Some days there are just no words for this journey.
Sometimes I can only feel what I feel
and do what I do
and cry when I cry.
Read the rest here: No Words
Category: bereaved parent
Why is the Second Year SO Hard?
I remember very well the morning I woke on April 12, 2015-it was one year since I’d gotten the awful news; one year since the life I thought I was going to have turned into the life I didn’t choose.
I was horrified that my heart had continued to beat for 365 days when I was sure it wouldn’t make it through the first 24 hours.
And I was terrified.
During that first year there were multiple punctuated stops along the way-the first major and minor holidays scattered throughout the year, a family wedding, two graduations, Dominic’s birthday and on and on. I’d muddle through and then turn my face forward towards the next one looming in the future.
There was so much emotional upheaval, so many things to process that I was unbalanced, focused only on survival without a thought to anything beyond the next hill.
But when I realized that I’d made it through one year, was still standing, was still breathing and was (apparently) going to survive this horrible blow, I began to think about living this way for the rest of my days.
And it was overwhelming.
Facing something for a defined period of time-even an awful something-is doable. There’s an end in sight, relief on the way, endurance will be rewarded-just hang on.
But when a heart can’t lay hold of the finish line-well, that’s enough to undo even the bravest among us.
All the things I muddled through the first year were just going to circle back around over and over and over for decades!
My grief took on a new dimension-it wasn’t something that was going away-it was life long.
I spent the entire second year and most of the third just wrapping my mind and heart around that FACT and trying to develop tools to carry this burden for the long haul.
Every heart is different, every family unique.
The second year is NOT harder for everyone. I’m not even sure it was HARDER for me. But it was definitely different and full of new challenges.
It forced me to dig deeper than the first year when I was mainly in survival mode.
The crying tapered off but the reality of my son’s absence loomed larger. The breathless agony of his death really did grow more manageable but the prospect of this being a life sentence weighed more heavily on my heart.
But God’s grace has been sufficient in every season of my grief. He has sustained me, strengthened me and carried me.
Here I am-six weeks into year [ten]-still standing, still fighting and still holding on to hope.
God is faithful.
What He did for me,
He will do for you.
No Straight Lines in Grief
Grief is unlike anything else I’ve experienced.
There’s no pattern, no clear path, no steps a heart can follow to get from broken to healed.
And that adds to the burden. Because there is so much pressure on bereaved parents to “get better” (whatever that means!).
I wonder sometimes who imagines that if there was a way to be free of this sorrow I wouldn’t jump on it?
All I can do is go where the grief takes me.
No shortcuts.
No detours.
How Do I DO This? The Question Every Bereaved Parent Longs to Ask
After the flurry of activity surrounding the funeral, our house was so, so quiet.
Even with the five of us still here, it felt empty.
Because Dominic was gone, gone, gone and he was not coming back.
And the silence pounded into my head and heart until it became a scream:
How do I DO this?
How do I keep on living when all I want to do is give up and give in? How does a body carry this pain-is it even possible?
When I dared look past the moment to the days, weeks, months, DECADES that stretched before me, I was undone.
Even now, if I look too far ahead, my heart pounds and my head explodes.
So I don’t.
Honestly, THAT’S how you do it.
One day at a time.
One moment at a time.
One breath at a time.
I keep reminding my heart that the only thing I have to do is right now. I hold my attention to this very moment and refuse to let my thoughts wander.
Sure I mark dates on the calendar and am even able to plan ahead a bit now. But it was nearly three years until I could do that without shaking as I wrote them down.
So dear mama, dear daddy, give yourself permission not to try to figure out what a parent’s heart was never meant to calculate-how to live without the earthly companionship of the child you love-and just breathe.
One day at a time.
One moment at a time.
One breath at a time.
Repost: Dispelling Marriage Myths Surrounding Child loss
I wrote this last year for our anniversary. It is still true.
We are battered and torn but hanging in and hanging on to one another.
Don’t believe the myth that a marriage cannot survive child loss. It can and many do.
Today my husband and I celebrate 33 years of marriage.
Our thirtieth anniversary wars a mere two months after we buried our son.
Here’s the last “before” anniversary photo (2013)-unfeigned smiles, genuine joy, excitement to have made it that far…
Read the rest here: Dispelling Marriage Myths Surrounding Child Loss
Father’s Day for Bereaved Fathers-They Hurt Too
I wrote this a couple of years ago when I realized that in many ways bereaved dads are forgotten mourners.
I think it’s partly due to the fact that many (not all!) men tend to hide their feelings and are less likely to burst into tears when grief waves overtake them.
So most people (who really don’t understand child loss at all-thankfully) assume Dad is doing OK.
I can promise you that Dad is NOT doing OK. His heart is in just as many pieces as Mom’s. And Father’s Day is just as hard for him as Mother’s Day is for her.
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
Why Can’t I Remember? It’s Grief Brain.
I repost this every so often because nearly every bereaved parent I know wonders, at some point, if they are going crazy.
