Melanie

Trying to Hold off the Holidays

Here they come round the bend like a pack of dogs chasing that rabbit on a racetrack.

No way to slow them down, no way to step to the side and ward off the relentless message that Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming soon-so, so soon.

Internet ads scream, “You’ve got to buy it NOW! You’re running out of time!”

Billboards, radio and television ads, and calendars count down the days.

Decorations assault my eyes and ears and nose (thank you pumpkin everything!). I cannot get away. There’s no where to hide.

So I have decided to take the offensive. I will do the things that must be done as quickly, as efficiently and as quietly as possible.

I am sending Thanksgiving cards instead of Christmas cards. I like the fall colors better than traditional yuletide hues anyway. No one says the yearly update letter has to be postmarked in December.

Our gift-giving is much simpler now than before Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. I’m less inclined to wrap dozens of presents to pile under the tree and more likely to give cash or gift cards along with a heartfelt note. So I will get all this together before the weather warrants a fire here in the Deep South.

I’m easily overwhelmed.

And too much of anything just seems like entirely. too. much.

Instead of loads of decorating that involves changing out all the everyday with holiday, I will put out a few bright things and lots of candles.

Flickering light in approaching darkness speaks hope to my heart.

I will concentrate on people, not on things. I am making space on the calendar for casual conversation instead of constant motion.

I won’t be swept along by the yuletide current, struggling for air, barely making it to January and glad the holidays are over.

Sip and savor.

That’s my motto.

I’m sticking to it.

The Reality of Ongoing Grief in Child Loss

One of the most difficult things to explain to anyone who has not buried a child is this: I didn’t just lose Dominic ONCE, I continue to lose him.

I lose him every single time there is a moment when he SHOULD be here but isn’t.

I lose him when his friends graduate, get married and have children.

I lose him again on Christmas morning when HIS face isn’t around the breakfast table and HIS name isn’t on the presents around the tree.

I lose him when I need to call and ask a question about my computer or need his opinion when trying to make a decision.

I lose him when everyone else is making their way home for the holidays or a birthday or just a visit-his car never rolls up the lane, his smiling face never emerges, his arms never reach out to wrap me in a bear hug.

I lose him when his siblings line up for photos-the space where he SHOULD be but ISN’T looms large.

I will never know the joy of standing at his wedding.

I will never be able to congratulate him on his first court victory.

I will never see his children

I won’t have his companionship in my old age.

He is gone-out of reach.

Untouchable.

Lost.

Code Words and the Jesus Juke

In the South we have our ways. Our ways of marginalizing folks who don’t quite fit in with who we think they should be or how we expect them to act.

Mostly we use code words. Words that seem innocent enough to the uninitiated but pack a punch if you have inside information and know what they really mean.

Any sentence that begins, “Bless her heart….” will almost surely end with a tidbit of gossip that undermines a reputation.

Sometimes we switch it up (especially in church) with “I think we need to pray for…”. Because we all know asking for prayer is holy, even if the situation isn’t and the person mentioned would just as soon her business stay private.

Social media has its own code words too.

Vague references to someone or something we don’t like or agree with usually begin with, “Ugh! I just don’t understand why….” followed by a litany of thinly veiled complaints.

But sometimes the code isn’t very complicated and it’s really easy for others to figure out precisely who or what you are talking about.

And it damages reputations and hurts feelings and you may sit back in your chair, tablet or laptop in hand, thinking, “Not my problem. I didn’t say WHO it was”.

But it IS your problem.

Even when you cloak your complaint or comment in biblical references or godly quotes, bottom line is you are accusing or mocking or undermining someone else.

My daughter calls it “Jesus juking”-tacking on a Bible verse before or after a remark in an attempt to shut down discussion or rebuttal.

Because if someone tries to disagree with YOU, it’s set up to make them look like they are disagreeing with Scripture or God Himself.

I don’t like these games people play. I don’t like code words. I don’t like tactics intended to make others feel small so I can feel larger.

Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. Sometimes social media forces my hand and I have to speak publicly on what I would rather discuss privately.

But that’s rare.

If I have a problem with someone, I try to take it directly to THEM.

And I hope they will do the same with me. ❤

A Peek Inside a Grieving Mother’s Thoughts

Ninety miles an hour-that’s how fast my mind can go from here to there.

From what’s in front of me to what’s behind me.

From laughter to swallowing sobs.

We sit in a living room surrounded by toys and playing with children, talking about life and love and plans and people. The little brown face that turns his eyes to mine looks so much like Dominic I have to suck in my breath.

Giggles. Squeals. Cars running up and down my arm and around my feet.

I will never see Dominic’s children. No brown face made from his genes will ever look into mine, arms reaching for a hug, slobbery kisses planted on my cheek.

Driving down the road I see the motorcyclist weaving in and out of traffic-angling for a quicker way along the highway, trusting other drivers to do their part in keeping him safe.

And my heart nearly stops.

Please, please, please be careful! Your mama doesn’t want to bury you!

Nothing I can do or say. Just like that morning. No way to undo what may happen, what has happened.

Stop for groceries. No more wandering up and down the aisles looking for bargains, drawing in smells of yummy goodness.

Stick to the list. Only go where I have to. There are so. many. ways. to miss him! So many sights and smells and memories that lurk around each corner and draw my heart back in time to before-before it knew what it was to have a child utterly unreachable.

Small talk. Pay attention, Melanie! Don’t let your mind drift and lose the conversation thread.

“You doing OK today, ma’am?”

OK-what does that mean? Not crying? Not screaming at the awful reality that fills my days? Still walking? Still functioning? Still able to get in my car and buy groceries?

“Yes, I’m fine. How about you?”

Important Reminder

It can get lonely in this life. Social media aside, most of us wonder if who we are really makes a difference at all.

