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.
Read the rest here:Love Tokens
Category: child loss
Fathers Grieve Too
I’ve gotten a similar comment from two different bereaved fathers in the past two days.
It goes something like this, “I’m offended by the implication (one was in a meme, another was a reader comment) that mothers grieve more than dads”.
I appreciate the comments even though I disagreed with the interpretation these men gave to what was actually stated.
I responded by saying that since I am a mother-not a father-I write from my own perspective. I don’t try to fit my shoes on anyone else’s feet.
I also said that if they chose to read any blog post I have written, I have never implied nor stated that a father’s grief is somehow less than a mother’s. The only differentiation I make between my grief and anyone else’s is that child loss is qualitatively different than other kinds of loss.
Losing your hamster just isn’t the same.
I don’t claim special status because I’m a mother grieving my child.
But I will absolutely, positively admit that often dads get overlooked when people offer comfort and solace.
Maybe it’s because fathers (as a group) tend to be more stoic, less demonstrative and quieter about the boatload of feelings grief brings. Often men grieve privately, shed tears in secret and may not post anything on social media even when they are really struggling.
As all of us in the bereaved parent community know, most folks are trying hard to wait us out-hoping beyond hope that this period of active mourning will pass sooner rather than later.
So dads sometimes play right into that desire by staying silent.
Let me just say this: Fathers grieve too.
Dads miss their children just as much as mothers. My husband was overwhelmed by grief for months after Dominic left us. It literally incapacitated him for a period of time. So I know firsthand about a father’s grief.
If you’re a dad and feel marginalized, overlooked, forgotten or underrepresented in the bereaved parent community, may I ask you to do me a favor?
Open up.
Share your grief.
Be a voice for bereaved dads everywhere.
I, for one, want to hear what you have to say.
❤
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Repost: 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.
Read the rest here: Nothing “Normal” About It
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At The Intersection of God’s Sovereignty and Free Will: Accidents and Miracles
I want to say up front that I am no theologian.
I am, instead, a sincere follower of the Lord Jesus Christ who reads the Bible and tries hard to understand what it says and let it inform my worldview.
I know I’ve written about this before but it comes up again and again in bereaved parent groups so I’m sharing MY perspective one more time.
Here’s the question:
If God is sovereign (meaning all powerful) then why didn’t He save my child?
Here’s my answer:
God is sovereign. There is no one more powerful in the universe. He can and sometimes, does, interject directly in the affairs of men. If He chose, we would be like automatons, simply doing precisely what He wanted us to do.
God has given man free will. And that means that while there is a perfect plan and will of God for my life, for your life and for every life on this planet, I can choose not to follow it. He will not force me into compliance. I will often make foolish or sinful choices and may very well suffer the consequences.
The world is tainted by sin. Our bodies are prone to sickness, disease, genetic abnormalities. People make not only foolish choices but sinful ones-acting evilly against another person-causing harm and death. Until the devil has been utterly cast out, we will continue to suffer in a world that is not at all as God originally intended it to be.
God has also set certain universal principles in place. Gravity. Physics. Biology. Each operates without His direct intervention according to the laws He created to give us a world that works in predictable fashion. We have electricity in our homes because of these laws. Internal combustion engines work a certain way, over and over and over. When I get sick, my body temperature rises in an attempt to create a hostile environment for the invading bacteria or virus. I depend on these laws every single day.
In my son’s case, he made a foolish choice to drive too fast in a curve. His motorcycle left the road (physics) and he could not maintain control nor stop it before he hit something. His body could not sustain the blow (biology) and he died.
So many times people ascribe the word “miraculous” to someone who survives a nasty accident or is healed from disease. It may be that God in His mercy DID miraculously deliver one person or another. But it may be just as likely that the same laws of physics and biology (things we do not completely understand) which doomed my son, guaranteed their survival. I cannot compare my life to theirs or my son’s accident to another.
COULD God have intervened? Absolutely! Did He? No.
But can I ask Him to step in and prevent these natural consequences when I would be very upset should He do it other times?
See, I want God to stop pain in MY life. But (if I’m honest) I’d rather He allow it in the lives of others (those who molest children, for instance). I want Him to reach down into this world He made and keep ME and MINE safe.
If He was reaching down all the time, this wouldn’t be the world I know, it would be a world where He was chess master and we were all pawns on the game board.
The God I serve invites me to follow Him.
He does not force me to make that choice.
It’s an uncomfortable mystery that I do not understand. But I am satisfied that one day it won’t even matter.
Because every question I have will melt away in the overwhelming joy of Heaven.
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When Endurance IS The Victory
Sometimes people outside our experience toss Scripture at us who are suffering like confetti in a parade-as if we are heroes who only have yet to take the podium and declare the victory.
But what if there IS no victory in this life for some of us?
What if there is only endurance–which is a sort of victory but one not highly valued?
Read the rest here: What if My Testimony is Endurance?
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Homesick
I remember the first time I felt homesick.
I had been away from home before but never without the company of someone I knew well and loved.
This time was different-I was at a sleepover camp populated with strangers. Kind strangers, yes, but not a familiar face among the crowd.
It had sounded like a great idea when I signed up. So much to do and see: horses to pet and ride, crafts to be made, campfires to sit around and cook over.
But I soon found that no amount of excitement or distraction could undo the feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was not where I should be. It was all just a bit “off”. Everything was slightly skewed. I never got comfortable enough there to truly enjoy myself.
Instead, I kind of simply endured.
Since Dominic left for Heaven, more than a few days have been spent with that same feeling in the pit of my stomach. Although I am (very often) surrounded by people I know and love, I still can’t shake the sense that things aren’t quite “right”.
