Random thoughts for the day – Expectations

Too many times lately I’ve heard myself saying, “He who expects nothing is not disappointed.” I guess it’s supposed to serve as a reminder to myself not to put higher expectations or my own expectations onto someone else. Since my expectations sometimes can be a little higher than is realistic, it’s a way of lowering my expectations to meet reality.

I’m a person who sees both sides of the coin, was taught that it was better to turn the other cheek than to fight. I have a long fuse and give people way more chances than is probably healthy for me. I hang onto relationships long after they are over.

After Jason died, it wasn’t too long before nearly everyone we knew disappeared and we were left mostly alone. With our extended family thousands of miles away, we truly expected our friends to fill in those gaps. It just didn’t happen and we were alone a lot. At the time, I made excuses. I lowered my expectations. We were difficult to be around, I told myself. It wasn’t easy to know what to say to us or what to do when we really didn’t know ourselves what we needed. I tried so hard not to make people uncomfortable. I said to myself many times that my head understood but my heart just didn’t understand. My head kept trying to tell me that it was understandable, but my heart was breaking. I tried to reason myself into understanding why people acted the way they did and to try to be okay with it.

As a personal standard, I try to do what’s right. I try to do a good job at whatever I am doing. I try to notice those in need and help out without fanfare or acknowledgement. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?

But isn’t this a two way street, too? Shouldn’t we ALL treat each other the way we would want to be treated ourselves? Shouldn’t we expect people who profess to care about us to actually CARE about us…and show it by actually doing something, by following through on their words? Do actions meet words for the ones who profess to be Christians, send a card with a religious sentiment, put a hand on your shoulder to pray for you or hug you but then don’t actually do anything or don’t act with integrity? As a person who has a strong sense of fairness, this just doesn’t add up for me.

They say nice guys finish last.

They say the squeaky wheel gets the grease.

I am not a squeaky wheel kind of a person. I am not confrontational. I usually internalize things and try to deal with it myself. If I do anything at all, I would rather calmly communicate, trying to help the other person see where I’m coming from while also listening to their side of the issue to (hopefully) come to a mutually-beneficial resolution. It’s not as easy as it sounds and rarely works out that way. It takes two people equally willing to work together and actually listen to each other’s point of view…and then actually DO something to fix the problem or address the issue.

I’ve never been a person who likes other people to see me cry. The person who cries openly and more easily seems to be the one people gather around to comfort. Or do people just disappear and avoid the griever entirely? I’m not sure. Perhaps if I had been more able or willing to show my grief, to publicly grieve, we would have had more support. I don’t know. People who didn’t see me flat on the floor, crying so hard I physically didn’t have the strength to stand or even sit, would tell me that it was okay for me to grieve. No one saw that…nor would they want to…nor would I want them to. If your child dies, people call you brave. I’m not brave. I never was. I just didn’t wear my grief on my sleeve; it’s not easy for me to be open and ask for help.

One day early on I was so worried about Joe that I did something very uncharacteristic – I asked for help. I emailed people we were closest to prior to Jason’s death, asking for support. No one responded at all. Not one of our “Christian” friends, people we considered extended family, showed up in response to my cry for help. Those types of things have had a lasting impact on me. I don’t trust easily. I don’t make friendships easily. From experience, professing Christianity doesn’t mean a person is going to do the right thing or is someone I can trust. I totally realize we’re all human and make mistakes and fail miserably, but sometimes you’ve just got to show up.

I would have to say that some of the people who I remember most clearly as showing up are people who I would not even know if they professed to be Christians. Joe’s boss who flew up from California to be with us – an extremely busy guy who simply showed up for us. The doorman at the Westin who genuinely asked Joe nearly every day how he was doing. The Westin manager who offered us employee rates so we could get away for a bit at a time when we didn’t know how to carry on. The officers investigating the accident, especially the one who told me he wanted to do such a good job that it would make Jason proud. The officers who took time off work to show up at the sentencing hearing to support us. The firemen who came to Jason’s memorial service. We were not close to them and had no expectations from any of them. We haven’t seen or heard from any of these people for years, but we have never forgotten their genuine kindnesses and how they showed up.