But it does.

You are unique-created to make a difference only YOU can make.

The edges of your life touch the edges of others’ lives in places no one else can reach.

Don’t give up.

Don’t give in.

Repost: Of Leaking Buckets and Grief

I first wrote about this a few months back when I was pondering the FACT that no matter how wonderful the moment, how beautiful the gift, how marvelous the fellowship of family or friends, I am simply unable to feel the same overflowing abundant joy I once experienced.

Since then, I’ve been thinking about the great heroes of Scripture and studying their stories in detail.

I may be wrong, but I haven’t found one whose life did not contain pain.

Read the rest here: Of Leaking Buckets and Grief

Why Self Talk Matters

What you tell yourself matters.

What you rehearse becomes what you believe.

What you believe becomes what you do.

When Dominic first ran ahead to Heaven, I was determined to hold onto truth with both hands. I would not allow my mind to wander the winding path of “Why?“ or “What if?” or “Where now?”

I was able to keep that up until the funeral.

Then the bottom fell out.

All the thoughts I had kept at bay crashed through my defenses like an invading army. My mind was consumed by questions, doubts, horrible imagery and awful anxiety.

Slowly, slowly I recaptured the conquered territory.

I hung scribbled Bible verses and encouraging quotes all around the house. I refused to read or listen to news stories recounting accidents. I began the day with remembering Dom was gone, but also remembering I was still here and that my three living children, husband and parents needed me.

When my heart screamed, “Give up! Give in! It’s not worth it!”

My head answered, “No. I will endure. I will continue. I will be the one to carry Dominic’s light into the world.”

If I speak doom, gloom and despair to myself then I will live darkness, defeat and disillusionment.

If I speak courage, calm and compassion to my heart then I will live with hope and reach for happiness.

Self-talk matters more than we know.

How I frame my experience-both my son’s death and my ongoing interaction with the living-determines if I will waste the days that remain or will work to make them count.

I have no control over the past, but I have a little over the future.

I can’t change what happened, but I can change my attitude.

#Iknow

After publishing the last post, there has been interest on some private grief support sites to create our own version of the #metoo hashtag sweeping social media.

We tend to talk among ourselves, lamenting the lack of understanding that losing a child changes everything.

So here it is, folks. Our opportunity to stand and be counted. Our chance to have our voices heard.

Let’s speak up.

Let’s refuse to be shamed into silence.

#Iknow

“Me Too”: The Power of Validation

In the wake of revelations that Harvey Weinstein built his media empire in part, by harrassing (and worse) women who worked for him, there is a Facebook wave of “me too” posts by women and men who have also been harrassed, molested or assaulted.

It is empowering.

Because when hundreds, thousands and tens of thousands raise their social media “hands” to be counted, suddenly the lonely heart hiding in the corner realizes they are NOT alone.

I am thrilled that the secrecy and shame of sexual misconduct by men against women is being dragged into the light. That is where it belongs.

I want to do the same for child loss. I want to do the same for grief. I want to start a bold campaign where mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, grandparents and others say, “Me too!”

My heart hurts too.

My life is NOT the same and will NEVER be the same without my loved one’s companionship on earth.

I STILL look for him to come through the door on holiday weekends. I still long to CALL her and share good news or talk over my day. I CANNOT give up his old clothes or put away her toys or bundle up his belongings for charity.

I have to suck in my breath when a quick glance at a passing stranger tells my heart, “THERE HE IS!”

But my head says, “No, that can’t be him-he’s GONE.”

Songs-all kinds of songs-provoke memories, feelings, tears. Dry it up. Keep the fake face smiling. Look forward, don’t let them see.

There are thousands of us. Thousands. of. us.

Who will stand and raise their hand and SHOUT, “Me too!”?

The Problem With Microwave Presets: Struggling with Others’ Expectations in Grief

I hate microwaves that have the “quick minute” presets!

It takes MORE time for me to undo that feature and tap in how long I want to nuke my food than it would if it weren’t set up that way.

And sometimes I feel as if “undoing” is a great deal of what I do as a griever.

I have to dispel others’ expectations of what I should be feeling, doing or thinking.

I have to help them understand that unless you have been here, you CAN’T understand.

I pray they never understand.

But in the meantime, here we are, walking the same road but experiencing discord in communication, relationship, expectations and outlook.

Sometimes it’s ME. I’ll admit that up front.

Sometimes I am feeling so vulnerable and broken that the slightest misplaced syllable, the tiniest hint of disapproval, the merest whiff of impatience sends me down the rabbit hole of darkest night and endless grief. I receive things not as they are MEANT but as they FEEL filtered through my own pain.

But sometimes it IS the other person.

Sometimes they are thoughtless, heartless and unsympathetic. Sometimes they think that time has healed all wounds and that I should be “over this”-whatever THAT means. Sometimes it’s inconvenient for them to continue extending grace when what they need is a spot filled on the roster, a hand to help or a quick fix to one of their problems.

I have better days now at over three years since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. I even have better weeks every now and again. But what a given day or week will be like is still not mine to decide. Although I steel my mind and heart against the sorrow and missing, one word can pierce the armor I so carefully arrange and I am felled.

So I try to help my friends and family understand that. I spend time (especially when I am less emotional) explaining what it feels like to continue to miss my son. I hunt down examples to share that may speak to their hearts and circumstances. I write this blog. I’m honest when making plans to say that I may have to back out at the last minute or only stay for a portion of an event.

In many ways it’s like having an infant again. When I was nursing my babies there were always things I had to say “no” to or situations that had to be adapted to accommodate the baby. Feeding schedules and nap times dictated my life.

No one seemed to mind then.

My current life is equally hemmed in by what I can’t control.

Try as I might, it’s impossible for me to meet the expectations of others. I’m not a microwave.

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