On Stretcher Bearers and Sneaky Angels

Last night, a friend sent a video from her son’s church. The video dealt with questions of faith congregants had submitted. I connected with each question, but kept going back to one concept or phrase in particular. When I say “kept going back,” I mean I watched that part at least three times.

Several questions touched on unanswered prayers, continuing to pray after prayers aren’t answered, and whether God really answers prayers and changes our circumstances. The thread of “why do bad things happen to good people” was woven through each question, twisted around the ideas of miracles and praying hard for a desired outcome, only to arrive at an unwanted end.

I can relate. Can’t we all, in some way?

On dark and twisty days, days filled with every question imaginable, I’ve wondered if I could’ve changed the outcome. Did I not do enough? Did I not pray correctly or often enough or hard enough for Cooper to return to the Cooper we knew? I’ve not been angry with God. It could still happen—this journey has no end—but so far, no anger with God. Do not get me started on access to mental health services in our area, but I’m not mad at God. God didn’t put that gun in Cooper’s hands. God didn’t pull the trigger. Do I wish God had intervened? Of course I do, but that’s not our story. Cooper’s broken mind lied to him, convinced him his only path to peace was through death.

So, no mended mind, no miracle, no Cooper.

But this video, sent by a friend, really made sense to me.
Question: Does God really answer prayers and change our circumstances?
Answer: I think God hears every prayer and answers our prayers, but it’s not always . . . in the miraculous homerun kind of miracle we’re asking for. It’s often in the people that come alongside us in the midst of our sorrow. (Adam Hamilton, United Methodist Church of the Resurrection). Later in the video, Hamilton reiterates this point, saying, “He surrounds us with people that come to be our stretcher bearers.” Beautiful words, more beautiful actions.

I can so relate.

I have some friends who are sneaky angels. One is part of the Tinkerbells, our card-playing friend group, and the other is a fellow survivor mom. Not only are they people who have come alongside me in my sorrow, they’ve helped me make other connections. In fact, I first met Survivor Mom because of TinkerJo, who told me to introduce myself at the Out of the Darkness walk in September. I did.

Last Saturday, I had lunch with my OG Survivor Mom and two other moms (new to me but not to her). That’s the second time she’s paved my way for connections. I’ve written about how important, how healing, it’s been to get to know other suicide survivor moms, and I’m more appreciative all the time. There are aspects to losing a child to suicide—a stigmatized, taboo death full of questions and blame and whispers—that are difficult to explain to someone who hasn’t experienced it. The three moms from Saturday’s lunch are four and five years ahead of me; they have been where I now stand. Another survivor mom found me the day after Cooper died and has been safe support all along; she’s been living her version of this life for 25 years. I’m old enough and smart enough to learn from her experience. She stays by my side and seems to know exactly when I need a boost. These warriors understand the dark days that fall without warning. I don’t want anyone else to experience this hell, but I’m grateful for the connections and guidance of other survivor moms. Did God answer my prayers for Cooper’s healing? No, not like I meant. After Cooper died, I didn’t know to pray for people who understood. I asked how to survive, how to live this unrequested life. I prayed for help. God sent helpers who walk alongside me in my sorrow.

Of course, not every connection is with a suicide survivor.

Within hours of Cooper’s death, other bereaved moms reached out to me. One was a schoolmate, another was a former student. Both knew my grief. I’ve referenced the Tinkerbells and the Moms Who Know who happen to be Tinkerbells. These women understand looking at old photos and wondering how, HOW has this happened?! They know the fear of taking updated family photos—photos that will never again show the entire family. They’ve recoiled from the gut-punch of realization, felt disbelief that this has really, truly happened steal their breath and blur their sight. They know. Yes, I’ve had support all along, and I’ve needed that support. I do not walk alone.

In another few weeks, I’ll hit the 18-month mark, the time requirement for beginning to form a Compassionate Friends group. I have a list of people interested in such a group, and my sneaky angel friends have lists, too. These are parents who’ve lost children to accident and illness, overdose and suicide. No two situations are alike, but we all grieve our children. We all have regrets and unanswered questions. All our hearts have broken. I’m nervous about taking charge. Honestly, I may have no business starting this group—I have dark days each week—but I know I’ll have help and I know we need a group in this area. So, in a few weeks, I’ll fill out the forms and get things started. We’ll walk alongside one another in our sorrow.

Not every stretcher bearer has lost a child, but all do have the ability to look grief in the face, to lean into loss and heartbreak and the unknown, to offer acceptance and patience, to meet us where we lay. Some listen and some guide. Some turn into our people and others introduce us to our people. Some do both. Some send us videos and some keep us occupied. Some pray for us each day, hug us until our muscles relax and our breath eases, and love us anyway. All are needed.

Eventually, we all are borne in a stretcher. Thankfully, some return to bear the stretchers of others. Those stretcher bearers are answered prayers.