Death Cannot Kill What Never Dies

By O. Chloe Kerr

As I tell you of this wonder-filled journey of love that healed my grief, you, too, will find a spiritual healing. I found that God had been there for me all along, but I hadn’t understood how to establish a relationship with him. Building a relationship with God takes time, but with perseverance, miracles will begin to happen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Jan 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781489719447

O. Chloe Kerr

Grief comes to everyone, but when grief came to me, I had no idea how to deal with it, nor did I realize how painful grief could be. Grief is powerful, because love is powerful. I cried out to God after the death by suicide of my son. I learned that if you seek God, he will answer you. Yes, grief is powerful, but God is more powerful.

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Copyright © 2019 O. Chloe Kerr.

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ISBN: 978-1-4897-1943-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-1942-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-1944-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018956898

LifeRich Publishing rev. date:  01/29/2019

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                                O. C. Kerr

FOREWORD

W e human beings plan and educate ourselves for future events, but most of us do not plan for grief; however, grief comes to everyone. When suddenly grief came to me, I had no idea how to deal with it, nor did I realize how painful grief could be. The first few days simply engulfed me in a fog of movement through the necessary final decisions that had to be made.

Later, in my search for meaning, I consulted counselors, family, friends, and books. Most had no idea how to help me. During that time, I decided that if I ever found an answer, I wanted to share it with others. This book is the result of that search. God’s gracious guidance sent me to people who could help and pray for me. He also sent me a vision to allow me to realize that my son was indeed with him. At last, I found the victory that I needed to accept and to heal from my son’s death.

DEDICATED TO

Jesus, my savior

And

my son, Matt

CONTENTS

Chapter I               Grief Is Powerful

Chapter II              Learning About Grief

Chapter III             Grief Comes To Everyone

Chapter IV            The Call

Chapter V              A Lesson In Pain

Chapter VI             Abandonment Issues

Chapter VII           After the Funeral

Chapter VIII          God’s Angels Watch Over Me

Chapter IX             A Leson In Persistence

Chapter X              Who’s In The Back Seat

Chapter XI            Free Gifts

Chapter XII           Seek And Ye Shall Find

Chapter XIII          Seek Ye The Lord

Chapter XIV          The Butterfly Ring

Chapter XV           O.A.B.

Chapter XVI         Guilt And Forgiveness

Chapter XVII        Media History

Chapter XVIII       Grandma’s Sightin’

Chapter XIX          The Vision

Chapter XX           Charasmatic

Chapter XXI         Liz And Ben

Chapter XXII        The Holidays

Chapter XXIII       The Prodigal Son

CHAPTER

I

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Grief Is Powerful

G rief is powerful! Grief transforms normal people into running down the street flesh to escape the unendurable agony that permeates ones soul, body, mind, and life. How can learning of the death of a dear one touch us in such a profound way? Grief is powerful, because love is powerful. Physical death of a loved one rips apart those bonds of love, leaving them raw and hanging from every fiber of our being.

How can this excruciating pain be endured? Floods of tears pour forth, but the incessant pain remains. I scream for God’s love. Please, God, please answer me. Have mercy! Help me! God, why is it so hard to reach you? Oh, God, God, God! I know you hear me. Have pity. Have mercy.

God did have mercy and he helped me to learn how to connect with Him and to listen to Him. This book is my story of that search. God’s healing power after the loss of my son gave me the assurance that he is now with God. My grief journey was hacked out through unrelenting seeking. Never give up. Seek, seek, and keep seeking.

When I faltered, God sent loving friends who gave me assurances. They loved me, let me cry in their presence, fed me, and prayed for me. The church was my fortress. Just as an alcoholic has to go to an AA meeting to seek help, I had to go to church or a prayer meeting every night to receive prayer just to survive.

Over time, I found a gracious God who answered my pleas. Through God’s personal assurances, meaningful dreams, and relevant visions, removed any doubts I had had about life after death. His presence brought healing to my grief wound. Yes, grief is powerful, but God is more powerful.

As a child, I didn’t know what grief was until I was ten. Within 30 days, I lost both grandfathers. That grief was difficult to bear, but I learned ways of coping. When I felt sad, I would find something to do to stay busy. Thus, I became a workaholic, but that did not lead me to a higher level of existence, because I had left out God.

However, my journey to seek healing for my grief after the death of my son led me to know God in a way that I hadn’t understood before. We know little about how to help ourselves or others through the emotional morass of grief. As I tell you of this wonderful spiritual journey of love that healed my grief, you too will find a spiritual healing.

