We shouldn’t need a reminder, but we do.
The world is so busy telling us to “just do it” or “put on a happy face” or “think positive” that we begin to wonder if maybe we’ve got this grieving thing all wrong.
Read the rest here: You’re Allowed to be Sad
I absolutely understand that when people say things like, “Just think of all the wonderful memories you have” or “He brought you so much joy” they mean well.
Because it’s true-I have beautiful memories of Dominic. And he DID bring me great joy.
But I had those things BEFORE he was beyond my reach.
Read the rest here:But I Had All That BEFORE!
Someone posted this image yesterday on Facebook-they had received a copy in a therapy session and found it a helpful way to picture grief.
I wanted to share it because perhaps you may find it helpful as well. ❤
Read the rest here: Grief-A Tangled Ball of Emotions
Even six years into this journey I have hard grief days.
I had one just this week and needed to remind my heart that while I can’t stop the waves from rolling in, I have ways to hang on and ride them out.
There are many, many ways to survive such days but here are ten that have proven helpful to me over and over again.
❤
My hardest grief season begins in November and runs to the end of May. Thanksgiving through Dominic’s birthday on (or near) Memorial Day are days full of triggers, memories and stark reminders that one of us is missing.
If I could fall asleep November first and wake up in June I’d do it.
But I can’t so I have to employ all the tricks I’ve learned in the nearly six years since Dominic ran ahead to heaven to survive those particularly challenging months.
Here are ten ways I survive hard grief days.
Read the rest here: Taking Care: Ten Ways to Survive Hard Grief Days
I grew up singing hymns.
I was introduced to praise choruses in my mid-twenties.
I love both.
I used to hear or sing along to them and feel them feed my spirit.
My family sang in choirs, served on worship teams and was rarely absent from church for over twenty years. Music was part of everyday life with a special bonus on Sundays.
Now I find it hard to hear and even harder to sing some hymns I used to love.
Read the rest here: How I Sing The Hymns That Hurt My Heart
Pale. Flat. Tasteless.
Yes.
They’d crossed over to that continent where grieving parents lived. It looked the same as the rest of the world, but wasn’t. Colors bled pale. Music was just notes. Books no longer transported or comforted, not fully. Never again. Food was nutrition, little more. Breaths were sighs. And they knew something the rest didn’t. They knew how lucky the rest of the world was.
― Louise Penny
It was absolutely this way for more than the first three years.
Read the rest here: All The Color Gone
We were so busy in the first few months after Dom left us that I was running on adrenaline and caffeine.
Sorrow, sadness and pain were my constant companions but I really didn’t have much time to think about or process what was happening below the surface in my psyche or my spirit.
Most days were filled with the necessary and urgent.
So it was probably almost six months into this journey I really took a moment to assess the state of my being and it was not good.
Not. good. at. all.
I slowed down a little-found more time to journal, reflect, cry and just breathe while walking trails or sitting outside in the sun.
Fast forward nearly six years and I’ve forgotten how to do that.
I’ve forgotten how to sit still and let the feelings wash over me. I’ve forgotten that if I don’t give myself space and grace to feel, deal and heal I’m doomed to fall deeper down the well of despair.
So today I took a mental health day.
Those of you who work full time know that in many companies it is a perfectly legitimate use of paid time off. In fact, the most progressive organizations encourage employees to pay attention to their own inner voice and stay home if they need to.
It’s harder for folks like me whose work IS home to declare one day a “work free zone” and instead do only the things that feed and nurture our souls. Or do nothing at all.
I’m surrounded by reminders of what I should be doing. And some things simply can’t be left undone-animals need tending, dishes need washing, food must be prepared and doled out.
As a matter of fact, as I’m typing this I feel guilty for not having done as many chores or accomplished as many daily tasks as I normally would have!
I think it gets harder and harder over the years for me to justify the necessity of some time devoted solely to processing the ongoing changes grief produces in my heart, mind and body.
It just seems like I should be-I don’t know-“used” to it by now, “better” at it by now, “more capable” by now.
And, I suppose I am all of those things.
But every now and then I find the normal stress and strain of life combined with the constant hum of missing Dominic wears me down.
