Archive | Julia

a day in the life of grief

July 17, 2012 at 3:44 pm

last summer: Booie at work with her new niece Lena

Things are so much quieter this week than last week. The extended family dispersed slowly after Saturday, Elliott returned to work in Sicily, my grandparents drove home to Missouri, the visits from friends are tapering off. The five remaining members of my family are all at home: Eric, Emily, and Daddy are taking time off work; Lena and I are here until next Monday; and my mom is savoring all of us being at home. We are muddling through, grieving the lost in the land of the living.

I wrote this email to Elliott last night after our first day alone as a family. He thought it captured well what life is like for us now and what we are feeling.

***

Dearest boy of mine,

Well, another day is done. It was the first without you in awhile, and I missed you…. I am so glad you are back safe and sound, but I wish we didn’t have to endure separation in this time.

We finished Anne of Green Gables tonight. So good, and such a blessed distraction. My parents were visiting Prince Edward Island when they got the news about Booie. I do want to see it with you, so we’ll see if my family is ready to part with it so that I can bring it back with me. If not then, then in October. I am sure we’ll start Anne of Avonlea tomorrow or the day after.

My mom and I took a walk with Lena this afternoon. Lena was being so fussy and grouchy and I think it was because she had been cooped up inside for so long. We walked down the street and then decided to go to the cemetery and visit Booie’s grave. It was an easy 10-minute walk; my mom showed me a new cut-through that’s safer than the one I’ve used with Sona [our dog who died in March] in the past to go visit Kim [Roe]’s grave. (Now there are two more graves to visit on that hill–Booie’s and Emily Roe’s–and no Sona to walk with.) It was a little sad to see Booie’s grave, with the dry brownish-red dirt on top of it and the faded flowers, somewhat dirty stuffed animals, and little trinkets people had left. Someone had put an orchid there, and I suggested my mom take it home and love it, as it will die in a couple of days in this sun, but she wanted to leave it there. We spent awhile sitting and talking about grief–“is there a difference between grieving and wallowing?” my mom asked–and then walked over to Kim and Emily’s graves (just about 20 feet apart) and then down the hill a little bit. Lena was soo delighted as she walked down the pavement in her little bare feet. She loved the downhill slope because she could get some speed up and was babbling delightedly to us, excitedly pointing out squirrels, and so glad to be outside and walking around. We’ll have to come back with her, of course.

I took a trip to Safeway to get some stuff for my family this evening: bananas, Mini Wheats, Diet Coke, etc. I sort of forgot that Booie worked in that Safeway. Driving up in the car she used to drive, walking past the Starbucks in the store where she used to work (where I came for her drinks last summer), and wandering down the aisles she used to walk down in her uniform… it was a little sadder than I’d expected. I got very introspective and sad on the way home, as I did last night while driving home from dropping you off at the airport. I guess I’m rarely alone now and haven’t been that quietly reflective or allowed myself to just think about her, about what we’re missing, about life without her, about what she would be doing if she were right here right now, about what she would be saying about this song on the radio, about what she would have just eaten or just sang or just done. I drove by her grave on my own on the way home (partly because Em was out on a run when I left and I wanted to comfort her there if she was there) and just sat in the car for a moment alone and stared at the grave. How could this all have happened so fast? How could my little sister be under the ground there? How could those already-wilted flowers be on Booie’s grave?

Sad thoughts for a Monday night. We have such ups and downs. Just a few minutes ago I could hear Eric laughing downstairs with my parents as he related a story; meanwhile Em and I were dangling my piece of dental floss for the cat and laughing at her antics. Life is so normal sometimes, and yet so broken and foreign and unbelievable. How will we carry on? What will we look like in 3 weeks, 9 months, 2 years? Will we still be cheerful, still be close, still be deeply and patiently and trustingly reliant upon Christ, every one of us? Will we be worse or better for this terrible, wearing trial? What will we be as a family, as individuals, as friends, as future and current spouses, as Christians? I have so many fears and hopes, all tangled together, as I pray for goodness to come out of this horrible sadness.

Please keep praying and praying. We need it more than ever. God helped us set such a good tone last week for our family, each other, the memorial service, our friends, and for Booie. Now we need to set a good tune for ourselves for the rest of our lives. “Good tune” sounds so trite, but we must go on, somehow, and we want to go on well.

