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My last column came out today. As I opened it and saw my familiar picture and byline, somehow, I didn’t expect to see my son’s picture and obituary almost parallel; my heart sunk deep into my chest, it was hard to breathe.
The night we found out we lost Daniel; I knew our lives would never be the same. I thought it would be forever darkened. Everything I considered important melted into a puddle of contempt: my column, book, and gardens, even Hannah’s wedding plans. Dan was gone, nothing else mattered.
I was right. Life will never be the same. That sounds so cliché and empty, but I mean it in every sense; not only will it never be the same, I won’t allow it to be the same. I want to be forever changed by it. When we are weak He is strong; I want to feel His strength, I need to hear His voice, and I want His peace. He is my comforter and my strength.
He is making everything new, priorities realigned, relationships healed, and souls have found Christ. It is painful-- but so was childbirth, and so was the crucifixion.
One of the verses in Dan’s favorite song we sing has been swirling in my heart today, “death of the one who gave life to the rest…who could have guessed…who could have guessed?”
Some of the personal e-mails I have had that have brought peace, even joy in the midst of our grief, and breathes life into us.
We have been engulfed by love from our Christian brothers and sisters. From that horrible night, when Brian and Debby, Cristal and Brian, Katrina and Paul stayed the night in the hospital with my entire family, just to cry and hold us…to the women, who served the meal after the funeral, to the stacks of cards, gifts and flowers we have received…we have been blessed beyond measure.
No, our lives have changed forever.
For those who don't get the paper...
In the grip of grace
It didn’t come in the middle of the night. That’s how we always imagine it, the shrill sound of a phone piercing the night. And an unfamiliar distant voice uttering those words, “There’s been an accident.”
It didn’t happen that way. But it happened nonetheless.
My phone call came from one of my best friends last Tuesday evening. My husband and I were in Springfield with our daughter, who had just undergone surgery on her leg. It had been a long day in the waiting room, and just before seven, we were told we could go upstairs into her room and help her settle in for the night.
The warning shot was fired in the elevator; the first phone call. “Do you know where the boys are?” Scott Douglas asked.
I explained I had been with Hannah here in Springfield all day, but I knew they had an impromptu basketball practice at the Arthur Christian School. Scott sounded more confused than concerned, and explained that Brian Lowery was looking for the boys.
As we entered my daughter’s hospital room, the phone rang again. This time the caller ID said “Brian Lowry.”
When I answered the phone, it was his wife, one of my closest friends, Cristal, who had to say those awful words out loud, “Oh, Rhonda, there’s been an accident.”
All she knew was it was that it was bad, and one boy was air lifted to Carle. I knew my son Tom was driving, but I had no idea who she said was in the car. My heart, mind, and hearing all but stopped at the words “air lifted.”
The trip home through the wind, rain, hail and tornados was spent with both of us on the phone frantically trying to find where the boys had been taken. We were told each boy had been taken to different hospitals. But none of the parents knew whose son was where. Everyone scattered to hospitals looking for our boys, while we sped home calling one emergency room after another, our children, and the other parents.
Cristal’s words slowly dawned on me, and I realized who she said were the four boys: My Tom, Schuyler and Sam Binion, and my youngest son Dan.
As we pulled onto the interstate; an unknown caller appeared on my phone. It was the Chaplin at St. Mary’s Hospital; he had been assigned to Tom. He said he was “responsive” but we needed to come quick. But where is Dan? No one could tell us.
By the time we pulled into St. Mary’s Hospital, all the boys had been located—except Dan.
In a small room, behind closed doors, two strangers doing their best to be kind, said to us the most horrible words I have ever heard, “Dan died at the scene.”
When God took our precious son, Elijah Daniel, it ripped a whole in the fabric of our family that we can never repair, or replace. The edges of the hole are still sharp and unbelievably painful.
We are surrounded by a community that has wrapped its arms around us and lifted us up in prayer in a way that we could never have imagined.
The four boys are lifelong friends that are as close as brothers. Both families feel as if all four boys are our own.
To help in the healing process friends have set up a blog for updates on the Binion brother’s progress, comments from concerned friends, and memories of my Dan. You are invited to visit it often.
If you will, excuse me for a little while, as I withdraw into the arms of my Savior, friends and family.
The night we found out we lost Daniel; I knew our lives would never be the same. I thought it would be forever darkened. Everything I considered important melted into a puddle of contempt: my column, book, and gardens, even Hannah’s wedding plans. Dan was gone, nothing else mattered.
I was right. Life will never be the same. That sounds so cliché and empty, but I mean it in every sense; not only will it never be the same, I won’t allow it to be the same. I want to be forever changed by it. When we are weak He is strong; I want to feel His strength, I need to hear His voice, and I want His peace. He is my comforter and my strength.
He is making everything new, priorities realigned, relationships healed, and souls have found Christ. It is painful-- but so was childbirth, and so was the crucifixion.
