Holding Onto the Good: A True Story of Finding Faith Again

INTRODUCTION

I am no one special and am not a writer by trade; however, with the encouragement of my son and my friends who insisted that I tell my story—well, here it is. You will soon meet some of my family members who have passed: my sisters, my son, my mom, my grandparents, and my baby girl. In the midst of the losses, there are also battles with cancer—both my own and Mom’s.

This has been a work in progress for over nine years, although I did not know it until I began compiling all of my journals and diaries after my son Beau left for college. Before my older son Billy’s accident, I had kept daily journals and writings through the years documenting important dates, my thoughts and feelings of grief, and my struggle to find my faith again after losing it when Stormy died. It has been a journey—that’s for sure. Sometimes it feels like I have lived many lives during this one lifetime.

In telling my story for my son Beau, it is my intention to show that through faith in Jesus Christ, our Lord and God, you can carry on no matter what may happen in life. I love Jesus with all of my heart and believe that I will see his plan when I am called home. What a reunion that will be! As Mom used to say, Hold on, it’s going to be a wild ride!

CHAPTER 1

There are many rooms in my Father’s house, and I

am going to prepare a place for you. I would not

tell you this if it were not so. And after I go and

prepare a place for you, I will come back and take

you to myself, so that you will be where I am.

—JOHN 14:2–3

FEBRUARY 7, 2009

On February 7, 2009, I was at the urgent care center with my 10-year-old son Beau in Florida. He had bronchitis and a sinus infection. We had been up most of the night that Friday with his fever and coughing.

On Saturday morning, while we were in with the doctor, my mom called. I flipped my phone open, told her where we were and that I would call her back, and flipped the phone shut. She called again and again, but I didn’t answer. I knew something was wrong, but couldn’t think because I was so worried about Beau.

We left the urgent care center and headed to the pharmacy to pick up his medicines. As we got in line at the pharmacy drive-thru, I called Mom back. The first thing she said was, Are you alone? I said, No. She asked if Beau was with me and I said, Yes.

Mom said, Hold onto him, Wendy. Hold on tight.

What is wrong? I asked, alarmed. I thought it might be Gram.

She said, Oh, Wendy—Billy is gone!

I screamed, No! I parked in a nearby lot and got out of the car to sit on the ground. I needed air. I asked, What happened?

Billy had fallen asleep driving to work early that morning in New Orleans for his job as utility company lineman. The highway patrol in Louisiana found out Billy’s hometown was near St. Louis and had called the local sheriff to find his next of kin. Billy’s paternal grandparents and a state trooper had come to give Mom the bad news. All of our families lived just outside of St. Louis in a relatively small town.

By now, poor sick Beau was beside me in the grass. I held onto him as Mom explained, It was a car accident, that’s all we know. Billy was just 20 years old.

* * *

For I am certain that nothing can separate us from his love: neither death nor life, neither angels nor other heavenly rulers or powers, neither the present nor the future, neither the world above nor the world below—there is nothing in all creation that will ever be able to separate us from the love of God which is ours through Christ Jesus our Lord.

—ROMANS 8:38-39

I drove us home, barely able to breathe. My heart broke into a million tiny pieces. I felt like I was turned inside out. Once home, I ran to the bathroom since I felt like I was going to vomit, but nothing came out because I hadn’t eaten. I dry heaved into the toilet. It’s a blur of events from then and for many more days to come. My whole world shattered. How I made it, I have no idea. My Billy. My Beau. My sons. My life. Billy was gone, and in an instant everything had changed.

Once I gained a little bit of composure, I got Beau settled as best as I could. I had to remember he had just lost his brother, and that he needed me to be strong. How do I do this? Oh, my God, help me! I didn’t know what to do; I only knew that I needed help. I called my good friend Terry. She came right over, went to the pharmacy to pick up Beau’s medicine, and made the plane reservations for me to fly from Florida up to St. Louis where all of our family was.