Yours,

9 :: in grief, Julia

letters to our sister

July 16, 2012 at 8:46 pm

the four of us siblings (Eric, Emily, me, and Julia) this past Christmas at the Colosseum in Rome

Dear friends, my heart is so full. Over the past 9 days you have loved us so well, and we hardly know where to begin to thank you. I have received so many emails and messages that I haven’t responded to yet; over the course of this week I hope I can answer each of you individually. Thank you for sending every precious word, for preparing meals, for baking cookies, for delivering flowers, for being there on Saturday, for giving me a hug, for showing us all that you love us and that you are praying for us and that you’re here for us. We need you now.

I want to share with you as we process through these days and weeks of grief, and so I want to begin writing regularly this week. I know that you want to be there for us and pray for us according to our needs; I know that you are hurting too and you want to grieve and process with us. I’ll try to let you know, humbly and achingly and slowly.

For today, I thought you might enjoy reading over the letters and tributes that Emily, Eric, and I wrote for our sister Julia and read at her memorial service. These came from the deepest corners of our hearts. Here they are, in the order we read them at the service on Saturday.

***

My dear littlest sister,

Ever since you were a baby, you have had two names. The first is Julia, the name our parents gave you. The second is your nickname: Booie. Daddy called you that when you were little and somehow it stuck. It became official when we were living in India and decided to have a vote on how Booie should be spelled, since people were always asking us where it came from and why we called you that. We elected that we would spell it B-o-o-i-e. And as our friends and family can attest, we three siblings never really called you anything else.

The other night, as I lay in bed missing you, I thought about your names and how descriptive they are of you. Julia. You were our jewel, the last child, our baby girl, the beloved little sister. You were our golden girl, with your endless blond curls and clear blue eyes. But Booie suited you so well, too. You were lighthearted, ever cheerful, bobbing along determinedly through the storms of life. Just like a ship’s buoy in a harbor, you had your anchor planted firmly in the ground and your face in the sunshine, and you stayed afloat no matter how rough the seas.

Now that you are gone, we are in the Shadowlands. And they are so bleak. Where is my little sister, my little jewel, my strong Booie, when I need her most? And then I am reminded that I have another Jewel, and another buoy to help me through life’s storms. You had the same priceless Jewel and the same sturdy buoy in your life; his name is Jesus. He is truly our jewel, the pearl of greatest price, our greatest treasure. He told us that we will have treasure in Heaven, and I always thought that was mostly about Him, that He was our treasure. Now I know it’s also about you, because you are our treasure, and you are in Heaven with Him. And Jesus is also our ship’s buoy during this time. We can lash ourselves to Him and weather the storms of grief now because He will keep us firmly anchored, steadily afloat, no matter how rough the seas. We will not drift, we will not sink, if we are tightly tied to Him.

I love you and I miss you, my precious baby sister.

All my love,

Becca

***

Dear Booie,

For as long as I can remember, we’ve been racing. With just eighteen months between us, we constantly competed with one another — whether it was who could grab the biggest brownie first, who looked older, or who could guess the song first on the radio. But no matter what the category, you were always faster. Despite several years of trying to beat you in 50-meter freestyle, you finished 1 second before every single time. And I never managed to grow that extra half-inch you always had on me.

As we got older, though, our relationship transformed. We no long raced against each other, but rather with each other. We came to each other daily for advice, comic relief, and spiritual encouragement. This past July 4th we ran an 8K in Arlington, Virginia together. From the firecracker to the finish line, you and I ran every single step side by side. This race is like our relationship– a relationship wherein we continually spurred one another on to “run with endurance the race that is set before us,” as described in Hebrews 12.

But now, for the first time in our lives, we are separated. In 2 Timothy 4, Paul writes: “…the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” Paul’s words are now true for you. You have kept the faith. You have finished the race.

Today in the midst of my grief, I rejoice in the hope that one day we will run together again. Although next time we will not race against each other or even with each other — but rather toward each other…in a sweet and glorious reunion. When I picture entering heaven and seeing you for the first time, I imagine you singing these lyrics from one of my favorite songs:

I’ll be waiting on the far side banks of Jordan,

I’ll be waiting drawing pictures in the sand.

And when I see you coming, I will rise up with a shout!

And go running through the shallow waters, reaching for your hand.

Booie, I praise the Lord for giving you to me as a dear sister and best friend for nineteen years. I cannot waitto be with you again, as we stand once again side-by-side, in the presence of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

With all my heart,

Emily

***

My sister Julia is someone who always overcame every challenge laid before her.

I remember when she was just four years old and my family was living in Pakistan, my father decided to take us on a hiking trip in Nepal. Concerned that Julia might not be able to hike the trip, he hired a Sherpa to carry her in a basket on his back. On the first day, Julia was put into this basket and proceeded to protest so loudly I am quite certain there was an avalanche thundering down every slope in the entire Himalayan mountain range. So we took her out of the basket, and she hiked the entire six days through the world’s most rugged mountain range on her short, little, four-year-old legs without holding anyone up.

