When a child dies, everything shifts.
Every relationship is altered.
Every pattern changed.
Author: Melanie
I am a shepherd, wife and mother of four amazing children, three that walk the earth with me and one who lives with Jesus. This is a record of my grief journey and a look into the life I didn't choose. If you are interested in joining a community of bereaved parents leaning on the promises of God in Christ, please like the public Facebook page, "Heartache and Hope: Life After Losing a Child" and join the conversation.
To The Friends Who Stay
Sticking with a friend whose life is hard and is going to continue to be hard is not for the faint of heart.
Not all wounds can be healed.
Not all problems have a resolution.
Not all relationships follow a path that leads to a happy ending.
So here’s to the friends that don’t give up, that refuse to leave and whose presence remind me that while life is painful, it is also beautiful.
Here’s to the ones whose commitment to love me in the dark places reminds me that love still lives.
You’re my lifeline.
What NOT To Say
Humans are hard-wired to say something when silence lingers long between them.
So it’s not surprising that when death makes talking difficult, the person most susceptible to that pressure will often blurt out the first thing that pops into her head.
And it is often, oh, so wrong.
Any sentence that begins with , “Just remember”, “At least” or “I know exactly” is better left unsaid.
Stages of Grief ? Nope.
Ever since Elizabeth Kubler Ross published her best-sellling book, “On Death and Dying” both professionals and laypersons have embraced her explanation of the “five stages of grief”.
The model has been used as a faulty standard to measure grievers’ “progress” for decades.
Trouble is, she got it wrong.
And it is especially wrong for bereaved parents or anyone who suffers traumatic or sudden death.
Grief does NOT look like this:
It looks like this:
Respite
res·piteˈrespət,rēˈspīt/
noun
I have been blogging now for nearly 20 months and creating a daily post for most of that time.
I love the connections I’ve made with bereaved parents around the world and other people whose hurting hearts beat in rhythm with my own even though I hate the reason for our coming together.
But I’m tired-my body is desperate for rest, my mind needs to be refreshed and renewed and my spirit is weak.
So for this next week I’m going to do something simple each day. I’ll be posting a quote or meme or Bible verse that has spoken to me in some way on this journey.
I hope they will also speak to you.
No lengthy, soul-searching insights or essays.
Please stick around-regular posts will resume June 25th.
Love to all of you who encourage me and each other by sharing here and online in other safe spaces.
I hope that if you are in need of rest, you’ll find a way to take a break as well.
Repost: Father’s Day for Bereaved Fathers
I can’t pretend to understand exactly what it feels like to be a father who buries a child. I’ve only been able to watch from the outside as my husband absorbed the impact of that great wound.
But I can tell you this: for dads, like moms, each holiday is another mile marker on the road of grief.
It is another poignant reminder that things are not as they were-they are not as they should be.
Read the rest here: Father’s Day for Bereaved Fathers
Closed For Repairs
Oh how I wish I could hang a sign for just a single day, “Closed for Repairs”!
I keep thinking that tomorrow or next week will be the little bit of respite I need to catch my breath and to do a few things I really must do for my own mental wellness.
But life has conspired to make that impossible.
So here I am, hanging on by a thread again.
Just barely managing to get by.
Just barely managing to not scream in the middle of the grocery store when I can’t lift the case of Powerade bottles into the cart. Just barely able to contain my panic when I reach for my checkbook and can’t find it in the bottom of my purse. Just barely able to keep from crying when the bag rips putting it into the truck.
If the people around me knew how close I am to falling apart or breaking down, they would run away in fear of what might happen if I blow.
Yes, it’s been three years.
But Dominic walked with me on this earth for nearly 24 years. Three years isn’t long enough to adjust to his absence.
I need a day off.
Or a week.
Or a year.
Missing Milestones
Another friend has a new grandchild.
It makes my heart so happy to see families grow and prosper. I love the fresh sweetness of newborn wrinkles and chubby fists.
If I’m honest I have to admit that for every smile that spreads wide across my face in response to posted pictures, there is a tear that slips down from the corner of my eye.
I wish I could feel unadulterated joy like I used to.
But I can’t.
It is impossible for there to be any progeny bearing his smile, his laughter, his brown eyes and overgrown eyebrows. The rhythm that filled his head and tapped, tapped, tapped down the bannister is buried underground.
And that is hard to bear.
Losing a child is not a single event.
It happens over and over and over.
Have You Seen His Glory?
If I had been around in the intertestamental years of Israel’s history, I think I’d have been tired of waiting for that promised Messiah the prophets kept crowing about.
I mean, really-how long was it going to take?
What was God waiting on?
What was the plan anyway?
And then, when this young woman shows up claiming to have been overcome by the power of the Holy Ghost-well, that’s a nice fairy tale but hardly how I think God would work this whole thing out.
Except that was EXACTLY how He worked it out-God Himself sent His Son to be born of a virgin and to live as a perfect man and to offer Himself as the perfect and sufficient sacrifice for sin.
Jesus the Messiah, the Christ, revealed Himself to His disciples. He gave them a glimpse of His glory-the glory of the one and only Son of the Living God.
“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.”
John 1;14 NIV
We no longer have to wonder what God is like or what He is up to.
He is full of grace and truth and He is up to reconciling the world to Himself through the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus.
THAT is glorious.
God Doesn’t Grade on a Curve
When I was in school it was popular to ask a teacher after a test: “Will you grade on a curve?” The hope was always that since it was unlikely anyone would get a perfect score, the brackets would be moved downward.
Very few of us like absolutes. We prefer to be judged one against another instead of against an unbendable standard.
It’s no different with morality.
If you asked me to judge myself on a scale from Hitler to Mother Teresa, I would definitely put myself closer to her rather to him.
As long I measure myself against other humans, I am comfortable saying I fall in the top 50 percent.
Trouble is, that’s not the standard.
The standard against which my actions and heart attitudes are measured is unchangeable and inflexible.
It is perfection itself-the holiness of a holy God.
And when I place myself next to that measuring rod, I am woefully short.
Jesus shocked His followers by telling them that unless their righteousness exceeded that of the Pharisees (considered the most upstanding and holy in that day) they would never enter the kingdom of God. He expounded on every aspect of the Ten Commandments by addressing not only outward conformity (which, in truth, was impossible) but also motive and intention.
By that standard, even my “good deeds” are inadequate because they are often done with a wrong heart attitude.
I give because I want someone to think I’m generous.
I volunteer because I am a people pleaser.
I work hard because I want a raise.
Paul wrote in Romans “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God;” (Romans 3:23)
I can never “measure up” to the perfect standard of a perfect God. And while my flesh may be happy with “good enough” the holiness of God demands absolute perfection.
Truth is, I am a sinner-I miss the mark, I step outside the boundaries, I do what I shouldn’t do and don’t do what I should do.
Just like our first parents, I listen to my flesh and the evil one and question God’s goodness and His wisdom. I want to plot my own course, captain my own ship.
And also like our first parents, I find that I cannot do it.
I fall woefully short.
I am naked and ashamed, exposed in my sin and without hope for redemption by my own efforts .
In any other story, this would be the end-no hope, no second chances.
But God….
Two of the most beautiful words in the world!
God has not left me without hope.
He has not left me in my sin.
He has not abandoned me in my desperate state of alienation from my Creator.
He Himself has provided the Sacrifice,
the Perfect Lamb,
the propitiation for my sin.
thelifeididntchoose 