To See Through the Eyes of Joy

[image error]This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to get home from Thanksgiving break and publish my novel. The new medication to prevent migraines is helping, I am no longer hitting a pain level of 7 for the majority of each day. The night before we were to leave to come home, we received an urgent phone call. My beloved brain-injured sister, Joy, was killed in a freak accident. My youngest sister, Jessica, had allowed her to spend the night while she and my Dad took turns caring for Joy while I was away visiting my husband’s family for Thanksgiving. Joy went to bed at Jessica’s and then she was literally run over by a truck that crashed into the house and then barreled through it, pinning and killing Joy.

If it takes a moment to digest that, I am right there with you. How? How does something like this happen?

My first thought was, “God, what are You thinking?” I know, you are amazed by my faith, right? But I want to be honest with you and I honestly could not imagine what God could possibly have in mind in allowing something so horrific to wreak havoc in our family once more. I have seen God use inexplicable things to bring glory to His name, but I was stunned, hurt, frightened. I’m still stunned and hurt, but I’m no longer frightened. Joy’s pain is over, it is past. There is no more struggle for her against the confusion of having no short-term memory, of not being able to verbalize her feelings, of not being able to care for her bodily needs. She is done with this broken world. She is whole and complete in the presence of her Savior, never to struggle with the brain-injury she received twenty-three-years-ago.

But we are not. We are sitting in a quiet house without her ridiculous snort-laughing. I am lost after supper because I have no Joy to give a shower to and sing silly songs with while I wash her hair. I have no Joy to tuck into bed. I feel lost and empty and I know it is only a matter of time before the weight of grief breaks through the dam of numbness to submerge me in sorrow.

[image error]And yet.

And yet in the last several months of struggling in my own battle with chronic pain, I have been learning about God’s goodness in the dark, hard places. I have been learning to sing His praises when I can barely function. I am now reaching towards those hard-earned lessons of praise and moving my lips even though the feelings aren’t there. 

Joy and I used to walk around the neighborhood and find things to praise God for as we looked at the azure sky, delicate flowers, flaming autumn leaves. Together we would praise God and I would see things through Joy’s childlike eyes, take in things I might not think about. There were the ants running across the sidewalk that she would either gasp about and try to avoid stepping on or that she would see as a threat to children everywhere. When it was the latter, she would use her walker as a weapon of ant destruction.

Joy was an organ donor, but the only organs that were not destroyed by the accident were her eyes. It’s an amazing thought to think that someone might now be able to see through Joy’s eyes. To see children that need protecting from ants, to see people who need to be tickled, that life is ridiculously funny. Living with someone with a brain-injury is challenging, in particular when there are behavioral issues like Joy had. But life with Joy was rewarding and taught me more than I can understand right now. Learning to rejoice in all circumstances is more difficult than I am ready to admit at this time, but I know that I must find my way to the heart of rejoicing if I want to heal, if I want to be able to forgive the man who killed her, if I want to be the kind of woman God created me to be. I want to see with Joy’s eyes.

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