As I continue to walk this Valley, my heart asks the question, “What does healing look like?”
Fewer tears? Check.
More laughter? Check.
Better able to function? Check.
I’m definitely not as fragile as I was in the days and weeks and first months after Dominic left us.
I can do what life requires without falling apart (most of the time).
Read the rest here: What Does Healing Look Like?
I remember playing Monopoly as a kid and how much I treasured that “Get Out of Jail Free” card when I was lucky enough to draw it from the pile.
Because it meant that even if I landed in jail, I didn’t have to stay there.
As I walk this Valley of the Shadow of Death, I often wish there were cards like that for all sorts of seasons, places and situations. I can’t help them coming around, but I would love to be able to skip right over and move to the next thing.
Christmas feels like that this year.
Christmas is hard for all kinds of hearts for all kind of reasons. And unlike most other holidays that are only a DAY, the Christmas season drags on for weeks which makes it even harder.
Now, you know I’ve posted here about why I still put up a Christmas tree-because the lights remind me there is a limit to the darkness.
But, that said, I want to offer a “Get Out of Christmas Free” card to other hurting hearts who just can’t manage even a lighted tree this time of year.
Shake off the guilt. Wash off the worry. Step free of others’ expectations.
There is no biblical imperative to celebrate the birth of Christ. None.
And there is certainly no biblical imperative to dress up the celebration with all the cultural trappings we’ve added over centuries.
Furthermore, if you get right down to it, there is strong evidence that Jesus wasn’t born anywhere near December 25th.
So if your heart cannot bear the thought of one more holly, jolly song, one more hap-hap-happy get together, one more frenzied rush to the store for a forgotten present or pantry item-just choose to sit this one out.
It is possible to go through the month of December without caving in to consumerism or being guilted into celebrating when your heart’s not in it.
Close the blinds. Let the telephone go to voicemail. Fast from social media and turn off the TV.
The days will pass with or without your permission and January promises a fresh start.
It’s OK. I promise.
I’m posting this again because last year it seemed to help some bereaved parents figure out something that plagues all of us: what to do about Christmas cards after a child runs ahead to heaven.
This year I did things a little differently. I actually sent out Thanksgiving cards (a week late since my mom was in the hospital) and included a similar note with those.
Whatever you decide to do, do it because it helps YOUR heart, not because you feel compelled to meet others’ expectations. ❤
Getting Christmas cards out on time was always a challenge in my busy household.
So for the last years of kids at home, we transitioned to sending New Year’s greetings. It was easier to get a family photo with everyone home for Christmas, there was no artificial deadline to send them and we could include a “thank you” or respond to news in their Christmas letters.
I haven’t sent anything for three years.
What could I say?
And a family photo was out of the question.
Read the rest here: Christmas Cards-Yes? No? Maybe?
It comes up again and again-and not just for the parents facing their year of “firsts”: How do I survive December with a broken heart?
There’s no single answer or list of things to do that will suit every family.
But there are some general principles that can make even this awful reality a little easier:
Be gentle with yourself. Accept that you will not be able to do all the things you could do before child loss. Understand that tears will fall at the most inconvenient moments and grief waves will take you under when you least expect them to. That’s OK. You do not have to be strong or brave or keep smiling when you are sad. Feel what you feel. Do what you need to do.
Be honest with others. No matter how wonderful it would be if they could truly understand what it feels like to bury a child (without the experience, of course!), it is not the way things ARE. So if you need something from someone, speak up. If you don’t want to go to this or that, say so. If your heart can’t take one more family gathering or meal, send your regrets and stay home. Use “I” statements and say something like, “I’m just not able to participate in gift-giving (or whatever) this year. My heart won’t take it.” They may not like it. But they can’t argue with your experience.
Do not let people cross the boundaries you set up to protect your heart. Once you have figured out where you need to draw the line and have communicated that to others, hold fast. It’s really just fine to not return phone calls or text messages designed to force you to meet others’ expectations. You don’t have to be rude, but you also don’t have to submit your heart to constant trampling.
Be open to change. This is the fourth set of holidays for me without Dominic. Each year I’ve entered the season with certain ideas about how they will go, what will and won’t be helpful, and where I needed to set boundaries. And every year I’ve made adjustments. Some things I thought I COULD do, I couldn’t. Some things I swore I’d NEVER do, I’ve done. Work schedules, plane delays, illness, or even happy surprises alter plans and require adjustment.
Remember that December doesn’t last forever. As hard as this season is, it is only a season. The earth turns, the sun rises and the days pass. If you spend the month in bed with the covers over your head, January will still roll around. If you get up and participate (whatever that looks like for YOU) then January will also show up on schedule.
These days are just like all the rest: in the end we survive them one breath, one moment at a time.
But we do survive.
I keep it in my pocket-
an old trinket or a square of fabric or a small photo in a tiny frame.
Read the rest here: Love Tokens
We are all on a journey through life and each carry some sort of load. Mine is child loss. Yours may be something else.
We can help one another if we try.
Love and grace grease the wheels and make the load lighter.