In grade school, my Sunday school teacher gave each of us a small plaque that said, Seek ye the Lord while he may be found. Those words kept me from getting lost, from losing hope, and from giving up. Thank God for that teacher and that plaque. I sought God and found him to be gracious. I learned that He cared for me, loved me, and wanted to heal my sorrow. He had been there the whole time, but I had not understood how to establish a relationship with Him, nor how to perceive His messages. Building a relationship with Him takes time, but with perseverance, miracles begin to happen.

When my son died of suicide, I screamed to God, Where is my son? Where is my son? Where is my son? Those words ran relentlessly through my thoughts every waking moment. I had to know!

The only thing I knew about suicide came from hear-say. Was suicide an unforgivable sin? Was my son in Hell? Actually, I had never known anyone who had lost a loved one in that way. I knew of no way to understand suicide, because it is a taboo subject in our society.

When a person dies of an accident or of natural causes; friends, relatives, and church members rush to console the bereaved with love, comfort, and food. But, when someone dies of the act of suicide, no one knows what to say or do, so most people tend to stay away and say nothing. I searched my past for answers, but found little to guide me. Then, I thought about the summer that my grandfathers had died. They had lived their lives and grown old. Both of them had had heart attacks. Both deaths were sudden and unexpected.

At the time, I was 10 years old. I loved them both, but I was a child. My life changed very little because of their deaths. I cried, but deep grief wasn’t a part of that experience. However, I reviewed that chapter of my life to try to figure out how to live with my present loss. The two losses were so different though. In the next chapter I will relate that episode, because from that experience I based my idea of what grief was all about.

CHAPTER

II

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Learning About Grief

O ne bare foot after another smacked on the front porch floor until I reached the wooden screen door and yanked it open. Inside, the black candle stick phone rang and Mom picked it up.

Hello, she said.

Waiting, listening, I wondered who was calling.

Suddenly Mom softly cried, On, no. When I heard her sobs, I rushed over to her side. She sank onto the sofa, still listening. My left arm circled her shoulders and I heard her say, When? Tears washed down her cheeks. I didn’t know what to say, so I patted her shoulder. After a few more uttered words, she hung up.

Questioningly, I looked at her. She raised her eyes to mine and said, Granddad died about an hour ago.

Oh, Mom, Mom, I cried. I sat next to her, and we wept. Memories of my Granddad floated through my mind. Each memory brought with it the awareness that Granddad would not be here for us anymore. Loneliness, a deep loneliness grew inside of me that I had never felt before. The idea that I’d never see Grandad again; be able to laugh with him, hug him, just be with him began to be real.

We’ve got to go down to Grandmother’s, Mom said as she called my dad and brother, Sonny. Within an hour, all four of us were driving the 90 miles to mom’s home town. No one spoke. Sonny and I sat in the backseat. Mom just stared out the window while my dad drove.

My maternal Granddad was a wonderful guy. He was a pillar in his small town and volunteered for every committee that came up. He also was involved in numerous social organizations and church. It was no accident that he held all of those positions. He was a can-do kind of guy. He was born in 1889 and raised on his family’s farm. When an oil boom hit in1915, Granddad learned to be a driller. He loaded up his family and moved from one oil field to another until his children needed to go to school.

Granddad certainly had a presence. I remember one time when all of his seven children and families were chattering away at my grandparents’ home, but when my Granddad came in, everyone hushed. Without a word, somehow, everyone knew that he was there. All eyes turned towards him. With a quick survey, he took command. This was his manner whether he was settling disputes among his sons, butchering a hog, cooking for a crowd, or running his beloved town: he was a can do kind of guy.

Granddad’s dad had served in the Army of the Union during the Civil War as a surgeon’s assistant to to his older brother.

My favorite memory of Granddad includes my grandmother. Her maternal grandfather, had also served in the Army of the Union as a surgeon’s assistant to his brother. She had been raised in a Quaker home. Her English ancestors had strong values that they stood by even during troubled times. Grandmother was reserved, but she was a person with strong convictions beneath her quiet, mild demeanor. Granddad loved and respected her opinions and intellect.

With their combined heritage of giving to God, country, and communities, it’s no wonder that they gave to their home town. One summer afternoon, Grandmother was sitting in the living room when Granddad strode in the door.

She turned to him and said, I’d like to start a library in town.

He sat down and they began to cogitate.

She said, Do you think we could use the jail for a library?

Granddad said, I don’t see why not. No one is ever arrested here.

She said, Everyone in town could donate books and magazines.

Granddad mused, Un-huh, and I figure there ought to be a few old chairs and a desk around that might be pitched in for the cause. I’ll get the word out.

Grandmother said, I could donate three afternoons a week to act as the Liberian, you know, to keep everything in order and to check out books and magazines.

Granddad nodded and replied, "I’ll go round up the boys,