So I’m trying to remember that rest is its own kind of “work” and that it is important work.
It’s setting aside time and space for my mind, body and soul to refuel and renew.
Being a perpetual motion machine (or trying to be!) is overrated.
No one can run on empty forever.
Grief is not *just* feelings. It is so much more.
I shared this last year around this time in response to many, many comments and questions from bereaved parents about what felt like random or unusual physical manifestations of their own grief.
I hope it helps another heart navigate this life none of us would choose.
❤
It’s a well known fact that stress plays a role in many health conditions.
And I think most of us would agree that child loss is one of (if not THE) most stressful events a heart might endure.
So it’s unsurprising that bereaved parents find themselves battling a variety of physical problems in the wake of burying a child.
Read the rest here: Bereaved Parents Month Post: Physical Manifestations of Grief
You know what breaks my heart all over again?
The fact that so many bereaved parents tell me they don’t feel they can share their experience on their own FaceBook or other social media pages.
That’s just WRONG!
They have been shushed to silent suffering because when they break open the vault of emotions and let others see what’s inside, most people turn away-or worse, they condemn that wounded heart for sharing.
Read the rest here: Bereaved Parents Month: Courage is a Heart Word
I was surprised at myself.
When we cleaned out Dominic’s apartment two weeks after he left us, I couldn’t throw away a thing.
Even though it meant boxing it up, carting it down the stairs and loading and unloading it onto our trailer, I DIDN’T CARE.
If it was his, if his hands had touched it, his body worn it or he had placed it in the cabinet or fridge, it was coming with me.
The only thing I left in that space was the empty echo of his fading presence.
I brought all the rest home.
Because these things aren’t just things. They represent some portion of my son-his personality, his preferences, his history and his hopes.
Many are the minutiae that make up a life:
Of course there were the larger items most folks would think of bringing home if not keeping-furniture, computers, his car, television and stereo.
We put the delicate and temperature sensitive things inside the house.
The rest was placed in a storage building on our property. Every time I opened the door to the building for several years it smelled of Dominic.
I loved it and hated it in one breath.
I’m using his furniture in our living room. His television set is downstairs in the family room. Some of his other things live in his siblings’ homes.
We’ve all found ways to touch what he touched last.
I am slowly getting better at getting rid of some of Dominic’s things.
Just yesterday my husband replaced faucets in the bathroom my boys used growing up. In the process we pulled out stuff from under the deep cabinets.
Tucked in the back were some old bottles of hair gel and other half-used, dried up products that once belonged to my fashion conscious son who was always trying to tame his curly hair.
I grabbed them and tossed them into a plastic trash bag as we prepared to put replace things underneath. I almost pulled them back out.
Sighing, I tied up the bag and took it straight to the big curbside garbage can before I could change my mind.
These things aren’t *just* things.
Every time I get rid of something that was Dominic’s I feel like I’m erasing a little bit more of HIM. I feel like I’m losing one more touchstone to help my mind hold onto memories that might slip away without it.
They are a tangible connection that I can see, smell and touch to a child with whom I can no longer do any of those things.
I suspect I will always keep at least a tiny stash to pull out on heavy days or birthdays or just days when my heart needs reminding.
And I’m OK with that. ❤
Celebrating Life And Living Without The Denial Of Loss And Grieving
Carrying the torch for bereaved parents.
mama bereaved by suicide#child loss#grief
Healing through writting
"The Lord will look with compassion on all her ruins; he will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands like the Garden of the Lord." Isaiah 51:3
Journaling Through The Grief
Losing Joe and finding my way thru grief.
Ideas and musings from a middle-aged 20 something
& seeking to walk in His ways ~ Joshua 22:5
Defying mainstream thoughts on grace and who it is reserved for.
IANspiration : Live Like Ian
“Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope.” — Maya Angelou
...the heart of a God chaser.
~ declaring His kingdom ~ for His glory
Living Each Day in the Light of God's Faithfulness
"In faith there is enough light for those who want to believe and enough shadows to blind those who don't." - Blaise Pascal
thelifeididntchoose 