Life after child loss can be described in various ways.
But any that ring true convey a sense that in an instant, everything is different, shattered, scattered, obliterated, changed.
Read the rest here: Picking Up The Threads
Category: child loss
I Wish I Knew How I’m Doing. I’m Just Not Sure.
People see me, these years and months after Dominic left us and ask, “How are you doing?”
I come up with an answer because that’s the law of conversation-you ask something and I answer, then I ask something and you answer.
Gotta keep that ball rolling.
If it drops we are both forced to stand there wondering what to do with our bodies, our faces and our thoughts.
But right now, I don’t know HOW I’m doing.
Read the rest here: I Don’t Know How I’m Doing
Bouquet of Blessing
I have the privilege of being trusted with my grandson for over a week while his parents work on getting ready to move.
I recognize not all moms and dads are comfortable leaving their not-yet-two-year-old with grandparents several hundred miles away so I am very thankful my son and his wife are OK with it.
I won’t sugarcoat it and say it’s all rainbows and butterflies. But I will say every minute is a blessing-even the ones that stretch my nerves or my muscles.
I understand NOW what my friends with grandchildren have told me for years-it’s wonderful to be freer from everyday responsibilities and to focus exclusively on relationship and experiences.
When I was a mama to four children six years old and under by age twenty-eight I didn’t have the luxury of spending morning hours exclusively on interactive play.
But now I do.
And it is a lot of fun.
Even when my hand and wrist don’t work as well as they should and screwing on sippy cup lids hurts like all get out. Changing a soaking wet nighttime diaper is a real trick for these arthritic fingers. But my little man is learning to help his ol’ grandmama by lying extra still while I get it done.
I know not every parent on this road of child loss has grandchildren. I didn’t have one until almost five years after Dom ran ahead to Heaven. And I’ll never have one that carries HIS genes, HIS personality, HIS unique quirks.
So it might not be a grandbaby that feels like a blessing in your day.
It might be a pet or a friend or an opportunity to pursue a passion or hobby or pour your life into your community or family.
Whatever it is, take the opportunity to pick those blessings like blossoms, gather them into a bouquet and take a deep sniff.
You’ll be surprised how even a tiny budvase of blessing can spread the fragrance of hope in your life.
And hope helps a heart hold on.
Why I’d Still Choose You
Some of us only felt tiny hands and feet pressing against the inside of our body.
Some of us saw first steps or first grade.
Some of us watched our child drive away to college certain it was the beginning of an adventure, not the beginning of the end.
Read the rest here: I’d Still Choose You
Say What You Need To Say. You Might Not Get Another Chance.
Just a couple of days before Dominic left us, I and another one of my kids had a fuss.
He was frustrated and stressed and I was vulnerable and stressed and a few stray words ended up hurting my feelings.
I said, “I can’t talk anymore now”, and hung up the phone in tears.
He was sorry and I was sorry and we immediately exchanged texts and let the feelings cool so we could resume our conversation the next day.
He sent me flowers.
They were still beautiful when he came home to bury his brother.
Read the rest here: Speak Your Peace-You May Not Get Another Chance
Don’t Be Shackled By Shame!
Shame is a shackle as sure as any chains forged from iron.
And it often finds its home in the hearts of those who bury a child.
Bereaved parents may feel shame for lots of reasons:
- Circumstances surrounding the death of their child-suicide, alcohol, drug abuse;
- Inability to provide the funeral or burial they want due to financial constraints;
- Missing signs or symptoms of an illness that may have led to death;
- Family dynamics that pushed a child away from home or relationship.
The list could be endless-on the other side of child loss our brains pick apart every interaction, every choice, every moment that could have gone one way but went another.
Read the rest here: Shake Off the Shame
It’s Kind of Tender Just There
I’m pretty sure most everyone older than five has suffered a bump, bruise or sprain that left them tender for more than a few minutes.
And if you have, then you know the slightest brush up against that sore spot can elicit quite the reaction.
There’s an emotional correlate to physical bruising. And when someone hits that nerve it hurts. Really, really hurts!
It’s impossible to know where all those places are on another person’s body, much less their heart. So we often cause accidental pain to one another.
Many bereaved parents share some emotional bruises others might never see or think about. Lots of everyday interactions press hard against the tender places and make them hurt all the more.
I don’t expect family and friends to walk on eggshells around me, second-guessing everything they say or do. That would be awful for all of us!
But just in case you wonder, here are places my heart is tender:
- Talking about Dominic’s “legacy”. I am still unprepared to discuss my not yet 24 year old son in terms that should be reserved for someone who has lived a long life and left a better documented trail behind. I don’t want him to have a legacy. I wanted him to have a life.
- Ignoring his absence in family gatherings. Yes, we’ve added to our number since he left us. But it was never about absolute numbers! It was always about the faces around the table and shared laughter. HIS voice is unique. And I always hear the silent space where it should be no matter how loud and lively the celebration.
