There’s a common misconception about grief among those who have never experienced the loss of a close loved one.
It goes something like this: The first few weeks, months and the first holidays celebrated without them are the hardest. But once the bereaved make it through THOSE, things get EASIER.
I’m here to tell you that, at least for me, it’s just not true.
Read the rest here: Stronger
“Can you?” ” Would you?” “We need you to… Help!”
You’d be surprised how soon people start expecting a bereaved parent to jump right back into the responsibilities and activities they shouldered or enjoyed before burying a child.
I know the rest of the world didn’t stop when mine did, but I was truly amazed that some people in my circle seemed unaware mine had stopped at all.
As I’ve written before here the funeral is not the end of grief’s journey, it’s quite near the beginning. It took a year for me to just convince my heart Dominic wasn’t coming back. It took longer to begin to understand how very different I am now and to embrace those changes.
I simply cannot do some things I once did.
And some of the things I can still do, I do differently or not as well. So I have to say, “no” more often than I used to-even when others don’t understand why.
But there’s a fine line between self-preservation and complete withdrawal.
I try to walk it each time someone asks me to take on a new responsibility, join a new project or agree to a new commitment.
I am honest about the fact that while I may say “yes” I might have to back out.
I’m also realistic about my new limitations-lower noise tolerance, greater anxiety when things change unexpectedly, inability to sustain small talk for more than a couple of minutes. So if the request means I am likely to hit my personal wall before I can meet expectations, I decline.
I’m also learning that I can use my grief as an excuse to get out of things I just don’t like.
And I don’t want to do that.
I can play the “child loss” card and push others away when it isn’t healthy. I can dig a hole and hide and then whine when no one comes to look down my pit to check on me.
So instead of rejecting every request out of hand, I respond-honestly-that I will think about it. And I do.
By slowly choosing thoughtful engagement I’m expanding my social circle again. I’m learning that if I push myself just a little bit, I get stronger and better able to handle the next thing.
I’m learning who this new “me” really is and what her limits are. I’m also learning that she has new strengths.
I’m still not as involved in anything as I once was. I don’t expect that I ever will be again. But I’m not a hermit.
It’s a balancing act-I’m slowly learning to walk this line.
Exhausted
Worn out
Bone-tired
Ready to drop
Drained
Fatigued
War-weary.
I wasn’t created to carry this burden. I cannot do it.
Jesus invites me to lay it down:
Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Put My yoke upon your shoulders—it might appear heavy at first, but it is perfectly fitted to your curves. Learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble of heart. When you are yoked to Me, your weary souls will find rest. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.
Matthew 11:28-30 VOICE
The first three months after Dominic ran ahead to heaven were full of social obligations.
Dominic left us in mid-April. My youngest graduated college five days after we laid Dom to rest. My eldest son graduated as a veterinarian two weeks after that. He married two months to the day from Dom’s funeral.
Friends and family members stepped up and lent a hand. Most people present were very aware of our recent loss and didn’t force small talk. My living children were amazing-flexible, supportive and loving even in their own deep sorrow.
But I’ll be honest, it’s mostly a blur.
I have photographic evidence of each event, but not a lot of personal memories.
Fast forward a few months and there are other social occasions I must attend.
By this time, for most folks, Dominic’s death was an event marked on a calendar they discarded at the end of 2014. For me, it was as fresh as ever and the pain had actually increased as the absolute truth that he was gone, gone, gone was settling in my bones.
Without a thought, people I’d known for years trotted right up and said, “How are you?” They didn’t really want to know.
They were tossing me the conversation ball in the only way they’d been taught to do it.
At that moment, I had a choice: I could give in to my inner child and shout, “How the heck do you think I’m doing???? I buried a child!!!” OR I could extend the grace I long to receive and say something more controlled and measured.
Now, I’m not nearly as grace-filled as I ought to be or long to be, but I did manage to construct some “pre-recorded” answers to that question in a sincere attempt to be kind. They continue to serve me well.
Heres how I do it:
I also plan a physical escape route if needed:
And I come prepared:
I choose a focal point if I must look in the same direction for a long period of time (like at a wedding) and force myself to consider details so my mind won’t wander as much and possibly take me places I don’t want to go.
I remind myself that when that one person I thought would be there for me and but wasn’t floats up like there’s no rift in our relationship, this is not the time nor the place to correct that.
I smile and wave and preserve the dignity of the situation.
Most of all I try to remember that the people most likely to be insensitive or rub me the wrong way are blissfully ignorant of the weight of the pain I carry. They can’t see the fragments of my shattered heart. They don’t know how much courage it takes to show up.
I thank God they don’t and pray they never do.
I don’t expect to win and I don’t think I’ll get an audible answer, but I will tell you I’ve had some rip-roaring, humdinger arguments with God.
Now the pious among us will probably be shocked. They may tell me I’m pushing the envelope of grace or even sinning by asking God what exactly He is doing in this Valley of the Shadow of Death.
That doesn’t deter me-there are plenty of scriptural precedents for asking God, “why” and begging Him for an answer to the pain of this broken world.
Moses wanted to know how come he got stuck leading a bunch of whiny migrants tramping through the desert.
Paul begged God to take away the thorn in his flesh.
Jesus and Job both asked the question.
Though He slay me, I will hope in Him. Nevertheless I will argue my ways before Him.
Job 13:15 NASB
We usually don’t quote the last half of that verse, do we?
We stop at the affirmation and leave off the doubt-Job’s desperate desire to understand just what God was doing when it seemed unfair and capricious.
