order not to let our minds go into that deep sadness. I know dad has his moments though- not being able to hold it in any longer. But he tries so hard not to do it in front of us- I think he wants to be strong for us, but I can see it in his eyes- I can see the hurt and tears well up when we talk about her or really feel her absence. I can't imagine how much he misses his little sweet pea. I try to make sure and tell him how much I love him, always yelling out, "I love you daddy" when he is working on the farm or we are on the phone. I want to make sure he knows he is still so loved, that his girls are still here.
Later that fall after Shea's passing- Dad, Chad and I took the kids down to the cemetery and planted as many buttercup bulbs as we could- I think it ended up being 200! The kids had a good time digging the holes and placing them in. I just loved being down there- especially with dad. We tried to really plant them heavily around her grave. When they started to grow this past spring, it was so bittersweet. Bitter because of the memories we had just had there- bitter because of the hopes and dreams we had about this season- Shea would be cancer free while Lindsey and I would be expecting our sweet babies. Bitter because life was going on- days kept going by without her. But then on the other hand, sweet because it was like new life was coming. I would go down there and watch as the buttercups would creep their way out of the mud and cracked dirt. There was no grass just yet. But even through the ugly, hard, cracked earth- the beauty of them was going to come through. This made me think about how God can take something broken, something cracked and hard and give it the "nutrients" it needs to grow again- to be beautiful again. I guess in a way it was symbolic to how I felt about losing Shea. I needed God to give me the right things to grow again- to see the beauty again.
“The hand of the Lord was upon me, and he brought me out in the Spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of the valley; it was full of bones. And he led me around among them, and behold, there were very many on the surface of the valley, and behold, they were very dry. And he said to me, “Son of man, can these bones live?” And I answered, “O Lord God, you know.” Then he said to me, “Prophesy over these bones, and say to them, O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: Behold, I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live. ...”
When I read this verse I can’t help but think about my own life. I was deep down in a valley after Shea’s passing, and if I am really honest, at that time I was feeling broken, dry, lost, without hope on the inside. But on the outside I tried to hide it- tried to push it down so deep that I could even fool myself into thinking I was okay. I was there, in that valley looking for a way to deal with the grief- to fill the void that was there. I thought I was relying fully on God to heal those wounds, but I see now that I wasn’t fully trusting him- fully giving him my pain and heartache. Throughout the days in planning the funeral I kept on telling one of the pastors that I didn’t want people to think that their prayers didn’t work for Shea.. I didn’t want people to doubt God. But I realized just in the past couple months- that actually... I felt that way. I think I had just talked myself out of it at the time. I see now how much I craved for something- something to make me whole again, something to fulfill my insecurities and doubts.
Those months were like blur, a dream or daze. There was such a fog in my head. It was hard to concentrate on anything. Sometimes I would wake up thinking it wasn’t real, but then quickly be reminded that it was. Each day I went down to her grave, picking away the dead flowers off her arrangements, thinking I needed to make it look nice for her. I focused my mind on anything and everything else- going back to work, finishing my masters, my pregnancy, the kids, cleaning the house- anything. I never really gave myself time to feel- time to grieve. That next Sunday after the funeral, I tried to go to church. The same church that we had Shea’s services. As we pulled up to the church I thought I would be okay, but walking back in there was almost unbearable. I could smell everything again, I could see people’s faces and hear their voices telling me how sorry they were, I looked down at the front of the chapel where her casket sat- it was too much. Everywhere I looked was memories from her death- even the Sunday school classroom where we ate a quick bite in during her visitation. I couldn't handle it- I couldn't stop crying. I walked as fast as I could back out to the car- feeling the anxiety coming over me. How was I going to heal if I couldn't even walk into the church? It wasn’t until about February after Shea’s death that it really hit me- I was on bed rest, alone in my house and I was brought to tears, like the ugly sobbing kind. I really began grieving and giving my heartache and wounds over to God. I don’t know why it took so long, but I couldn’t handle the heaviness in that valley anymore, I couldn’t handle pretending I was okay when I really felt “broken and dry” and thirsted for something more.
