Talida’s Story:
On the surface, my adult life was coming along swimmingly. I was rooted in my faith in Christ, which had begun in childhood. I had worked hard and gained success in my technology career and had married my college sweetheart. After infertility treatment, we had become parents of twin daughters. My husband and I were leaders of a church plant from Redeemer, Tim Keller’s Manhattan church, and we loved raising our daughters bilingually in the rich culture of New York City.
When my daughter Cassie was diagnosed with autism at the age of two, I attacked the challenge with my go-to approach: hard work. I devoured every book about autism I could find and quickly became a self-proclaimed autism expert. I practically wrote a manual on autism in a series of detailed emails to all our family members, detailing what autism meant for Cassie and even listing books and websites family members should study.
Only my mother-in-law followed through with my assignments and even added her own research. Her devotion and interest bonded us closely. She prayed for us, sent books and often called with encouraging messages, buoying us as we adjusted to and explored our status as a special needs family.
Shockingly, we received the shattering news in November 2017 that my devoted Christian mother-in-law had died by suicide. My world absolutely fell apart. My husband and I had no idea his mother was dealing with depression while she was upholding us with encouragement and prayer. We didn’t even know she had been taking antidepressants. Even today, we don’t fully understand what series of events and emotions led to her sudden and tragic death.
The only way I can describe the months that followed is walking through fog. I got out of bed, dressed and ate and brushed my teeth and helped my daughters do those things. But I felt numb. I took Cassie to her special education preschool, and I took Violet, her twin, to part-time daycare, then allowed Violet to watch the movie Moana every day while I cried on the couch. We dragged ourselves to church services and confided in our senior pastor, who referred us to a Bible-based grief counselor.
We felt unable to share our deep pain with anyone besides our counselor. Because of the confusion and complexity surrounding my mother-in-law’s death, we felt isolated from the community that should have been our safe place. In the beginning, I wanted to force other family members to enter grief counseling, but I have learned since to allow room for each person to grieve in his or her own way.
After this winter of despair, spring came again, and I hoped for relief. But suddenly we were met with another blow. Violet, my non-autistic twin, began to display regressive behavior that led to her being kicked out of her daycare. I woke up from my terrible fog and went into mama-bear mode, but I also immediately blamed myself for neglecting Violet. I was stung by remorse for wallowing in grief.
Anguished and alert, I worked hard to get Violet the help she needed, including appointments with specialists. Eventually, Violet also received an autism diagnosis. Violet’s diagnosis was a harder blow, perhaps because it came later, but also because of its timing. Each time Violet had a meltdown, my mind and emotions reverted to the night of my mother-in-law’s death. My emotion-wrapped thoughts accused me: “If only I had been a better daughter-in-law, she wouldn’t have taken her own life; and if I hadn’t been wallowing in grief, then my daughter wouldn’t have regressed.”
Through grief counseling and other reminders of truth, I knew my mother-in-law’s suicide and Violet’s diagnosis were not my fault. But I still needed God’s Word to replace lies with truth from His Word many times daily.
During this season of sorrow and loss, I found physical comfort in running. I laced up my running shoes and escaped as my feet pounded the streets. I wanted to get away from the whys, what-ifs and if-onlys that haunted me constantly. Because I preferred the physical pain of running hard to the emotional injuries of my life, I pushed myself to run longer and faster. I knew that no matter what challenges faced me, I had to continue onward.
Running became my metaphor for perseverance. And as I ran, I prayed, becoming closer to God through His Word. The Bible compares the Christian life to a race, and I sought to fix my eyes on the Author and Finisher of my faith and to run the race set before me (Hebrews 12:1-2).
I wish I could say our season of devastation and loss ended there, but we continued to face heartache while living in NYC in 2020 at the epicenter of the COVID-19 pandemic. The in-person services and special education my daughters and our family desperately needed were stripped away from us, and we felt trapped in our small apartment.
In God’s mercy, my husband and I came together in this valley of darkness. We prayed together, cried together and made sure we said, “I love you” often. We reminded each other of the sovereignty and love of God. Like Habakkuk lamenting Israel’s struggle against evil Babylon, we were confused and hurt by what God had allowed, but we still said, “Though the fig tree does not bud … and the fields produce no food … yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. The Sovereign Lord is my strength” (Habakkuk 3:17-19).
We still feel emotionally crippled, but we recognize that in pain and loss, we still have to trust God. This life with its soaring joys and horrific pain is not all that He has promised us. We know that life is a marathon, and we want to be faithful to endure for the reward, seeing His lovely face in the end. In the words of Tim Keller (1950-2023), “The gospel is this: We are more sinful and flawed in ourselves than we ever dared believe, yet at the very same time we are more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope.” In our pain, we cling to this hope.
