The Sun Will Rise Again

“What’s broken can be mended, what’s hurt can be healed. No matter how dark it gets, the sun’s gonna rise again.” ~Meredith Grey (Grey’s Anatomy)

Medical dramas on TV are hard to watch. It’s like driving past a car on fire on the freeway though…no matter how bad it is, and no matter how much you know you shouldn’t watch the flames shoot up from the burning car…you still find yourself slowing down and rubber-necking to see what is happening. I’m sad to admit it, but Grey’s Anatomy is one of my vices in life. There are 19 seasons already in this world, with season 20 on its way to us in Fall of 2023! I really can’t stand watching the show anymore at this point, but the only things that I have more time vested in is my marriage, my nursing career, and my kids! How can I not watch season 20, when I’m 19 years into the story line???

I know the show has more emphasis on the DRAMA and not so much on the MEDICAL. But after being a nurse for 20 years, I find myself analyzing the reality of what each diagnosis really looks like in a hospital setting. From medical innovations to cancer diagnoses, to Covid cases, to trauma is beyond belief. The characters on Grey’s Anatomy have seen bomb threats, shootings, car accidents (too many to count), sinkholes, earthquakes, fatal airplane crashes…if even one of these things happened at a hospital, that would be devastating. Somehow, they ALL happened at Grey-Sloan Hospital in Seattle. No matter how ridiculous the show is, I can’t help but to watch it!

Before Collin died, I would watch the storylines that had children with medical issues as the focal point and think, “How would I react? Is that realistic for a parent to say or think?” Working as a pediatric nurse for 12 years, I have seen families working through crises from the outside. It’s much different seeing it from the inside. Having a child with a chronic or terminal medical diagnosis is a fear of every parent. Even if it’s a minuscule, fleeting thought, every parent has asked themselves those same questions. The very thought of your child dying causes pain in an indescribable way.

My wish is that no one would have to know what it feels like. So many people along our journey would ask how I was feeling. They didn’t know what to say, how much to ask, or if I would answer honestly. It’s hard to find words to say to a parent that has lost their child, but it’s good to listen and to talk about it. My good friends were amazing at caring for me in the months after Collin died. Mike and I have never been afraid to talk about the hard topics, and this is about as hard as it gets for a parent. I now know what it is like.

It was by God’s Grace we survived Collin’s journey. It is by God’s Grace that we keep on moving forward. God has surrounded Mike and I with people that love us and accept where we are. I fought the grieving process at first. I didn’t want to face it. I had this idea that I would start the process and go through the 7 stages of grief-checking them off as I went…Denial, Anger, Depression, Bargaining, and finally, Acceptance. I already knew that I had accepted where we were without Collin. There was no denial that he wasn’t here. I didn’t want to bargain for more time because I knew Collin was happy and whole in Heaven. I took out some anger on poor Mike, but I wasn’t angry that Collin died. My anger came out sideways. The only thing I could see happening was depression. That never came. The grieving process, as I thought it would be, made no sense at all.

Once I accepted that I needed to work through the grief, my therapist shared a life changing image with me. In nursing school, we learned the classic stages of grief, but I quickly realized that’s not what my grief looked like. Instead, my therapist introduced this model of grief to me…

I learned grief is not something that I moved through and came out on the other side as a new person. Instead, grief is something I will forever carry around with me (heavier than a ball and chain). It was something I learned to exist with…and it changes all the time, with no rhyme or reason. Yeah, my favorite! And that is where God’s Grace comes into play. I can’t do any of this all on my own.

My life bounces back and forth, from the loss-oriented side of the grief model to restoration-oriented side of everyday life. At first, I tried to control when I bounced back and forth. But I quickly learned it was silly to think I could control that. I feel broken when I’m working through the grief. The fog that covers my brain is unreal. There are days that I cannot think clearly, and I have a hard time pulling the right words to fill a sentence. It all happens within my everyday life experiences. I still have to do homework with Lincoln. I still have to go to work. I still have to make dinner and manage the house. On the difficult days, I have to accept where I am and show myself grace. Some days, I don’t have much to offer. This is where I am lucky because God has surrounded me with people that love us and accept us as we are.

How do I pull myself to the restoration-oriented side of grief? I don’t. I can’t. It is out of my control…and the release I felt when I let go of trying to control it was incredible! I have learned to ride out the waves until the fog passes. The days slowly creep back to me in little victories. I find myself being able to take my grief and put it on a shelf for a bit, which allows me to return to mended days. These are the days that I can do new things, I can avoid the grief for some time, I can feel lighter and have my thoughts and words back. And then I stay on that side of life for a while.

I wish I could live in the restoration-oriented side of grief all the time, but the loss-oriented side allows me room to grow. Without recognizing the loss, I can’t recognize see the opportunity for growth. Bouncing back and forth is the only way to move forward. In order to handle the grief, you need to be able to shelf it now and then, take a break from the grief work and refocus your efforts tasks at hand.

After Collin’s Family Fun Day a few weeks back, I felt the numbness I recognized in the days that led up to his Heavenly Anniversary begin to fade away. Leading into May, it was great timing. We were heading into all the fun high school senior activities for Emma. Kara was coming home from college for a bit. Deacon’s military preparations were all coming together. Lincoln was settling in for a summer filled with swimming in pools and dancing in musicals. All of our kids were moving forward in their trajectory of life, and I was excited to feel the joy that came with it all.

Then came Emma’s senior night for lacrosse. There is an amazing energy that comes with senior night. The youth teams come to cheer on the seniors. Everyone’s extended families are in the stands. The parents get to walk onto the field with their daughters (through the HUGE blow-up Brunswick Blue Devil, something everyone wants to do!). All things fun and exciting, right?

That night, Deacon, Kara, and Lincoln were all sitting in the stands. It wasn’t the best of games for the lady Blue Devils (we had terrible refs and sadly they lost big time), but it was the last time for the senior girls to play on their home turf. Lots of emotions. Senior night is something both the players and parents look forward to starting freshman year. As we left the fun of the stadium after the game, my mom called us over to the open parking lot. I hadn’t thought much about Collin not being with us that night until she pointed out the moon. There it was…staring at us in its fullness with an orange hue. Collin showed up to the game for his sister.

God filled my cup. The full, bright orange moon was God’s gift to Emma that let her know He hadn’t forgotten what she gave up. He knew Emma needed an invisible string connecting her to Collin to make the night complete. While feeling a sign Collin was close, it also triggered my grief to set in again. I remembered what was missing. Instantaneously, all the changes in the kids' lives life felt like a ton of bricks on my shoulders. Starting that night, the fog set in, and the brokenness and pain crept back into my heart.

Every day, for as long as it takes, I will wake up, put my pants on, and claim that as my victory for the day. I will build up the small victories with God. I will put my days in His hands. I will humbly surrender myself, keeping my eyes fixed on Jesus, until I bounce back. I will let myself feel the pain and the sadness. I will visit Collin at the cemetery. I will thank God for everyday that I have, and I will look forward to the next big event for our family. I will allow myself to feel the gift of grace that God gave us and continue to move forward.

Grey’s Anatomy may be an obnoxious medical drama, but Dr. Meredith Grey was right when she said, “What’s broken can be mended, what’s hurt can be healed. No matter how dark it gets, the sun’s gonna rise again.” God can mend the broken. God can heal the hurt. The sun will rise again, through God’s Grace, the sun will rise again.

Kim Nemet