There is so. much. pressure. on grieving parents during the holidays!
A constant tension between the world celebrating the “season of joy” and a heart that carries great sorrow.
Perhaps more than any other time of the year we may ask the question:
Category: bereaved parent
Slow Learner
I don’t like conflict.
My personality and life experience have molded me into a peacemaker.
And while Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers” He also wasn’t afraid to make some noise when necessary to shake things up.
But unlike Jesus, I tend to be a peace-at-all-costs kind of person. And it’s just not healthy.
I recently ran across this quote:
This was me before Dominic left us.
But not anymore.
One thing grief is teaching me is to speak up for myself.
Not in an arrogant you-don’t-matter-I-matter-more way but in a way that is more authentic and expresses how I really feel and what I really need from friends and family.
I’m learning to let others to keep themselves warm.
I help when I can-offer a blanket or hot chocolate-but I will no longer sacrifice my heart to others on the altar of peacemaking at all costs.
Dom was always encouraging me in this regard.
I think he’d be proud.
Exploding the Myth: God Doesn’t Give You More Than You Can Handle
You know, I don’t expect those outside the Body of Christ to have good theology-that’s like expecting me to be able to explain thermodynamics.
Ain’t gonna happen-it’s outside my scope of understanding and practice.
I do expect those who have spent a lifetime reading Scripture, studying Sunday School lessons and listening to sermons to know better.
But many don’t.
“God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” is bandied about freely among those who, if they thought about it before they said it, know it isn’t true.
Usually it’s tossed at someone going through a tough time in an effort to encourage them.
Can I just let you in on a secret? It is NOT encouraging. At. all. Not one bit.
Because what’s implied is that I SHOULD be able to handle this.
But I can’t.
And it lets you off the hook.
It’s like I’m drowning and instead of diving in to rescue me, you’re giving swimming lessons from the safety of the shore.
It’d be much more helpful if you threw me a lifeline.
God routinely gives me more than I can handle.
It’s one tool He uses to turn my heart to Him. It’s one way He helps me understand (although He knows it already) that I absolutely cannot handle it by myself.
So instead of sending the message that I should be able to handle this-join me in the dark place, hold my hand as we walk together and help me feel God’s love through you.
Dealing With Anxious Thoughts
I no longer have to imagine the worst thing that could happen in the life of a mother-I know exactly how it feels.
And if I allow my heart to ponder that too often or too long, it consumes me.
So I am learning to take those anxious thoughts captive, learning to make them live in only a small corner of my mind instead of taking it over completely.
It takes effort and discipline, but it’s possible.
I don’t have to live the rest of my days a quivering mess- afraid of every sunrise, every phone call, every mile my family travels:
- I confront my fear with facts: The absolute truth is that it is no more likely I will lose a child today than it was the day I lost Dominic. I’m not good at determining odds-if I toss a coin ten times and it lands on “heads”-I’m convinced that next time it HAS to be “tails”. But that’s just not true. EVERY time the coin is tossed, it has exactly a 50/50 chance of landing on “heads” or “tails” regardless of what happened last time. That’s not how it FEELS, but that’s how it IS.
- I refuse to feed my fear: I don’t linger over news stories that play up danger or magnify the possibility of catching rare diseases. Do these things happen? ABSOLUTELY! But are they likely to happen to me or someone I love, probably not. I will not fuel the fire of fear that threatens to rage through my mind.
- I take reasonable precautions: My family wears seatbelts. We take our vitamins and go to the doctor when we need to. We eat right and exercise. We don’t walk across streets without looking both ways. These were all things we did before Dominic’s accident and we continue to do them now. Not one of them would have made a diference that night but they help me feel better.
- I limit my exposure to uncertainty: If I’m concerned about someone, I call or text. It’s that simple. I don’t have to live for hours wondering if they are OK. I’m careful not to infringe on my adult children’s lives by a never-ending series of contacts, but they understand my heart. We try to be mindful of letting each other know we arrive safely to our destination.
- I exercise control in other areas of my life: Anxiety is a beast that grows stronger the more out of control I feel. I cannot keep my family absolutely safe-it’s not in my power to do so. BUT, I can control some aspects of life. So I do. Even cleaning out a messy junk drawer helps bolster my sense of control. Small, easy to complete projects feed the part of my brain that says, “You can do this!”
- I limit caffeine and other stimulants: Increased heart rate, rapid breathing and sweaty palms are signs of anxiety. Caffeine can produce these effects even when I’m not anxious. If my body is feeling this way, my mind is quick to jump on board.
- I practice distraction: There are times when I find myself feeling anxious despite my best efforts. When that happens, I am learning to distract myself. I find something to touch, smell, hear or taste that can help me regain composure. I count backwards from ten or twenty. I hum a song or recite a Bible verse. I add numbers in my head or do multiplication tables.
- I live in the present: I have no idea what tomorrow holds. If I allow my heart to dwell on what might happen, I will be useless for today. So while I make marks on the calendar for appointments, I wake each morning determined to live right now.
Because, really, that’s all any of us has.
Repost: Season of Joy-Blessing the Brokenhearted During the Holidays
This was a post I wrote last year around this time. It was my first attempt to express how hard the holidays can be for those missing someone they love.
“Most parents feel a little stressed during the holidays.
We used to be able to enjoy Thanksgiving before our 24/7 supercharged and super-connected world thrust us into hyper-drive. Now we zoom past the first day of school on a highway toward Christmas at breakneck speed.