I consciously have been trying to let my guard down, to reach out to people, to make friends, to trust people again. It has not been easy. We have had a couple of situations recently where we specifically made the decision to step out side our comfort zone and trust someone else with decisions that have had big, lasting impacts on our lives. A couple of them have not gone well and our expectations have been lowered so much we practically had none left at all. It has cost us in the long run – money, trust, hope.

And, so, once again, I find myself telling myself, “He who expects nothing is not disappointed.”

But, shouldn’t we be able to have expectations of others, especially those who are in expected trust situations? Shouldn’t we expect people to have integrity, to keep their word? Shouldn’t we expect Christians to at least try to act like Christ? In practicality, how far does the “faith without works is dead” theology actually go? Shouldn’t we expect people who profess to care about us to show up when we need them and to do the right thing? Should we have to keep lowering out expectations until we have none at all, no trust at all in that person?

I include myself in this. Have I been dependable? Have I shown up when it was difficult? Am I a person of my word?

I consistently remind myself that I am responsible for no one’s actions but my own, just as everyone else is responsible for their own actions. This is the important thing. I am the one that will have to stand before God some day when all my actions (hidden or unhidden) are revealed for everyone to see, just as everyone else will have to. I do believe that there may be a great cloud of witnesses cheering us on as we run with endurance this race called life. At least, that’s what I was taught in church. If nothing else, I’m sure God sees and knows all.

I’m running as best I can, but I get tired. I get frustrated. I get sad and lonely.

I was thinking recently about the story of the carpenter who had worked hard all of his life building houses, making a quality product but was never able to afford a home of his own. He was tired of working and decided to retire. His boss asked him to build one more home. Reluctantly, the carpenter agreed but his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t build with his typical quality of workmanship. When the house was done, the boss surprised the carpenter and gave the home to him as his own. He quit too soon. He let his integrity slip because he was weary in well-doing.

They say integrity is doing the right thing even when no one is watching. I suppose our “great cloud of witnesses” could be watching even if no one else is.

Jason had more integrity than any person I have ever met. I want to live my life so that I can make Jason proud. I want to keep persevering until I see my wonderful boy again. I look forward to and long for that day.

I love you so much, my boy. Oh, how I miss you.

~Becky

© 2022 Rebecca R. Carney

Church

My husband and I sat on the bed a while back, discussing how hard it’s been since Jason died to find a church to attend where we fit. We belonged to one of the largest church in the Pacific Northwest when Jason died. Although we really loved the church and its youthful energy, because we had existing, extensive connections to Christian homeschool and church friends and activities, we didn’t get terribly connected there.

After Jason died, it was really hard to go back. For a long time, when I walked in the sanctuary for services, I could picture the photographs of Jason we used for his memorial service up on the big screens on either side of the stage . The church’s youthful, energetic, joyful vibe contrasted sharply with the deep grief I felt, and many times we left during the service. Sometimes it was just too loud for me; I became extremely sound sensitive after Jason died. I felt antsy and trapped at times. It was just hard to be there all the way around.

We had designated the church’s computer school for contributions in Jason’s honor. The computer school taught computer classes to anyone in the community for a minimal cost. Jason, our computer science student. We felt like he would appreciate it and it would be a good way to honor one of his interests. With the contributions they received, they were able to purchase some necessary equipment so they could continue their ministry.

Although the support we received from the church before and during Jason’s memorial service was incredible, we basically fell off the radar not long afterwards. The youth pastor’s wife left a message for Jenna once, but then never called back. I don’t remember hearing from anyone else. I think they felt we had adequate support elsewhere. If only they knew nothing could be farther from the truth.

We haven’t found a church that’s a fit for us since then. Not that we haven’t tried; we really, truly have. As the “new people,” fitting into an already-existing group is hard enough, but the death of a child makes it even harder and we – I guess I should say “I” – just don’t even have the energy or desire to try. I still feel antsy and trapped at times. I also recognize the fact that I just don’t trust Christians with my broken heart any more; I have too many scars from the way Christian people have treated us. And I don’t want to be pitied or to be treated like a project to try to fix. I’m not really sure how to explain it to a person who has not lost a child…or even to a bereaved parent whose church, friends and family adequately supported them when their child died.

