So here I am

There have been times over the last few months when I have desperately wanted to write about my journey, about Kieran; but many times I have been just too busy- trying to get assignments done, go to work, balance family and friends, do the usual jobs around the house as well as church and spending time with Kevin.  It takes me ages to process, think and reflect- I don’t know whether it’s my age but I’m not as sharp as I once was! My focus and concentration died along with Kieran and now I think it must be age rather than grief that just means I’m a bit slow!

But here I am, just over a year since my Bishop’s Advisory Panel, just under a year since I embarked on the 3 year journey towards ordination as a priest in the Church of England. The path is much more than academic, it’s called formation, and for me this year has once again changed me.

I have actually found Kieran’s death has affected me more again this year than the last. You see he was the catalyst for this journey and so what happened to Kieran and then God’s presence and blessings that followed despite this, are so much a part of this story that I have to work out how to tell people when asked without traumatising them! And it has taken a greater emotional toll on me than I ever could have imagined. On the outside I get on with things and weep on my own at “convenient” times; but actually I have to recognise my own vulnerability.

I had a bit of a “to do” with God a couple of weeks ago when I moaned at him that I hadn’t asked to be changed…. And then I realised even as I moaned at him, that actually, yes I had- well I had completely submitted to him. When I gave myself to him after Kieran died and said I didn’t care what he did with me, whether I lived or died, or whatever he had in store for me -he could have me completely- as long as he protected Kevin, Aidan and Tara and our family, and helped us all get through this together. Bargaining with God indeed!

So it’s four years on from Kieran’s death, and yet I find myself now so often teary and missing him so much. I still cannot watch anything that involves struggle in the water. I tried to watch an episode of the RNLI series on BBC2 at the moment, but it seems as soon as there are descriptions of, or seeing someone struggling in the water at risk of drowning, it is an emotional place I dare not visit for I do not want to imagine what my boy went through, and is something I have chosen to ignore. I think perhaps, as I write this, that I need to engage again with counselling, because sooner or later I’m going to have to face that aspect, that actual picture of someone drowning which I desperately want to hide from, turn my back on, not think about. I’m not sure if it’s healthier to bring it to the fore and have help to address it, or actually do what I do so well, in leaving the room and avoiding any hint of seeing what he might have gone through and blocking it out.

Anyway- let’s not dwell on that particular aspect- it’s not helpful! The main themes that have emerged over the last year then concern relationships, grieving and suffering. Telling people is always difficult to do; not because I find it hard to talk about, but because it changes how people respond to you.  Sometimes you just have to get it out there- other times it is not appropriate to do so- and meeting people with whom you will form relationships with is the most difficult. I am always on my guard as to the appropriateness of sharing the traumatic circumstances of Kieran’s death and what to say, because I can end up consoling them. I may then be avoided because others do not know how to confront my loss.

 The mess that is left with grief has felt to me like a beloved jumper being pulled apart, the wool tangled and knotted. It takes time to unravel it and begin to knit a new jumper, however during this process God has provided enough emotional and spiritual nourishment, to do this.  Whilst a new and different story is emerging, my previous story is still valid and part of me.

When we look at Mary and Martha in the Bible and the death of their brother Lazarus, they had very different reactions when Jesus turned up too late to save him. Martha is moved to action and goes out to Jesus; Mary, whom I identify with here, is grieving at home and waits to be called.  As a reflector I like to observe, listen, weigh up and internally process a situation. I get anxious if rushed.

It is known that there is a close relationship between grief and faith and on Good Friday, I was overwhelmed with sorrow in the evening service. The enormity of Christ’s sacrifice hit me afresh. I was Jesus’ mother, Mary, living through the events and culmination in her son’s death; and yet I was also my own son’s mother, living through the events of his death. I was thankful that because Christ died, (and rose) my son was with God, and God was with me in the Holy Spirit and therefore I was with both God and my own son, bound by eternally inter-twined cords. I realised that although parted in death, we remain bound in the fellowship of the Spirit. As an “Evangelical Anglican”, the Virgin Mary has been treated with no greater, or lesser respect by me than any of the saints, and yet the medieval spirituality that embraced Christ’s suffering through his mother’s eyes has resonated deeply with me in my grief journey.

Now when I consider the cross I experience the trauma and suffering of Jesus through a mother’s eyes. When I consider Mary, she was deeply troubled, extremely anxious, utterly confused and stricken with grief.  She both suffered and rejoiced at being Christ’s mother and Mary’s commitment to her son took her to the cross where everything is risked for the gospel. These reflections fed back into my call, having rejoiced in my own son and then experienced his unthinkable loss being the catalyst to stand with Christ in the suffering of the world.  This has led me into considering how life begins in the chaos of darkness, and in Genesis we see God bringing control and order and light; when I have been in darkness he has brought me into a new chapter of light and growth.

As someone who gets along with most people I still perceive myself to be “on the edge”. This has made me question my personality and the self-control I may portray as a barrier in order to hide my own vulnerability. Is my protective shield a help or a hindrance when establishing and building trustful relationships and sharing in the suffering of others? How do I bear others suffering with an open heart? My calling is to try to live as Psalm 68 and take up my cross; to walk with those who have suffered trauma, those on the fringes of society, the displaced and unloved. I realise that exploring my emotions and reactions to others in the midst of my own trauma has to be recognised as this may differ to others.

However,  perhaps being on the edge, being alert to my own and others feelings stands me in good stead to help others on the outside. Not quite “fitting” perhaps makes me more empathetic to others and understand that what is portrayed on the outside can hide great turmoil within. Jesus did not do as was expected of him, did not fit the mould and served the outsider. Yet there will be times when it is appropriate to let my guard down, to be seen to be moved; after all “Jesus wept”, was moved to compassion and in these two words I see the love, mercy, passion and grief revealed in the humanness of Christ.

I have discovered the importance of acknowledging my own emotions in suffering in relation to others and considered how these can be a help or hindrance to me in walking with others in the future.

I now feel drawn to understand different atonement views and liberation theology to understand different experiences of the Suffering and Risen Christ. I do not believe that my own suffering allows for the glorification for all suffering and I find the fact that Jesus died on the cross to save my son (and me) incredibly helpful. However I have realised that it can be argued that the theology of a suffering God who suffers in and with his people can encourage the acceptance of suffering for those who suffer unjustly.

And now to my darling boy,

My darling Kieran, my beautiful boy, you have already made it to Heaven, promoted to glory and in God’s eternal presence. Your mum here is following God’s call, of which you are so much a part. I love you, I miss you, the scar in my heart still opens up and bleeds for you. I wish I could hear you again, feel you give me a hug, see the expressions on your face. You were so funny and so loving. You wouldn’t hurt a fly and so many spoke about your kindness to others darling. So now, when I give out the Kieran Knight Award for Kindness and Compassion at your old school in a few weeks, I will do my best to honour your name and the attributes you, and Jesus showed and  follow God’s call in the world to be kind and compassionate to those who have no-one to love them.

Until we meet again, my youngest son,

Love you lots and lots

Your mum

xxx