Chapter
26

Elna, Alex, and I decided to get away from Covington and head to our friend’s house in Dallas. We thought the distance would do us good. Mary was a friend of ours that Elna met in pharmacy school. Her husband was a physician as well. Other pharmacist friends there were Sally and Jim Brown. They all lived in Dallas and invited us over to decompress from the current intensity of life in Covington. This group was always one that guaranteed me laughter and a stress release. But this trip was way different than previous encounters with this group. In the past, alcohol in massive quantities was dished out. We also never used to talk about God or life or death situations. I guess I never realized before then that so many of our “fun” college friendships weren’t really “fun” without having them doused in alcohol. Elna and I hadn’t gotten “drunk” in years, but occasionally we would have “a drink to relax.” Now all alcohol had a completely different effect. The fact is that all alcohol is a depressant. Now I was living with the heaviness of true clinical depression. Taking any amount of alcohol at this point truly was like having our house fully ablaze of fire and walking into the living room and throwing a glass of gasoline on it.

If I continue with this house analogy, consider the house to be my overall emotions. The house is big and has many rooms. Some are big and some are small. Some are more important than others, but they are all part of the house. At that time of my life on the weekend in Dallas, every room of my house was on fire. Over the past twenty plus years since the accident, the house has had lots of activity throughout. The house is no longer on fire. There are several rooms where there have been awesome celebrations and wonderful experiences. However, in my house where there is no blaze of depression fire, there is always a room or two where if you open the door, then you will see a very ugly room. Those rooms have smoke in the air. Everything in that room is charred and ash covers the floor. In the center of those rooms there are pieces of furniture made of wood where the embers are still burning. If those embers ever had access to gasoline, the house would be ablaze in an instant. This is what alcohol represents to my depression.

With that dramatic impression in mind, alcohol was not going to make for a “fun” weekend in Dallas. We had some tough discussions with our friends. Life and friendships wouldn’t be the same. Jim said a friend of his had talked to him about a Promise Keepers meeting coming to Dallas soon. I told him that we should go. Sometime later I would return to Dallas and go with him to that meeting. On our last night of our weekend in Dallas, Mary’s mom came to the house. I remember her as an extremely sweet and kind woman. From moment to moment during that weekend, random events or thoughts would pop into either my head or Elna’s that would cause us to suddenly begin to cry. I remember sitting at Mary’s kitchen table with Mary, Mary’s mom, and Elna. Something triggered either me or Elna to cry. Everyone at the table stopped to console whichever one of us was crying. Then I looked at Mary’s mom. She was crying and sobbing heart wrenching tears. She could hardly catch her breath. I thought, “Thanks for the sympathy, lady, but this is a bit too much. I barely know you.”

When she finally caught her breath she said, “I miss my son.,” and then began to cry again.

Mary had a bit of a “ah ha” moment. She said, “That’s right. I had a brother that passed away when he was young as well.” I got the impression that they didn’t speak much about him after his passing. Mary came from a large family with many brothers and sisters. Mary explained to us at the table that night that she had a brother that had meningitis and died at the age of four. Saying this aloud, sent her mother back into uncontrollable weeping and sobbing. We attempted to console her with hugs and wiping away her tears. She regained her composure and buried her grief back where she had tucked it away before. I then got up and excused myself to the guest bathroom.

In that bathroom, I had the closest thing I can imagine to a full-blown panic attack. I quickly did the math in my head. Mary’s brother had passed away about forty years before that night. Forty years! That grieving mother in the other room had emotions tearing away her heart that looked like the doctor had just pronounced him deceased! One of the platitudes that people often say is, “Time heals all wounds.” It does not. That is a lie from the pits of hell. However, now knowing I could not count on the distance of time to help me, how was I going to get through this? Let me answer this with a story about a trip to McDonald’s.