Part of the problem is that so many of the same, old church patterns and/or programs no longer seem relevant. The music or message or platitudes a lot of times haven’t felt like the balm to our broken hearts and lives that we have desperately craved. I miss the days when church felt like a safe place, when it felt like home, a place to love and be loved. It just seems like we just don’t fit anywhere any more, and I’m not sure how to fix it.

© 2018 Rebecca R. Carney

Trust, Once Broken, is Not Easily Mended

When the kids were little, I tried to teach them the incredible value of trust. Miriam-Webster dictionary gives one definition of trust as “assured reliance on the character, ability, strength, or truth of someone or something; one in which confidence is placed (my emphasis on words in italics).” Trust is the basis of our close, meaningful friendships and relationships. Trust is the basis of a successful relationship between employer and employee.Trust is imperative in the relationship between spouses and between family members.

As a way of communicating this intangible concept to the kids, I used a couple of visual examples to show the consequences of breaking someone’s trust. We set up a pattern with dominos on the dining room table, the kind where you touch the first one to knock it over and that starts a chain reaction of the rest falling over. I wanted to show them that one action could affect many things. One action can lead to broken trust and can create an series of unintended consequences, much like the falling dominos.

I also showed them one of my glass flower vases and asked them what they thought would happen if I smashed it on the ground. We talked about whether or not it could ever be put back together again. Even if we were able to find all the pieces and put them back together (which would be highly unlikely), it would never look or function the same. Once broken, not easily mended.

In my last post, I wrote about secondary losses. Following the death of a child, one of these secondary losses can be the loss of friendship, either immediately following the death of the child or as times goes by. The saying ” grief changes your address book” is true.  Initially, people may not know what to do or say, so they stay away. As time goes by, people may get tired of how long it takes to “get over” the death of a child and decide to move on. Either way, it’s fairly common to lose friends following the death of a child. (The online magazine, Still Standing, has an excellent article on this topic.)

I’ve also written about the loss of friendship after Jason died. Losing friends following the death of a child is hard. I recently read an article about the psychology behind people leaving alone people in crisis. The article quotes Barbara M. Sourkes, associate professor of pediatrics at the Stanford University School of Medicine: “When you’re confronted by someone else’s horror, there’s a sense that it’s close to home.” Too close to home, I would add. The article also lists reasons people may disappear – people don’t like to feel helpless, awkwardness around crises, feeling too much empathy in picturing that it could happen to them or their children, or creating distance so that it doesn’t seem real (out of sight/out of mind), feeling guilty that they’re so glad its not them, or feeling like if they stay away from the crisis that it won’t happen to them. Whatever the reason is or whenever the reason people disappear doesn’t make the loss any easier.

In some ways, I think people were waiting until we were “better,” waiting until enough time passed until…what??…until we weren’t so sad? I don’t know. There really is no such thing as “getting better.” One gal told me she wanted to make sure we had enough family time. Christmas 2002, nearly 10 months after Jason died, we had a few more people that usual call. At the time, I felt like people felt like it was safe to try to reconnect, but we weren’t the same people they used to know. Those relationships just weren’t the same.

When people walked away from us, I lost a lot of respect for them. It was hard feeling abandoned by those we expected to support us. Trust was broken. Our confidence in their ability to be true, kind, compassionate friends was broken. Those relationships were broken because of the broken trust. It was hard to feel like they really wanted to be in our lives, that they really wanted to be true friends again. If they really wanted to be our friends, why would they have abandoned us? As I said in my “toolbox” post, I am very guarded. I keep my shield close at hand, ready to put it up to protect my heart. That makes it really hard to let people in and trust that they really do care. It’s a hard thing to start trusting again.

