bereaved parents month – Page 3 – thelifeididntchoose

Bereaved Parents Month 2026: Embracing Chaos-I Just Can’t Keep Things Clean!

Twelve years later and I’m still on the struggle bus with this one. Of course my dad’s stroke has been an additional set back, but still…

I used to be able to keep clutter manageable, clothes put away and counters and carpets clean.

Now I sometimes come downstairs and wonder what tornado has blown through the family room only to realize it’s an accumulation of several days’ chores left undone.

Sigh.

I freely admit I was never a housecleaning fanatic.

With a busy family, a small farm and mountains of paper, pencils and books scattered around I was content if the most obvious dirt was swept up and the sink free of dishes.

But, I DID have a routine. I DID clean my bathrooms and wash clothes and make beds and vacuum the rugs on a regular basis.

Not anymore.

Even all this time after Dominic ran ahead to heaven, I have not reestablished any kind of rhythm to keeping house, making meals or doing the most basic, necessary chores.

And I don’t really know why.

I’m not overly busy. I’m not doing other things that keep me away from the necessary things.

In fact, sometimes I actually sit down for what I think will be a few minutes only to find a couple hours have raced by while I was doing nothing. That NEVER happened before.

Literally, never.

I was a dynamo from the time I woke in the morning until evening-moving, moving, moving. I certainly still have plenty I COULD do, but not so much that I WANT to do.

I’ve pondered, “Why?” and only been able to come up with a single answer: Grief is WORK. And apparently I only have so much energy to divide between what I need to do (grief work) and what I’d like to do (clean my house, etc.).

The hours I spend “doing nothing” are actually hours spent working through feelings, thoughts, spiritual conundrums and rediscovering who I am in light of what has happened.

So I’m learning to cut corners and give myself a break. Because it doesn’t appear that my get-up-and-go is coming back anytime soon.

Here are some practical things I’ve been doing to make daily life work:

I’ve adjusted my standards. I have a minimal acceptable standard and apply that to my home and myself instead of trying to live up to “what others want me to do/be”. For me, it means no germy surfaces, clutter free places to sit and eat, wiped down bathrooms and clean clothes for the day.

Anything over that is a bonus!

I take shortcuts. Paper goods for meals to cut down on dishes. Easy menus for dinners (lots of crockpot recipes). I keep paper towels and cleaner in each bathroom and wipe down when I’m in there for something else instead of making “clean the bathrooms” a separate chore.

I have baskets to catch wayward items and carry them upstairs all at once or just leave them in the baskets. I wash clothes but don’t worry if I get them folded. I bought more underwear and socks so washing isn’t an emergency.

I don’t apologize when someone stops by and things aren’t as tidy as they used to be or I wish they were.

I won’t waste emotional energy on worrying about what they think.

And when I find that I’m sitting down, pondering some aspect of loss or life or love, I lean in and do it. I grab my computer or a journal and write out what’s running through my head.

Because that’s the more important work right now.

Bereaved Parents Month 2026: Simple Things Aren’t Simple Anymore

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.

“How many children do you have?”

A common, get-to-know-you question lobbed across tables, down pews and in the check-out line at the grocery store. But for many bereaved parents, it can be a complex question that gets a different answer depending on who is asking and where we are.

I decided from the beginning that I would say, “four” in answer to that query.

But that doesn’t always get me off the hook. A follow-up of, “Oh, what do they do?” means that I have to make a decision: do I go down the line, including Dominic in any kind of detail or do I gloss over the fact that one of my children now lives in heaven?

I try to gauge whether or not the person is deeply interested or just being polite. No sense making them feel uncomfortable if they are really only making chitchat.

All of these calculations flash through my mind in an instant but they are distracting and draining.

“Want to go to a movie?”

Maybe.

First I have to look up the plot (something I never did before because I didn’t want to ruin it). I can’t be stuck in a dark theater in the middle of a row full of people with no way out if larger-than-life there will be anything that sends me back to Dominic’s accident.

Same standards for television shows or books-but it’s easier to turn those off or set them down.

Sitting in church can be excruciating.

A hymn or chorus, a Bible text, a random statement from the pulpit-any or all of those things can lead my thoughts down a path that takes me to a dark place where sorrow is overwhelming.

No matter how much I long to listen and participate, I find myself literally biting my tongue so that I don’t burst into loud sobs.

It doesn’t happen every Sunday, but I never know when it might.

Social media is an emotional minefield.