For bereaved parents, the rush toward the “Season of Joy” is doubly frightening.
Constant reminders that this is the “most wonderful time of the year” make our broken hearts just that much more out of place. Who cares what you get for Christmas when the one thing your heart desires–your child, alive and whole–is unavailable…”
Read the rest here: Season of Joy: Blessing the Brokenhearted During the Holidays
Magical Bear Traps
My heart hurts every time a name is added to this awful “club” no one wants to join.
One more family knows our pain.
One more family has an empty chair at holiday gatherings.
But I am thankful for the moms and dads that share their hearts in bereaved parents’ groups. I’m thankful for the safe space to speak honestly about what this life feels like and the challenges that greet us in this Valley.
A fellow waiting mom, Brenda Ehly, shared this on her personal Facebook page. I asked her if I could post it here and she graciously gave me permission:
“So, every now and then, I am asked, ‘How are you?’
Just in case any of them meant, ‘What is it like to be grieving a child during the holiday season?’ let me try to explain:
First, imagine you have stepped into a bear trap.
It hurts.
A lot.
Sadly, it’s a magical bear trap, that you will never be able to remove. (That’s your initial loss). Weirdly, after awhile, you sort of (not exactly) get used to it.
Now, imagine that at completely random intervals, a large bear suddenly appears, and, mistakenly thinking that you’re the one who’s been setting bear traps in the forest, repeatedly punches you in the nose.
Hard.
This bear throws one heck of a punch. (This is what happens when you go shopping at the grocery store and Andy Williams croons, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!” at you).
So, is it all miserable, all the time?
Absolutely not; every now and then, an adorable, enchanted raccoon brings you a tall mocha and a blueberry scone, and that is very nice, because even if you’re stuck in a magical (and excruciatingly painful) bear trap, a tall mocha and a fresh scone are still welcome and refreshing.
There.
That’s the best I can do right now.”
Love Tokens
I keep it in my pocket-
an old trinket or a square of fabric or a small photo in a tiny frame.
A little bit of you to hold when I am overwhelmed.
It’s my touchstone, my way of shutting out the world for just a moment –tuning in to love and holding on to hope.
I hold you near so that I can hold on.
No one ever knows how close I come to shouting, “I can’t do this anymore!”
Because I never do.
No one hears the pieces of my shattered heart fall to the floor.
Because only those who share this pain have ears to hear.
No one is aware of my counting breaths-in and out, in and out-just so I can stay in my chair.
Because I never run away.
Nothing “Normal” About It
Something you hear early on in this grief journey is that one day you will find a “new normal”.
I hate that phrase.
Because while I have certainly developed new routines, new ways of dealing with life, new methods for quelling the tears and the longing and the sorrow and the pain-it is NOT normal.
It will never be “normal” for my son to be missing.
It will never be normal that he died out of order-at 23-in perfect health, full of promise, vibrant and strong. It is not normal that I now visit his body in a cemetery instead of his living presence in his own home. It is not normal that one chair at my table is always empty, his drums lie stacked and silent in my upstairs bedroom and the only image of his smiling face is on my wall instead of waving at me going down the driveway.
No. This is not normal.
Does life continue? Absolutely!
Are there moments of joy? Definitely!
I have three surviving children and they are full of life. I am proud of them not only for doing the things that grown-ups do but for doing them well while carrying this burden of grief.
But that’s not normal either.
They have lost a lifetime companion, a piece of themselves as well as their brother. Their circle is broken, undone and can never be made whole again this side of eternity.
The parents they knew are gone.
We are learning to live this way.
But it is NOT normal.
Stronger Together
Remember Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz? She found herself on an unexpected journey with no one except her dog. Then she made a few new friends who were all looking for solutions to their needs. What did they do? They locked arms as they traveled the yellow brick road and encountered its hazards together. As a group, they pressed on toward the Emerald City.
Alone, they were overwhelmed; they succumbed to their fears and obstacles. But when they came together, they found the courage and strength they needed to keep going. They became a healing community sharing common pain and goals.
~Dena Yohe, You Are Not Alone
I’m not making a political statement.
Instead, it’s a very personal truth that I repeat often to myself: We are Stronger Together.
Because left alone in my grief, my sorrow and this dark valley I will give up and give in. By myself, I will convince my heart that there is no hope. Isolated, I will lose sight of the tiny glimmer of light in the distance that can guide me home.
There are many brave women who have come alongside and joined me in this journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
Some I know only from exchanged messages or posts on bereaved parents’ boards. Some I have had the blessed opportunity to meet in person-share a meal or a coffee-and see the beautiful face that encourages me when I think I can’t go on.
Others are authors whose words breathe hope into my exhausted soul.
These linked arms make an unbreakable chain of love, support and affirmation that gives me courage to carry on.
And I am thankful for each and every one.
Don’t Rush To Get Rid of Things
It’s a common question in grief circles: How long should I keep my child’s things?
Should I clean out the room? Give away the stuff?
The answer is different for each family, each circumstance, each heart.
But I would say this: If you have a place to store them, don’t be in a rush to get rid of your child’s things.
A scrap of paper that might seem unimportant in your initial grief may be meaningful months later.
There are so many things you HAVE to decide right away. This is one you can decide later.
I wrote this post over a year ago, but my choice to purge our old school papers still haunts me: A Life in Scraps
thelifeididntchoose 