Earlier this year, my family went skiing in France with a close family friend, Daniel Roe. Julia had not been skiing many times before, but all of us knew that she is the type of person to tackle challenges and overcome them. So we encouraged her to go down some of the steeper slopes. She would stand at the top of the slopes and peer over the precipice suspiciously, saying, “I don’t know Eric! That’s a little big! Just a little big for Booie!” But Julia is an overcomer. And pretty soon she’d be flying down the hill like a pro, with me following closely behind trying desperately to keep up – and almost always failing. I marveled at her ability to overcome her fear and press on with confidence.

Just a few weeks ago, Julia gave a letter to a friend who posted the letter to Facebook for all of us to cherish after Julia passed away. In this letter, Julia comments on the song Abide With Me, which we will be singing later in this service. In this song are the lyrics:

“I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;
Where is thy sting, death?

Where, grave, thy vict’ry?

I triumph still, Abide with Me.”

In commenting on these lyrics, Julia said, “I like this because it’s saying, hey! I believe in God so that pretty much trumps everything – even death! You don’t have to be scared of it because He’s at hand, right beside you.”

It appears from this comment, written just a few weeks before she passed away, that Julia overcame her fear of death.

And last Saturday, a week ago today, Julia completed her final challenge. Through the precious blood of her savior Jesus, she was victorious over death itself.

Hallelujah.

5 :: in grief, Julia

letters to our sister

July 16, 2012 at 7:46 pm

the four of us siblings (Eric, Emily, me, and Julia) this past Christmas at the Colosseum in Rome

***

My dear littlest sister,

I love you and I miss you, my precious baby sister.

All my love,

Becca

***

Dear Booie,

I’ll be waiting on the far side banks of Jordan,

I’ll be waiting drawing pictures in the sand.

And when I see you coming, I will rise up with a shout!

And go running through the shallow waters, reaching for your hand.

With all my heart,

Emily

***

My sister Julia is someone who always overcame every challenge laid before her.

“I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;
Where is thy sting, death?

Where, grave, thy vict’ry?

I triumph still, Abide with Me.”

It appears from this comment, written just a few weeks before she passed away, that Julia overcame her fear of death.

And last Saturday, a week ago today, Julia completed her final challenge. Through the precious blood of her savior Jesus, she was victorious over death itself.

Hallelujah.

6 :: in grief, Julia

lament for my sister

July 11, 2012 at 11:41 pm

As many of you know, my precious baby sister was in a tragic car accident on Saturday evening. She was driving home from visiting friends in Charlottesville and lost control of her car. She hit a tree around 6pm on July 7 and passed away a few moments later.

Elliott and I received the call from my parents around 4am our time in Italy. I was totally unprepared for the message of the call, disbelieving that my mother’s words could be true. “Julia was in a car accident. She went to be with the Lord.” Oh my sweet sister… how can you be gone? How can this be the end of your life on earth? How could it happen so quickly, how could you be so present in our lives and then be taken away in a matter of moments?

Within a few hours, Lena and I were on a flight to the States, and I landed in Washington, D.C., just 24 hours after receiving the news. I had initial misgivings about leaving Elliott’s side so quickly, but as soon as I saw my whole family standing there waiting for me (but without sunshiny blond Julia) I came undone with tears and knew I didn’t want to be anywhere else. It is so right and good to grieve together as a family, to weep together and pray together and ask questions together and seek and find answers together. We are so upheld and comforted by each other’s love, as well as from the phenomenal outpouring of support, compassion, prayers, and love from hundreds and hundreds of friends the world over.

We are so, so sad, and I cannot imagine being 45 or having three children or growing gray without my sister. I love her and miss her and long to feel her strong hug and rub her swimmer’s shoulders and play with her amazing hair and eat one of her chocaholic desserts.

And yet… there is so much mercy. God is so good, and He is pouring out mercy on us by letters of Julia’s that friends are sharing with us, by getting a phone call from a man who was with her in the few moments she lived after the crash, by comforting us that she knew and loved Jesus Christ and is rejoicing in His presence this very moment. Her soul is with the Lord and we eagerly await the day when we will join her!

We are preparing for Julia’s burial and memorial service this weekend, and we would love to have any and all join us. You can find details on this website and more memorial information on the UVA Center for Christian Study website.

For the many of you readers who have already reached out in enormous love to us and lifted us up in prayer, thank you!

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time
are not worth comparing with
the glory that is to be revealed to us.
(Romans 8:18)

17 :: in Julia