I confess that in the first days after Dominic left us, I had to limit the posts that showed up in my Facebook newsfeed. It was too difficult to see complaints about children growing up or graduating and how hard it was to “let them go”. I could not take whiny status updates that included having to wait in line for the new iPhone.

It’s easier now that my grief isn’t so raw but there are days…

Making a meal, I reach for his favorite ingredient or leave something out because “Dominic doesn’t like it that way” and then I remember he won’t be here to eat it.

Music can transport me to a moment of joy or pain with a single note.

Sometimes I walk in a store and smell coffee-he loved coffee-and I have to turn around and leave. Other times the fragrance draws my mind to sweet memories of shared Starbucks runs for a caffeine infusion.

If you ask me to do something next week or next month, I might say, “yes” and then find on that day I just. can’t. go.

I used to be a woman who lived by her calendar and commitments, but now I’m someone who never knows what a day will bring.

Learning to live with this changed me is an ongoing process and exhausting at times.

So much energy is used up negotiating what used to be simple things that there’s not enough left for pursuing new interests or delving deeper into old ones.

I’m trying to reach equilibrium.

I long for a time when simple things are simple again.

But I don’t think it will be today.

Bereaved Parents Month 2026: Objects, Memories, Holding On to What’s Left Behind

I was surprised at myself.

When we cleaned out Dominic’s apartment two weeks after he left us, I couldn’t throw away a thing.

Just as Dominic left things when he went out that evening.

Even though it meant boxing it up, carting it down the stairs and loading and unloading it onto our trailer, I DIDN’T CARE.

If it was his, if his hands had touched it, his body worn it or he had placed it in the cabinet or fridge, it was coming with me.

The only thing I left in that space was the empty echo of his fading presence.

I brought all the rest home.

Because these things aren’t just things. They represent some portion of my son-his personality, his preferences, his history and his hopes.

Many are the minutiae that make up a life:

scraps of paper tucked inside his briefcase as reminders
a dry cleaning ticket in his wallet
a legal pad on the table where he was taking notes to study for an exam
receipts from recent purchases strewn on the kitchen counter
shaving cream, hair products, favorite soap
clothes and ties and shoes
a fridge full of food he’d chosen for himself
the good coffee
containers saved from food I’d sent home with him

Of course there were the larger items most folks would think of bringing home if not keeping-furniture, computers, his car, television and stereo.

We put the delicate and temperature sensitive things inside the house.

The rest was placed in a storage building on our property. Every time I opened the door to the building for several years it smelled of Dominic.

I loved it and hated it in one breath.

I’m using his furniture in our living room. His television set is downstairs in the family room. Some of his other things live in his siblings’ homes.

We’ve all found ways to touch what he touched last.

I am slowly getting better at getting rid of some of Dominic’s things.

Just yesterday my husband replaced faucets in the bathroom my boys used growing up. In the process we pulled out stuff from under the deep cabinets.

Tucked in the back were some old bottles of hair gel and other half-used, dried up products that once belonged to my fashion conscious son who was always trying to tame his curly hair.

I grabbed them and tossed them into a plastic trash bag as we prepared to put replace things underneath. I almost pulled them back out.

Sighing, I tied up the bag and took it straight to the big curbside garbage can before I could change my mind.

These things aren’t *just* things.

Every time I get rid of something that was Dominic’s I feel like I’m erasing a little bit more of HIM. I feel like I’m losing one more touchstone to help my mind hold onto memories that might slip away without it.

They are a tangible connection that I can see, smell and touch to a child with whom I can no longer do any of those things.

I suspect I will always keep at least a tiny stash to pull out on heavy days or birthdays or just days when my heart needs reminding.

And I’m OK with that. ❤

Understanding Bereaved Parents Month

There are so many competing causes it’s a wonder anyone can keep up with them.

But when one or more of them become near and dear to your heart, it’s easy.

July is Bereaved Parents Month. A designation I knew nothing about until several years into my own journey as a bereaved parent.

And while I’m unsure about the necessity for declarations like National Trivia Day or National Bubble Wrap Appreciation Day I am absolutely convinced of the need for Bereaved Parents Month.

This is why: Child loss is unlike any other loss a person may experience. It is out-of-order death, unnatural, unexpected and unfathomable.

Every day, bereaved parents are walking in the world, going to work , doing all that life requires and often caring for their other children while carrying a very heavy burden that mostly goes unnoticed.