Beau was too sick to fly. I was torn; should I stay with him? Mom insisted I go ahead and fly up. Beau’s dad could bring him in a few days when he was better. I called Jim (Beau’s dad). I didn’t want to call him—he had been so cruel to me since our divorce six months before—but I had no choice. He arrived to pick up Beau and actually hugged me. It was the first kind gesture he had shown me in years.

I remember thinking there was no way I could get through this, not with everything else that had happened recently—our ugly divorce, and I had just lost my grandpa, too. I had been in this situation 25 years before when my beloved sister Stormy was killed in a car accident similar to Billy’s—in both cases, nobody saw the accident. Stormy was 19; Billy, 20. Both were illuminated souls who continued to make a difference even though they were not here any longer. My heart broke back then and was now even more broken. It will never be the same; nor will I.

* * *

He has brought us by faith into this experience of God’s grace, in which we now live. And so we boast of the hope we have of sharing God’s glory! We also boast of our troubles, because we know that trouble produces endurance, endurance brings God’s approval, and his approval creates hope. This hope does not disappoint us, for God has poured out his love into our hearts by means of the Holy Spirit, who is God’s gift to us.

—ROMANS 5:2-5

I wanted to go to New Orleans, where Billy’s body was. I needed to see him, to be with him. He was there all alone. I wanted to go, but everyone told me not to; it could hold up the releasing of his body from the coroner. We wanted him back in Missouri as quickly as possible. I listened to my family. Part of me regrets this decision, but I also wonder what I could have done there. I could have been with him, or his body, but I also knew he wasn’t there.

I thought back to our last conversation, a few days before his accident. He talked about having a trailer hitch installed on his new black Silverado truck. He was so excited. He traveled as a lineman all over the country. He had purchased a big camper so he would always have a place to stay no matter where his work took him.

I reluctantly left Beau with Jim and went to Missouri. The trip was a complete blur. I don’t remember flying from Fort Myers into Atlanta to my connecting flight or how I made it to the gate. I have no idea. I just remember watching my feet take steps and willing myself to walk. I asked God to please guide me because I couldn’t.

I sat in the back of the plane and cried the entire way. There was a couple sitting across the aisle who kept looking at me, but I didn’t care. I could not speak, I could not think; I could only cry. My head felt like it was spinning out of control. I asked God what I had done to deserve this. I thought I must have been a horrible person to have had so many awful things happen in my life. Before we landed, the lady across the aisle asked if I were okay. I told her I didn’t think so and that my son just died. She said something like, God is watching over you and your son, and handed me a little card.

* * *

The Lord is my shepherd; I have everything I need.

He lets me rest in fields of green grass and leads me to quiet pools of fresh water.

He gives me new strength.

He guides me in the right paths, as he has promised.

Even if I go through the deepest darkness, I will not be afraid, Lord, for you are with me.

Your shepherd’s rod and staff protect me.

You prepare a banquet for me, where all my enemies can see me; you welcome me as an honored guest and fill my cup to the brim.

I know that your goodness and love will be with me all my life; and your house will be my home as long as I live.

—PSALM 23:1-6

Somehow, I made it and landed in St. Louis. I walked to meet my mom, my stepdad Dave, my sister Steph, and my stepbrother Luke (I consider him to be my brother and Dave to be my dad). When I saw them, I broke down all over again. Oh, my God, it was so hard! How was I going to get through this? It cannot be real, I told myself.

As my mom held me, I glanced up to see that the nice couple had followed me to my family, as if they were making sure I found them. I said a silent thank you to them. Days later, looking in my purse, I would find the card the lady had pressed into my hand on the plane. It was their contact information, like a business card. She had written on the back: God loves you and will always watch over you. I think they may have been guardian angels. Thank you, God.

I don’t remember much about that first night in Missouri at Mom’s. I was a mess. I couldn’t eat anything, and my eyes were swollen nearly shut from crying. I felt like I was in the middle of a nightmare. At any moment I would wake up and everything would be okay—right? But the aching in my heart reminded me it was real. Mom suggested that I have a glass of wine to settle my nerves since I was shaky and couldn’t sleep. She poured me a glass of rich, red wine. It burned my stomach when it traveled down since I wasn’t able to eat, but after a few sips, the alcohol started to sedate me.