If I read the Gospels and really put myself in the story, I would have to admit that I may well have wanted to “protect” Jesus from some of those that sought His help and His blessing.
It’s easy to fall into the trap of deciding who might be worthy of God’s time and attention.
Read the rest here: Lenten Reflections: Welcoming Those Whom Jesus Loves
In Jewish culture, “It’s an act of reverence to ask questions of the story. The Jews are confident that the story is strong enough to be tried and tested….Around the table, a Jewish child has ‘That’s a good question!’ drummed into his or her soul, not ‘You don’t ask that question’…Questions are a sacred as answers.” (Dr. Leonard Sweet)
If you’ve read a single word I’ve written in the past nine years you know how close this truth is to my heart!
I think we do a disservice to ourselves and others when we reduce the complexities of Scripture to something like Aesop’s Fables. Real people lived real lives and had real questions. The Almighty God is big enough to handle them.
Read the rest here: Lenten Reflections: Making Space for Authentic Faith
That means learning to let go of past mistakes, missed opportunities, woulda/coulda/shoulda.
Because the truth is no one lives backwards.
It’s helpful to reflect on how past actions might have influenced present conditions but it is crippling to hold those thoughts and feelings so close that there’s no room for new ones.
Read the rest here: Lenten Reflections : Letting Go of Regret to Make Space For Growth
In the last post I shared the difference between mourning and grief. While the outward ceremonies have long passed, the inward struggle to embrace and understand the pain and sorrow of losing my son continues.
If you love someone who has lost a child, perhaps these thoughts might help you understand a bit of their pain and how completely it changes the way bereaved parents encounter the world.
Please be patient. Please don’t try to “fix” us. Please be present and compassionate. And if you don’t know what to say, feel free to say nothing-a hug, a smile, an understanding look-they mean so very much.
❤ Melanie
A bereaved parent’s grief doesn’t fit an easy-to-understand narrative. And it flies in the face of the American “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality.
You can’t beat it–it’s not a football game-there is no winning team.
You can’t lose it–it’s not the extra 10 pounds you’ve been carrying since last Christmas.
You can’t get over it–it’s not a teenage love affair that will pale in comparison when the real thing comes along.
You can only survive it. You can heal from it, but it will take a lifetime and require very special care.
Read the rest here: Loving Well: Understanding the Grieving Heart
As a people-pleasing first born who hates conflict, giving in has always been easy for me. It’s only later that I wish I hadn’t.
So for most of my life, setting personal boundaries has been challenging.
But in the aftermath of child loss, healthy boundaries are no longer optional, they are necessary for survival.
So what are healthy boundaries?
Read the rest here: Healthy Boundaries in Grief
I know that when I first stumbled onto a bereaved parent group, it was one of the things I was looking for: evidence that the overwhelming pain of child loss would not last forever.
Some days I was encouraged as those who had traveled farther down this path posted comments affirming that they could feel something other than sorrow.
Some days I was devastated to read comments from parents who buried a child decades ago asserting that “it never gets better”.
Who is right?
What’s the difference?
Do I have any control over whether or not this burden gets lighter?
Read the rest here: Will It Ever Get Better?
Shame is one of the most crippling aspects of child loss.
Depending on the circumstances surrounding your child’s last days on earth, it can be compounded by friends, family and even strangers who speculate, comment or simply give a parent “that look”.
It’s true that we all MAKE mistakes but none of us ARE mistakes.
Grief work is, in part, embracing this life we didn’t choose.
But it is also letting go of feelings, identities and burdens placed upon our broken hearts by ourselves and others.
Shame tells us we are unworthy of love and belonging and that is simply a lie.
❤ Melanie
Shame is a shackle as sure as any chains forged from iron.
And it often finds its home in the hearts of those who bury a child.
Bereaved parents may feel shame for lots of reasons:
The list could be endless-on the other side of child loss our brains pick apart every interaction, every choice, every moment that could have gone one way but went another.
Read the rest here: Shake Off the Shame
I’ll be honest-there are definitely times when “faking it” is the easier path. Chatty neighbors, standing in line, professional meetings or chance encounters lend themselves to light conversations that don’t need to include ALL my feelings or current grief experience.
But there are other times when being real, honest and authentic is not only preferable, it’s necessary.
I cannot fake it forever.
It took me awhile to figure that out.
Child loss is hard. Child loss impacts a family forever. Child loss is not “curable” or “solvable” and it’s not helpful to pretend it is.
So for the relationships that matter, I try to be transparent.