Many parents desperately want to speak about their missing child but feel constrained by fear others will think they are vying for sympathy or attention. Sometimes they don’t say anything because they’ve been shamed or shushed by negative comments on their social media posts. Still others are longing to find a community where their uniquely painful experience is understood.

Bereaved Parents Month is an opportunity for these parents to share their child with the world without fear or condemnation.

It’s a chance to post articles, information and personal experience that can help those outside the circle of child loss understand the ongoing struggle of walking this path.

Hopefully it is also a season where newly bereaved parents can find resources so their own hearts feel heard, understood and encouraged.

So if you ARE a bereaved parent, please take advantage of this month set aside to raise awareness of our journey.

If you LOVE a bereaved parent, please acknowledge and affirm your friend or family member who may choose to share in person or online a little more freely this month.

Hearts hold on best when they are free to tell their story.

Bereaved Parents Month is set aside for us to tell ours.

Bereaved Parent Month 2025: How Do You Breathe?

I’m ending Bereaved Parents Month by sharing this post because I still have moments when I marvel that I’ve survived.

❤

It was the question I asked the bereaved mother that came to my son’s funeral.

It was the question a mother asked me as we stood by her granddaughter’s casket, surrounded by family and flowers.

And it is the right question.

Because when the breath leaves the body of your child, and you look down at the shell that used to be the home of a vibrant, living soul, you simply can. not. breathe.

Read the rest here: How Do You Breathe?

Bereaved Parent Month 2025: Support May Come From Surprising Sources. Look For It.

My life is filled with lots of different kinds of people.

Because of this ministry, I message or talk to bereaved parents every day but I also message and talk to friends and family who have no clue what living with child loss looks like.

I learn something from all of them.

I try to be open to support and encouragement even when it comes from unlikely sources.

I remember the first early, very tender, very emotional days, weeks and months when I felt like a walking nerve. Any stray word or look was likely to bring tears to my eyes and drive me into seclusion for hours.

I couldn’t imagine that anything anyone who hadn’t walked this path could say would be helpful.

How could it be when they just. didn’t. know?????

And yet…over time, my heart softened by pain and sorrow and I realized that while others may not know my particular brand of suffering, they are often carrying a burden as well.

Even if the size and shape of their load is different than mine, they are learning from the journey and some of their wisdom might help me just as some of mine might help them.

Self-care, good boundaries, safe friends who allow us to share openly when we are struggling, grace, helpful, healthy habits-all those things are useful regardless of what we are going through.

If I close myself off and refuse to share life with anyone who isn’t situated precisely as I am in this life I didn’t choose I will miss oh, so very much!

I love, love, love the deep friendships I’ve formed with other bereaved parents (although I hate, hate, hate the way we found one another).

Online groups, the community around this blog, at retreats and through book and Bible studies, these parents form the foundation of strength and encouragement that has helped my heart hold on to hope.

But I also have beautiful nonbereaved friends who listen to my stories, share my tears and fears and who have walked and continue to walk beside me on this rocky road.

So don’t overlook or undervalue support regardless of where it comes from.

Look around.

Listen closely.

You might just be blessed more than you think.

If your heart is struggling and longing for companionship, here are some online communities that might be just what you’re looking for:

Heartache and Hope: Life After Losing a Child (closed group)

https://www.facebook.com/groups/947404501987955

While We’re Waiting–Support for Bereaved Parents (closed group)

https://www.facebook.com/groups/WhileWereWaiting.SupportForBereavedParents

Our Hearts are Home Community (closed group)

https://www.facebook.com/groups/1980308615670336

Bereaved Parent Month 2025: Life Grows Around Grief

When days become months and months become years it’s hard to explain to others how grief is both always present but not always in focus.

I’ve struggled to help those outside the loss community understand that the absolute weight of the burden is precisely the same as when it fell on me without warning that dark morning.

Dominic’s absence, if anything, has seeped into more places, changed more relationships and influences more choices than it did eleven years ago when I was only just beginning to comprehend what a world without him would look like.

Read the rest here: Life Grows Around Grief

Bereaved Parent Month 2025: Broken Legs, Broken Hearts, Broken Lives

Sometimes I’m envious of folks hobbling along in those plastic boots designed to support an injured leg or ankle and aid healing.

Not because of the injury–I’m thankful I’ve never broken a bone-but because it’s an outward warning to anyone who might otherwise be impatient or insensitive that they just can’t go any faster.