Most of the book of Job is full of questions. Job asking why he was targeted and his friends asking him what sin he was hiding.
Come now, let us argue it out, says the Lord: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be like snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool.
Isaiah 1:18 NRSV
God invites us to ask. He opens the door to questions.
He is willing to “talk”.
But He doesn’t always answer every question.
In the end, Job’s mouth was shut not by God giving him assurance of anything except His “otherness” and the fact that He IS God.
A difficult truth to embrace.
One I ponder often.
I hurt, I sorrow, I agonize over the loss that has come into my life. A precious life has been taken away. I feel great grief and pain. It sears my every waking hour and casts a puzzling dreary shadow across my life’s journey.
At a time like this, it is imperative that I remember that God has not promised to keep my life bubbling with pleasing sensations. I must not prostitute God by giving Him the responsibility of being an indulgent Santa Claus in the heavens. God is not my servant. I am His servant.
As I come to grips with my grief, I reject the sentimentalized, sickly religion so popular today. God’s comfort is not insulation from difficulty; it is spiritual fortification sufficient to enable me to stand firm, undefeated in the fiery trials of life. God’s provision is not always green pastures and still waters. Sometimes God leads into the valley of the shadow, but I may walk there with confidence, assured of the love and presence of God.
No longer can I offer a mindless, frivolous assertion that God always measures up to my every expectation of Him and always gives His children goodies. I must declare that some things are beyond my human understanding in the ways of God. Those mysteries have destroyed my comfortable existence, but I proclaim: ‘Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him’ (Job 13:15). I will hurt for years to come. A hundred times a day I feel keenly the void left by death’s cruel blow. That pain, however, must drive me to stronger trust in God whose providence is not always compatible with my desires.
~James Means, A Tearful Celebration
On the other side of child loss, many things that used to be easy just aren’t anymore.
It takes so much energy to get through a day and navigate the minefields of conversation.
I wrote this a few months ago as I was pondering this aspect of my new life:
“One of the things I’ve been forced to embrace in the wake of child loss is that there are very few questions, experiences or feelings that are simple anymore.”
Read the rest here: It’s Complicated
For most of us in America it seems that we rush from place to place, from event to event, from meal to meal, from crisis to crisis.
But when I read the Gospels I don’t feel a sense of rush at all.
Jesus expressed urgency when proclaiming that the kingdom of God was near, but He was never in a hurry.
Read the rest here: Choosing the Eternal Path
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.
Because if I fake it long enough and get good enough at it, I can convince myself that I have done the work grief requires.
Grief will not be ignored forever.
It bubbles up in physical symptoms and sleepless nights. It boils over in anger and impatience and anxiety and nervous habits.
There is no way through but through. It has to be faced head on.
Life circumstances kept me distracted and busy for the first four or five months after Dominic ran ahead to heaven.
I cried, screamed and was heartbroken-I definitely had my moments. But for the most part I functioned at a pretty high level.
It wasn’t until things slowed down that I had my come apart. And it caught me by surprise.
I was forced to sit in silence and face the feelings. I was compelled to hear my heart shatter-over and over again.
I’ve now had 33 months of this burden of sorrow. Almost three years to think about, work on and pray through the pain.
I’m learning to pay attention to my own heartbeat, to my body, to my triggers, to my joy-bringers, my joy-stealers and my limitations. I’m beginning to accept the bellycrawl progress through this tunnel of darkness by focusing on the bright light at the end.
I still fake it sometimes-it’s not worth it to me to get into a long conversation with that person I only see every year or so. Too much time, too much energy and too little reward.
But I’m learning to be more genuine with the people that matter most. I’m learning to be honest about how I feel, what I need and how much I can do.
And I refuse to allow busyness to creep up on me so that I don’t have the time and energy to continue doing the work grief requires.
January is the month of resolutions and new beginnings!
So I boldly declare that THIS year I will (take your pick):
Wouldn’t it be grand if all it took was the turn of a calendar page to make all things new?
How wonderful if I could wipe the slate clean and start afresh just because the earth had made another round of the sun!
But the average length of time these commitments last is just 7-10 days. (Which by now, most of us have already found out.)
Why?
Because we can rarely make sweeping changes that go against habits and character traits just because we say it aloud or write it on a special piece of paper.
Life’s not like that.
Life is an amalgamation of thousands of small and a few not-so-small choices that combine to make me who I am.
Choices become habits and habits become character.
And then there are the other things–the things I didn’t choose-that slam into me and violently reshape who I am-ready or not.
How I respond to what I can’t control continues to remake who I am.
There is ONE resolution that can remake me from the inside out.
There is one habit that that will not only make THIS year new, but will make ME new.
There is a single choice that I can make every day that will affect me and everyone around me.
It’s not hard, but there will be resistance. It doesn’t require special equipment, but it requires commitment. I don’t have to be in shape-as a matter of fact, the more out-of-shape I am, the more remarkable the transformation.
If I place my heart in the hands of Jesus by sitting in silence with Him each day, reading His Word and asking Him to open my eyes to the beauty He places in my path-even this rocky road of child loss-He will renew my mind and transform my character so that I am conformed to His image.
He is the Potter.
The work is His.
I am the clay.
The funny thing about New Year’s resolutions is that they are pretty much the same, year after year. We all have particular struggles and the turning of the calendar seems like the perfect moment to commit to action to try to overcome them.
But most of us fail miserably and find ourselves back at precisely the point from which we started, regardless of our best efforts to change.
Read the rest here: New Year’s Resolutions
thelifeididntchoose 