I’ve really tried recently to be more open and trusting. I’ve tried to remove bricks from the walls I’ve put up around myself over the years – walls of protection and self-preservation. I’ve tried to allow people into my life. I’ve tried to be friendly and open to new friendships. It’s a really hard thing to do, this allowing people to be close to me. I’m really guarded. I don’t know if they can handle the brokenness in my life. I don’t know if they will think enough time has passed since Jason died that it shouldn’t bother me any more. I don’t want to be judged or to become a project to be “made better.” I don’t know if they will accept me for who I am. I don’t know if I can trust them to be there for me. It’s just so dang hard for me to do.

I recently confided something in a gal I thought to be a friend. She immediately passed it on to someone else, who came to talk to me about it. It was a trust-shattering moment. I continue to try to forgive that breach of trust, but I no longer look at that friendship the same. I no longer feel that relationship is worthy of my trust.

Trust is a huge issue for me. I want to be trustworthy – worthy of people entrusting things to me, knowing I will handle that trust with care. I want to have people around me that are trustworthy – worthy of entrusting them with my brokenness and fragile heart, knowing they will handle my trust with care.

Things are no longer simple following the death of a child. Navigating this life is more like canoeing down rapids than paddling on a calm lake. We have to be diligent and careful moving down this life-path. It’s like our radar always is on, scanning for things that might rock our boat. For example, Jason’s birthday is coming up, and I have learned that things that don’t normally bother me might make me sad. I have to be aware of that. I have to be aware of emotional triggers.

I have to read what’s the content of movies or TV shows. After Jason died, I couldn’t watch movies or TV shows that had car crashes in them. I couldn’t watch loud movies. I couldn’t watch movies about children dying (still can’t). I can’t watch high stress movies or TV shows. When scenes are particularly tense, I still have to close my eyes and breathe deeply until the scene is over.

I have to determine if I can trust someone. I have to judge conversations with people I have just met as to whether or not I should mention Jason. When someone asks me about how many children I have, can they handle the fact that I have a child who died? Is this a passing conversation with someone who moves on or is this someone who might stick around a while? If I do talk about Jason’s death, will they disappear like people did just after Jason died? Can I trust this person enough with my heart to believe that they won’t inflict further hurt? Will they not shatter my trust? Who can I trust?

People make mistakes. I understand that. We are all human and need to extend grace to each other. I’ve worked really hard on forgiving those that have hurt us. But, I also understand that trust once broken is not easily mended. It’s hard to let people that have broken our trust back into our hearts and into our lives.  It’s just never quite the same. Once that glass vase drops, it’s hard to put the pieces back together.

~Becky

© 2016 Rebecca R. Carney

 

Photo credits:

Domino photo – https://www.videoblocks.com/video/line-of-white-dominoes-falling-ykoznpb/

Shattered glass photo – www.gettyimages.com

Articles quoted:

miriam webster trust

http://stillstandingmag.com/2014/08/losing-friends-child-loss/

 

Trust has to be earned

From my journal dated July 1, 2002:

M.V.* came by today. Jenna asked me later if I though she was “sent.” I’d have to say yes. She said she wanted to be my friend.

Why now? Why didn’t she respond to all the overtures of friendship last fall when I was going to the Ladies Bible Study? I asked her to lunch, to coffee, to meet me for Ladies Night Out. She had no interest whatsoever – too busy, no time whatsoever to even try to be my friend. Why should I believe her now? Why would she “see” me now…want to be my friend now…when she didn’t before?

I feel like she’s trying to swoop down to “rescue me” – telling me it’s okay to cry, that I’m okay. It sort of feels like someone put her up to it. She said she’d be disappointed if I weren’t till struggling. She told about how she’d miscarried a baby and was relating that experience in a small way to our losing Jason.

I’m so guarded. I feel like I have to protect my wounded heart from…everything. It hurts too much to hope…to believe…that someone will follow through…and then they don’t. I don’t really even know this gal. My only experience in the past with her has been one of, at best, no time or room in her life for a new friend…at worst, outright rejection of my overtures of friendship. If she really wants to be my friend, she’ll try again. I have to be able to trust her…anyone…with my heart….and that’s just hard to do right now. It’s not just automatic. Trust has to be earned.