In the summer of 1998, I took Alex to a birthday party at the playground of a McDonald’s in Mandeville, Louisiana. It was the first real social outing that Alex had been to since she had fractured her skull on July 10th of that year. It was also probably the first time she had ever been to any party or social event without her brother right next to her side. Alex and Jackson were born 14 months apart and were always side by side.

I remember being a bit nervous about bringing her into a party. Many eyes were staring at us as we came in. Alex was three years old, and I chose to carry her in on my hip as we entered the party. It was a very heavy moment and one that I didn’t want to be at. However, I knew I had to push through my feelings for Alex.

As soon as we got there, Alex spotted all the kids going through the convoluted tubes and maze in the Play Place. She wanted to go join them, but she was a bit timid. Her brother wasn’t there, and I was far more clingy to her than usual. We decided that it would be best to have her go to the small ball pit nearer the ground. Therefore, we got close to the entrance of the ball pit, and I bent down on my knees to reach and untie Alex’s shoes. As I was taking off her shoes, a young boy that I knew busted in right between my face and Alex’s. I can still see his face so clearly in my mind right now. My face and Alex’s were only about a foot and a half apart, but this young boy’s face came in swiftly between us and looked directly at mine. His head was tilted to the side as he blurted out, “Your son is dead, right?”

I was in shock of the bluntness of his statement, and I wasn’t prepared as to how to answer. In my confusion, I reacted by quietly saying, “What did you say?”

This was the wrong thing for me to say because like another dagger to my heart, he said, “Your son’s dead, right? Jackson is dead!”

He then quickly ran off not waiting for my answer. I was in a stupor, dazed and confused. I stared at the floor looking at Alex’s feet trying to grasp that this was now my life. I don’t think I wanted to take another breath. I then gazed up from Alex’s feet to Alex’s face that again was a little more than a foot away from mine. When I looked at Alex, I saw the angriest face that I have ever seen. She was beyond infuriation. She was purely and completely disgusted at the young man’s statement. She wasn’t mad at his question. She was mad at his statement: “Jackson is dead.”

I quickly asked my sweet girl, “Alex, what’s a matter, Sweetheart?”

She responded, “That boy said that Jackson is dead! Jackson is NOT DEAD!”

I said, “Oh baby, I’m sorry, he meant…”

She cut me off sternly and said, “No! He said my brother is DEAD! He is NOT DEAD! He is alive! He is in Heaven!”

Tears flowed from my face. No tears came from Alex at that time. She was too pissed to cry. I took another deep breath, and the dagger that I felt with the boy’s statement was immediately melted away by the perfect theology being taught to me through my three-year-old daughter.

I said to Alex, “Sweetheart, you are absolutely, positively right. Jackson is not dead. He is alive and well living in Heaven.”

You see, God spoke clearly through Alex that day. Jackson was not dead. Jackson is simply living with His Father in Heaven today. At that moment, I decided to live in that perfect truth. Oh, I miss Jackson so very much. He was an awesome kid that lived a full life on Earth for 4 years, 4 months and 10 days. He’s also living an unending life in the arms of His Savior for eternity. Alex reminded me of that. I do not grieve as the world grieves. I grieve with Hope.

With all that in mind, the length of time and distance from the death of Jackson’s body would never heal me. I could travel to Dallas or even to the end of the world and grief would still be there. It could be 4 days or 40 years since the accident, and time would not comfort me. Only Jesus and the Truth that God has made a way for death to be swallowed up in Victory would allow me to face another day in this broken world. I may be in the world, but I’m not of the world. I will not grieve as the world grieves.

Isaiah 25

8     he will swallow up death forever.
The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears
   from all faces;

Isaiah 26

19 But your dead will live, Lord;
   their bodies will rise—
let those who dwell in the dust
   wake up and shout for joy—
your dew is like the dew of the morning;
   the earth will give birth to her dead.

Hosea 13:14

New International Version

14 “I will deliver this people from the power of the grave;
   I will redeem them from death.
Where, O death, are your plagues?
   Where, O grave, is your destruction?