One of the verses in Dan’s favorite song we sing has been swirling in my heart today, “death of the one who gave life to the rest…who could have guessed…who could have guessed?”
Some of the personal e-mails I have had that have brought peace, even joy in the midst of our grief, and breathes life into us.
"This entire experience, this horrible tragedy, has opened my eyes…NothingWe have gotten several calls from people saying that after the funeral, a brother, grandmother, or a long lost friend reconciled with them. Some after years of estrangement- most never knew Dan.
will ever look quite the same.”
“…as a result of being forced by Danny's
death… I'm praying this revelation of truth is going to result in some real
changes in me. I pray that God will use this river of pain to make me more and
more like Jesus…”
We have been engulfed by love from our Christian brothers and sisters. From that horrible night, when Brian and Debby, Cristal and Brian, Katrina and Paul stayed the night in the hospital with my entire family, just to cry and hold us…to the women, who served the meal after the funeral, to the stacks of cards, gifts and flowers we have received…we have been blessed beyond measure.
No, our lives have changed forever.
For those who don't get the paper...
In the grip of grace
It didn’t come in the middle of the night. That’s how we always imagine it, the shrill sound of a phone piercing the night. And an unfamiliar distant voice uttering those words, “There’s been an accident.”
It didn’t happen that way. But it happened nonetheless.
My phone call came from one of my best friends last Tuesday evening. My husband and I were in Springfield with our daughter, who had just undergone surgery on her leg. It had been a long day in the waiting room, and just before seven, we were told we could go upstairs into her room and help her settle in for the night.
The warning shot was fired in the elevator; the first phone call. “Do you know where the boys are?” Scott Douglas asked.
I explained I had been with Hannah here in Springfield all day, but I knew they had an impromptu basketball practice at the Arthur Christian School. Scott sounded more confused than concerned, and explained that Brian Lowery was looking for the boys.
As we entered my daughter’s hospital room, the phone rang again. This time the caller ID said “Brian Lowry.”
When I answered the phone, it was his wife, one of my closest friends, Cristal, who had to say those awful words out loud, “Oh, Rhonda, there’s been an accident.”
All she knew was it was that it was bad, and one boy was air lifted to Carle. I knew my son Tom was driving, but I had no idea who she said was in the car. My heart, mind, and hearing all but stopped at the words “air lifted.”
The trip home through the wind, rain, hail and tornados was spent with both of us on the phone frantically trying to find where the boys had been taken. We were told each boy had been taken to different hospitals. But none of the parents knew whose son was where. Everyone scattered to hospitals looking for our boys, while we sped home calling one emergency room after another, our children, and the other parents.
Cristal’s words slowly dawned on me, and I realized who she said were the four boys: My Tom, Schuyler and Sam Binion, and my youngest son Dan.
As we pulled onto the interstate; an unknown caller appeared on my phone. It was the Chaplin at St. Mary’s Hospital; he had been assigned to Tom. He said he was “responsive” but we needed to come quick. But where is Dan? No one could tell us.
By the time we pulled into St. Mary’s Hospital, all the boys had been located—except Dan.
In a small room, behind closed doors, two strangers doing their best to be kind, said to us the most horrible words I have ever heard, “Dan died at the scene.”
When God took our precious son, Elijah Daniel, it ripped a whole in the fabric of our family that we can never repair, or replace. The edges of the hole are still sharp and unbelievably painful.
We are surrounded by a community that has wrapped its arms around us and lifted us up in prayer in a way that we could never have imagined.
The four boys are lifelong friends that are as close as brothers. Both families feel as if all four boys are our own.
To help in the healing process friends have set up a blog for updates on the Binion brother’s progress, comments from concerned friends, and memories of my Dan. You are invited to visit it often.
If you will, excuse me for a little while, as I withdraw into the arms of my Savior, friends and family.
3 comments:
Your words are so touching.. I am so sorry for your loss... I cannot imagine.. Your words of inspiration, grief, and sorrow bring each of us who read them closer to your feelings and the power of the Lord above. I hope and pray for your comfort and peace. Amy Lee, Atwood, Illinois
From one mother to another, one friend to another, one sister to another...my heart aches for you.
You are prayed for often.
Love,
Cindy
GOOD MORNING RHONDA!
JUST THINKING OF YOU, AND READ THAT TOM HAS TO HAVE SURGERY TOMORROW. SURE HOPE THINGS ARE STARTING TO GET BETTER FOR YOU ALITLE BIT, AND TOM IS HEALING.
I CAN'T IMAGINE THE GRIEF YOU ARE BEARING, BUT KNOW THAT GOD IS HOLDING YOU, AND HELP YOU THROUGH THIS, ONE DAY AT A TIME.
HANNANA'S WEDDING WILL BE BEAUTIFUL, BECAUSE DANNY IS STILL WATCHING FOR THE ROSE TREES AND YOUR GARDEN & FLOWERS! SO GO OUT THERE AND HELP DANNY, HE IS COUNTING ON YOU TOO!
LOVE YOU, COUSIN BRENDA
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