- Weddings and children among his friends. No, I’m not sad at all that these precious people are living life, expanding their families and doing all the things young folks SHOULD do. But even as I rejoice for every single exciting milestone I also mourn the fact that I will never have the same opportunity with Dominic.
- The smaller and smaller space Dominic occupies in daily life as time goes by. This is simply a function of human existence. Over seven years of life have come and gone since he was here to make a memory, share a meal, comment on social media, be included in photographs. I can force the issue and bring him up in conversation or have someone hold a giant picture of him for family portraits but that is not. at. all. the. same.
- Unexpected and unanticipated grief triggers. I still gasp inside when I see a young man speeding by on a motorcycle. Mention of certain topics, plans, courses of study take me straight back to conversations I had with Dom about what he wanted to do when he finished law school. Sometimes it’s the smell of soap or shampoo or coffee or grilled chicken-all things I strongly associate with his last couple years on earth and his first apartment.
- Photographs of myself this side of child loss. Other people can say what they will but I see the toll grief has taken on my body, in my eyes and in the way my smile lies lopsided on my face. I want all the pictures I can get! I’ve learned too late that begging off because I’m not in the right clothes or don’t want to stop long enough to snap the photo is a mistake. But I’ve yet to line up for one where I didn’t feel Dom’s absence and wish he were there.
- Crowds and unfamiliar places. I can’t claim to ever have loved being smashed together with others unless it were family. I used to be able to tolerate it better though. I guess it’s my last ditch effort to carve out control in a world that feels out of control that I avoid large groups and unfamiliar places. I can feel my heart pound faster at even the thought of such a thing.
I know specific circumstances and life experience make each heart’s tender places a little different.
Mine may not be yours.
I don’t expect (really, truly, do not expect!) that everyone (or even anyone) around me might take note of my own.
But I am still tender. And I may well still react.
Bruises are bruises even when we try hard to cover them up or protect them.
❤
Tiny Flickers of Light
A fellow bereaved mom commented on my recent holiday post with this question: How do you make joy, when your heart has no joy?
It was a good and honest query. One that stopped me in my tracks.
Read the rest here: Flickers Of Light, Guiding My Heart Home
Looking For Normal
There are lots of social media memes floating around about 2020 being an interminably long series of disaster after disaster.
“If only it would end”, is the hidden hope whispered inside hearts longing for the calendar to turn from one year to the next.
“If only things would get back to normal!”
But there’s no magic in how we humans divide the days or months or years as this big blue marble travels round the sun and through the universe. It’s simply a convenient way to mark time.
And there’s no guarantee that time, by itself, rights anything. There’s no promise in the next sunrise that what’s been broken will be mended.
The rest of the world is learning what bereaved parents have known ever since the awful reality of child loss was laid at the door of their hearts: there’s no way back to “normal” once your world is violently torn from its moorings.
All you can do is assess the damage, pick up whatever pieces may still be viable and try your best to cobble them back together into usable shape.
Some use the term, “new normal”, to describe a state that (most bereaved parents) eventually reach. A way of walking in the world with a profound limp, a wounded heart, a half-smile that hides tears threatening behind tightly closed eyes.
We make adjustments because we have to. The world doesn’t stop and ask permission before continuing on its merry way.
I would not wish this pandemic on a single soul.
I grieve (maybe more than many) over every person lost to Covid19. I cry every time I hear of another lonely elder separated by glass from human hugs and family kisses. I am counting the cost of witnessing traumatic deaths for nurses and doctors who have to hold hands as well as treat illness because visitors are not allowed in the rooms of the dying.
We haven’t begun to assess all the ways this pandemic is changing and will change us-individually and communally.
J 
But if you’re waiting for 2020 to end, for a magic vaccine or for some other relatively instant and far-reaching cure to transform current reality, I think you will be waiting a long time (if not a lifetime).
I think, that like me, you will have to work through your own feelings and fears. You will have to decide what risks you can take.
You will have to figure out who and what in life is non-negotiable and hold onto that with both hands no matter what else happens.
Bereaved parents are good at this because we have to be.
If you are looking for trailblazers through unprecedented tragedy and unfriendly territory, follow them.
They can show you how it’s done. ❤
Oh, How I Miss His Voice! Silent Echoes Haunt My Heart.
I try to limit the time I spend perusing old photos and old social media posts of my missing son.
I’ve learned that while they remind me of sweet memories and happy times they also prick my heart in ways nothing else can.
I was looking for something specific the other day and had to scroll through Dominic’s Facebook page to find it. As I did, I began reading some of the back and forth comments under the posts and pictures.
This time it wasn’t what was said or where the photos were taken that hurt my heart.
Instead it was the tiny little time stamp underneath the words that took my breath away.
Nothing more recent than five years ago was recorded.
Because that’s when his voice went silent.
Read the rest here: I Miss Your Voice: Silent Echoes Haunt My Heart
thelifeididntchoose 