Here are ten ways to love a mourning heart at Thanksgiving:
1. Let them grieve. Give space and grace for any outward display of grief or emotion. It doesn’t require comment. Maybe an outstretched hand or a tissue or maybe not. Sometimes silence presence is best.
2. Begin conversation with statements that are true for you and then listen. I appreciate someone sharing their heart with me. It’s really OK to say, “Hey, I’ve wanted to reach out but I just didn’t know how.” I would rather hear that than excuses. ❤
3. Share a memory of their child or their pregnancy (if a child was born straight into heaven). Whenever I hear a story about Dominic I may not have heard before, it is a gift.
4. Speak their child’s name. It may make me cry. But I cry anyway. And if no one says his name I cry because I think they’ve forgotten.
5. Give them room to step away. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed and I just need a breath of fresh air or a moment to gather my strength. Don’t send the cavalry to “rescue” me and don’t make me feel bad by drawing attention to my absence when I return.
6. Find a way to commemorate their child in company with the living. Light a candle, place a photo, set an honorary place at the table, give a gift in his memory to a charity and display the card-there are many ways to make him part of the holidays.
7. Allow them to participate/ not participate as they are able. This will be our fourth set of holidays and I still don’t have a routine that feels “right”. I do enjoy and even crave cooking meals so I appreciate being asked to do that. Some other things are still hard so I appreciate not being forced to do those.
8. Don’t use this once or twice a year gathering to require an extended debrief of how they are feeling/coping/doing. Invite me to share and then respect the boundaries I establish in my sharing. It depends on the day whether I’m going to give you a brief response or a long one. Let me lead the dance.
9. Try not to make assumptions about what is best for their heart. Ask questions instead of making pronouncements. Like I said, I still don’t have any traditions that feel right after nearly four years. I need space to think about and make choices about what may work for THIS Thanksgiving.
10. Remember that all holidays are hard. When the whole family gathers, it highlights even more that my son is missing. Other times it’s easier to play a mental game with myself and pretend he’s just off somewhere. But when the chairs are drawn around the table and his is empty, there’s no denying that he is gone, gone, gone. Lots and lots of grace makes it easier for my heart.
I have friends who have not only buried a child (some have buried more than one) but have also buried parents, siblings, in-laws and other people close to their hearts in a very short span of time.
And I am appalled when they recite the trite comments doled out by others meant to patch broken hearts and sweep the leftover pieces under the rug of social propriety.
Let me just say this: Death. Is. Awful.
Full stop. No easy change of subject or laughter allowed to make the hearing of it softer.
Read the rest here: Death Is Awful
I know it is hard. I know you don’t truly understand how I feel. You can’t. It wasn’t your child.
I know I may look and act like I’m “better”. I know that you would love for things to be like they were: BEFORE. But they aren’t.
I know my grief interferes with your plans. I know it is uncomfortable to make changes in traditions we have observed for years. But I can’t help it. I didn’t ask for this to be my life.
I know that every year I seem to need something different. I know that’s confusing and may be frustrating. But I’m working this out as I go. I didn’t get a “how to” manual when I buried my son. It’s new for me every year too.
So I’m trying to make it easier on all of us.
I’m trying to be brave and think ahead and offer up what I can to help you understand.
Read the rest here: Grief and Holidays:What the Bereaved Need From Friends and Family
I wrote this two years ago and it still resonates with my heart. If there was one message I could scream from the rooftops this side of child loss it would be this: Everything, EVERY. THING. except time and people can be replaced.
Think about it.
Is it difficult to rebuild a home or replace favorite keepsakes, yes-but not impossible. But it is utterly and unforgivingly impossible to recapture lost moments and there is no one but God that can breathe life into a body.
Please, please, please don’t take your people for granted thinking, “There’s always tomorrow.” Sometimes there isn’t.
Every spring and every fall we dutifully make the rounds to our clocks and digital devices, putting them first forward an hour and then back in an attempt to make the days “longer”.
As if time was in our hands.
The sun rises and sets according to the Creator’s schedule, we can neither speed the world’s turning, nor slow it down. We can only choose whether to be present in the moments He grants us.
Read the rest here: Time Change
Grief has a traveling companion: Anxiety. And it is relentless.
Before Dominic ran ahead to heaven I had no idea that along with sorrow, missing and heartache, I would have to battle a creeping sense of dread that could turn an ordinary day into a nightmare.
I’ve learned to plan ahead and minimize triggers I can identify, but sometimes I find myself suddenly overwhelmed with no easy means of escape.
That’s when I apply this technique.
It is amazingly effective and can be done anytime, anywhere without another soul even knowing I’m doing it.
I begin by taking five deep breaths-often I will place my hand on my diaphragm to remind me to breathe deeply.
Then I find:
I use my fingers to silently count down the list.
While it doesn’t always erase my anxious feelings, it always tames them.
Taking charge and taking action (even silent, mental action) helps give my heart the space it needs to regroup and reassess the actual “danger” my body is responding to.
Try it. It’s easy. It’s free. And it works.
thelifeididntchoose 