I think there ought to be a t-shirt, pin or banner that gives the same kind of warning for those of us walking around with broken hearts and broken lives.

But there isn’t.

Read the rest here: Broken Legs, Broken Hearts, Broken Lives

Bereaved Parent Month 2025: “I Lost My Child Today”

My son’s death is a moment in time, a date on the calendar, a thing of the past for other people.

I understand that.

But for me, it’s an ongoing event.

Every time Dominic SHOULD be here but isn’t I lose him again.

Every milestone he should be marking but doesn’t I lose him again.

Read the rest here: “I Lost My Child Today” by Netta Wilson

Bereaved Parent Month 2025: Ten Ways to Survive Hard Grief Days

My hardest grief season begins in November and runs to the end of May. Thanksgiving through Dominic’s birthday on (or near) Memorial Day are days full of triggers, memories and stark reminders that one of us is missing.

If I could fall asleep November first and wake up in June I’d do it.

But I can’t so I have to employ all the tricks I’ve learned in the over eight years since Dominic ran ahead to heaven to survive those particularly challenging months.

Here are ten ways I survive hard grief days:

1. I make lists of things to do. I’ve found that if I don’t make a plan for each day it’s far too easy to just lie around and feel sorry for myself. I use index cards but whatever works for you is fine. I list household chores, phone calls to make or notes to write, exercise, errands or whatever. And then I consider them non-negotiable. These are my marching orders and after my morning coffee I start down the list.

2. I do something creative. I crochet or arrange flowers or sew a little. Taking just five or ten minutes to make something beautiful changes my perspective. I have a can opener that takes the lids off without sharp edges and I make magnets for friends and family members or just to have on hand for a little gift.

3. I take a walk. I am thankful I can go outside on my own property and enjoy fresh air and country sunshine. I know not everyone has that option. But even a walk inside your office building or up and down a couple flights of stairs gets the blood pumping and releases endorphins. If I can’t walk, then I at least change my physical position-from sitting to standing, from standing to moving. Body position impacts my emotions.

4. I find something to make me smile. There is scientific evidence to back our common sense experience that smiling lightens our mood and helps our hearts. I read jokes or check out some of my Facebook friends that tend to post funny memes or stories. Sometimes I just “practice” a smile and even that can send feel-good hormones surging through my system.

paco face (2) — “Don’t try to win over the haters, you are not a jackass whisperer.” ~ Brene Brow

5. I call or text a friend. Sometimes I just need to know that someone else is aware of my hard day. No one can undo my grief but when I feel there is a witness, it lightens the load somehow.

6. I stay off Facebook and other social media platforms. I love that I’m able to keep in touch with friends and family via social media. But it can be full of drama and negativity as well. So if I’m having a tough day, I remove the potential for it to be made harder due to random comments, posts or photographs.

7. I pet my cats. I have always been an animal lover. But I truly do not know how I could have survived these past four years without the companionship of my cats and other furry friends. Study after study confirms that being in the presence of pets lowers blood pressure and calms nerves.

8. I go with my feelings. There is no rule book that says I have to be tough and hide my tears. If I’m having a hard grief day it is perfectly acceptable to let the sorrow wash over me and let the tears fall. Sometimes fighting the feelings only prolongs my pain. Often a good cry is cleansing and I am much better afterwards.

sometimes you can hurt yourself more by keeping feelings hidden

9. I journal. There are things I need to “say” that are better kept between me, God and my notebook. I have kept a journal for nearly three decades. Many times just writing out my feelings, my fears, my thoughts and my frustrations is enough to take the sting out. There’s something about not keeping it all bottled up inside-even if no other soul reads it-that acts as a catharsis.

10. I copy encouraging quotes or Scripture and hang them prominent places throughout the house. I have notes tacked to my bed post, on my bathroom mirror, taped to the cabinet next to my stove, stuck on the fridge, slid into my wallet in my purse-absolutely everywhere. Because when my heart is hanging on by a thread, the smallest bit of encouragement is often enough to help me hold onto hope.

None of these things undo my grief in the most basic sense.

Dominic is gone, gone, gone and I will not see him or hear his voice until we are reunited in the Presence of our Savior.

But they DO help.

One of the most devastating aspects of child loss is the overwhelming sense that NOTHING makes sense anymore and that I have absolutely NO control.

Choosing helpful habits and actions gives me a way to regain dominion over a tiny corner of my world.

And that little bit of action strengthens my spirit and helps my heart hold on.

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