❤ Melanie
There’s a common bit of advice in grief circles: Fake it until you make it.
It’s not bad as far as it goes and can be pretty useful-especially just after the initial loss and activity surrounding it.
Like when I met the acquaintance in the grocery store a month after burying Dominic and she grabbed me with a giant smile on her face, “How ARE you?!!! It’s SO good to see you out!!!”
I just smiled and stood there as if I appreciated her interest, a deer caught in headlights, silently praying she’d live up to her talkative past and soon move on to another target.
Faked it.
Boom!
BUT there comes a time when faking it is not helpful. In fact, it’s downright dangerous.
Read the rest here: Can’t Fake It Forever
I grew up in the South with a mama who was extremely concerned with fulfilling every social nicety and especially NEVER neglecting to send a “thank you” card to anyone who deserved one.
I wrote out my own appreciations between Christmas and New Year’s each holiday season from the time I was old enough to know how to address an envelope.
There was never an acceptable excuse for not doing it.
So I understand the folks whose own tradition, upbringing and lifestyle demand every kindness, gift, meal brought or other act of service demands written and postage paid acknowledgement.
But please stop waiting for one from your friend or family member who buried their child!
Several times in the past week I’ve had to counsel and console bereaved parents who have been chided, embarrassed, called out in public or shamed in private for not sending notes of gratitude.
It is unrealistic to expect a grieving parent to have the emotional or mental bandwidth to sit down and compose such things when they are probably having trouble writing a grocery list and brushing their teeth.
No one who hasn’t experienced child loss can imagine how difficult it is to leave a funeral or memorial service knowing that for most people it’s over when for t us it’s just beginning.
Child loss changes EVERYTHING.
We come back to a house that no longer feels like home. Our family has been reshaped in ways we can’t recognize and don’t know how to relate to. If there are other children, we are trying our best to help them navigate their own grief. Marriages are rocked and every weak spot exposed.
Some end.
For those who must return to work, it’s necessary to find some way to muster the energy and attention to do whatever our job demands all the while fighting an internal wellspring of emotion that threatens to undo us any moment. Bills have to be paid. Estates (yes, even for very young children, depending on the circumstances) must be managed. Dozens of times we are forced to make phone calls and say, “My son is deceased, I need to do XYZ on his behalf”.
Mental, physical, emotional and spiritual exhaustion is our constant companion.
Most parents would LOVE to have a moment when they could thank those who helped in the immediate aftermath, who sent flowers, food or a card to encourage them.
But they don’t.
I managed to send about twenty notes within the first month to a few folks who were exceptionally close to our family. The rest waited until November when I used Thanksgiving as a natural moment to express my feelings. I know I overlooked some people and I’ve never tried to make my efforts more complete. I am unusual but writing comes fairly natural to me.
Many parents just cannot do it.
So if you are tempted to confront a bereaved parent because you or someone you represent hasn’t gotten a card in the mail, just don’t. And for goodness sakes, do NOT whisper or text behind their back!
I hope you offered your original help or gift with grace and a heart tuned toward compassion. If you didn’t, then shame on you. If you did, then you shouldn’t mind not having a formal acknowledgement.
You have the great blessing of remaining ignorant of what it feels like to send a child to Heaven before you.
That should be enough.
I first shared this post in 2018 when I was approaching the four year milestone of Dominic’s leaving for Heaven.
By that time most folks who knew me when he died had relegated that part of my story to some ancient past that surely I was over by now. I’d met others who had no clue my heart skipped a beat on a regular basis because one of my children was buried in the churchyard down the road.
And even the closest ones-the ones I thought would understand forever-were sometimes impatient with my ongoing refusal to leave Dominic behind and be “healed” of my grief.
I was reminded of it recently when several bereaved parents shared some painful grief attacks suffered around the holidays even though it has been years or even decades since their child ran ahead to Heaven.
Truth is, I will never be fully healed on earth from the awful wound of child loss. I continue to be subject to the sharp stab of missing and longing that drags my heart back to the first devastating moment.
And when that happens, I can’t fake it.
What I long for more than anything as the tenth anniversary of his departure draws near is simply this: Let me be me, whatever that looks like.
So please don’t try to fit my journey into your mold.
❤ Melanie
Even in the very first hours after the news, my brain began instructing my heart, “Now, try to be brave. Try not to disappoint people. Try to say the right thing, do the right thing and be the example you should be.”
Whatever that meant.
Read the rest here: Can I Just Be Me?
thelifeididntchoose 