Things that used to be second nature escape us. We can’t remember words, names, dates, how to write a check or address an envelope. Sometimes we get lost in our own neighborhood.
It’s not early-onset dementia (for the majority of us, anyway)-it’s grief brain.
Read the rest here: Grief Brain: It’s a Real Thing!
I AM Defined [In Part] By Grief
![I AM Defined [In Part] By Grief](https://thelifeididntchoose.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/sadgirlbeach.jpg?w=1200)
I’m not at all fond of the saying, “Don’t let your grief define you”.
I understand that I shouldn’t let my grief CONSTRAIN me, shouldn’t let it circumscribe my life, making it smaller and smaller until all I think about, speak about or experience is sadness, sorrow and missing.
And I don’t.
But I cannot ignore that losing a child DOES define me. It defines me in exactly the same way other momentous events-good and bad-shape, mold and make me into who I am.
Marriage, divorce, receiving Christ as Savior, growing up in a small town or big city-all those things matter to me and in my relationships with other people.
Becoming a mother changed everything.
I was no longer free to think only of myself, consider only my wishes and schedule, eat, sleep and go places without making arrangements for this new little person.
Burying a child changed everything again.
I was no longer free to believe that I would be spared great heartache in this life. I couldn’t ignore the hard question of why does a good God let bad things happen? My heart was shattered and though the pieces are coming back together again, it will never be the same heart it was before.
We routinely ask one another, “What kind of work do you do?”
Why?
Because learning about a person’s work usually gives you insight into many aspects of a person’s life, character, preferences and inclinations.
In the same way, you can’t really understand me unless you know that one of my children lives in Heaven.
Am I ONLY a bereaved mother?
Absolutely not!
I am many other things besides- a wife, mother, follower of Jesus, shepherd, daughter, rural resident, bookworm, writer, lover of all things living.
But I AM a bereaved mother.
And that colors my perceptions of the world just as surely as any of those other aspects of my identity.
I can’t ignore it.
To do so would be to dishonor my child.
I refuse to do that.
Did God Take My Child?
This is a question that comes up all the time in bereaved parents’ groups: Did God take my child?
Trust me, I’ve asked it myself.
How you answer this question can mean the difference between giving up or going on, between turning away or trusting.
So this is MY answer. The one I’ve worked out through study, prayer and many, many tears. You may disagree. That’s just fine. I only offer it because it might be helpful to some struggling and sorrowful soul.
I believe that God is the Author of life and the arbiter of death. What that means (to me) is that He is ultimately in control of everything and could (if He chose) intervene and stop the death of any person if He wanted to.
Nothing and no one is stronger nor more powerful than God.
However, we live in a fallen world where sin has tainted the original creation God declared “good”. So there are natural disease processes, genetic malformations, undetected birth defects (that may go unknown until well into adulthood like heart defects) that lead to death.
God does not intervene each time-but He could.
People make sinful and foolish choices that have natural consequences. My son was going way too fast in a curve on his motorcycle. God did not override my son’s free will (just as He does not override our free will all day every day) and my son ran off the road.
There are universal physical and biological laws that most of us are thankful for each day that then took over in my son’s case and doomed his motorcycle to certain paths and his body to certain death when it impacted the ground.
God didn’t intervene but He could have.
Job was ultimately protected by the fences God placed around his person. I believe each of us are too.
Yet God is weaving a bigger tapestry, writing a bigger story than only the part that includes me and my family. So my son’s death and the changes it has wrought in me, in others that knew and loved him and even further out into the world are part of God’s big story.
I have made peace with the fact that I do not understand nor like what God has done in my life by allowing my son to die, but I will trust His loving character and wait to see how it will be redeemed in eternity.
No, God did not TAKE my son. But He allowed his death.
I gain more comfort in a God Who could have saved my son but chose not to, than a God Who does not have that power.
His word declares that He keeps my tears in His bottle.
I believe it.
And I believe that one day He will redeem every one and restore what my heart has lost.
Why I Say, “My Son Died.”
Died.
It is a harsh word.
I understand completely that some parents don’t want to use it to describe their child and I respect that.
I have chosen to use it often (not always-sometimes I say “left” or “ran ahead to heaven”) because what happened IS harsh. I don’t want to soften it because there was nothing soft about it for me or my family.
It is heartbreaking, lonely, heavy, hard and utterly devastating.
As a believer in the promises of Scripture, I use it because I want to paint a stark contrast between hopelessness without Christ and the hope I have because of the blood of Jesus applied to my heart and the heart of my son.
Without that assurance, the hopelessness would continue for eternity.
But because of Jesus, while this reality is harsh, hard and heartbreaking, I have an eternity of rest, renewal and redemption to look forward to.
I think each of us finds our own path through this Valley and should say or use whatever word is best for our own heart.
This is simply one choice among many.
I’m so sorry that we need ANY words to describe our child’s physical absence in this earthly journey. 
thelifeididntchoose 