Of course I’m perfectly aware that part of the feeling is generated by Dominic’s absence.
But there’s more to it than that.
I know the Bible teaches that this world is not our home.
Still, I think most of us get so comfortable here that we forget.
I know I had.
As my family grew in number and years, I was able to bring “home” with me wherever I went. Together, we created a bubble of love and companionship. It seemed nearly perfect-until one of us left suddenly and unexpectedly.
Immediately, Heaven as my true home become so much dearer to me.
I know that the correct “Sunday School” answer is that I’ve always longed to see Jesus.
But if I’m honest-and I try very hard to be honest here-as long as my family was intact, Heaven could wait.
It took the life-altering, heart breaking reality of child loss for me to recognize that this world is NOT my home. No matter how beautiful, wonderful and fulfilling my life on earth may be, it’s never going to be free of hardship and heartache.
I am homesick-utterly, inconsolably homesick.
So I point my face to the east-just as Dominic and other saints whose bodies await the resurrection face east-and look forward to that Glorious Day when Jesus will return and make every thing that’s wrong. right.
I admit that my homesick heart won’t ever be satisfied in this world.
And I lean in and hold on to the hope I have in Christ-trusting Him to redeem and restore.
I began to try to define the pain I felt. Yes, it was sorrow, but it was something more, something infinitely deeper. I felt it all the time, even when I was happy. It wasn’t just sorrow. It was a longing; a pining for a better place and time … no, not just a better place and time, a perfect place and time; a different reality. It felt like longing for home, but not for a home I had ever been to. I began to see that it was something like homesickness …. Perhaps Christians are the most consistently homesick people in the world because they know this world (as it is) isn’t their true home. Yes, I was home, but I was still homesick.
~Elyse Fitzpatrick, Home
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Why, “Just Think About All The Good Memories,” Doesn’t Comfort My Heart
I pull out the memories like treasures from a locked strongbox.
“Handle With Care” because they are all I have left.
But they are not enough.
They will never be enough to satisfy this mama’s heart.
We are supposed to have to remember our elders, our grandparents, even, maybe our spouse at some point-but not our children.
I knew my son from before he made his entrance into the wide world. He had already danced his way into my heart before he took his first step on solid ground. He was part of me from the moment of conception.
I waited breathlessly to see his face for the first time.
I never expected that I would also see it for a last time.
We all have people we expect to outlive-our grandparents, our parents, elderly friends and neighbors-but not our child.
As our loved ones age, the wise among us begin to catalog and carefully store all those “lasts” or soon-to-be “lasts”. We ask for stories to make sure we can keep telling them. We take extra photographs, make extra phone calls and write down recipes.
I was living life forward with Dominic-just like all my kids. We were a busy, busy family and I was never very good at scrapbooking or saving up the ordinary flotsam of everyday life.
So while I have some pictures, memorabilia and tokens of his too-short life, I don’t have nearly enough. Oh, how I wish I had more! Not to create a museum or a shrine but to help my poor brain remember.
When someone says, “Just think of the good memories” it triggers all kinds of emotions and not one of them is what the person intends when giving me that advice.
I feel guilty-guilty for all the things I CAN’T remember.
Dominic is my third child and only 19 months older than his younger brother. There are so many gaps from those early years because I was overwhelmed and tired. Why can’t I conjure up images of him at 3 or 4?
That hurts.
I feel incredibly sad-sad that whatever memories I DO have are all I will ever have. I had the memories BEFORE my son wasn’t walking with me and had planned on making many more.
So focusing on memories brings little solace.
Even at 4 1/2 years into this journey, I’m torn when I pull out the memories.
I can smile now about many of them, but it’s always bittersweet.
Because this treasure trove is as large as it will ever be. ❤
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Cast That Burden!
Living with child loss means I am already weighted down.
And when life adds more to THAT load, it isn’t long until I feel overwhelmed and anxious, frightened and weak.
Jesus invites me to give Him my burdens.
He wants me to let go of them and allow Him to do the heavy lifting because the truth is, He’s already doing it, I only have to realize it.
casting all your cares [all your anxieties, all your worries, and all your concerns, once and for all] on Him, for He cares about you [with deepest affection, and watches over you very carefully].
I Peter 5:7 AMP
I was just talking to another mom about this yesterday-the casting is for MY benefit.
Jesus is already carrying my burden,
When I try to take it back, all I do is create stress and heartache for myself.
Instead I need to lean into the truth that He is my burden-bearer, my ever present help in time of trouble.
He sees me,
loves me
and will never leave me. 
So what are you toting that you need to lay down?
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The Healing Power of Fellowship
I spent last weekend with eleven other bereaved moms.
And lest you think, “How sad!”, let me just tell you we had a beautiful time together.
Sure there were tears-how can there not be when talking about the precious children we miss-but there was fun too.
Of course we had somber moments.
Especially as we lit candles in honor of each child whose light lives on even as their physical presence is denied us.
In between Bible study sessions we ate, talked, walked outside and got to know one another.
A game of “Two Truths and a Lie” revealed all kinds of surprises that had us practically falling off our chairs with uproarious laughter.
Even though most of us had never met before, knowing we shared the heartache of child loss drew us together and opened the door to meaningful conversation.
For 72 hours we didn’t have to put our masks on or walk with one foot in the world of the spared and one foot in the world of the deeply wounded.
We were free-gloriously free-to be real and unguarded.
One of the fun things we did was have a Mary Kay consultant come and do facials and makeup. I think we kind of shocked her when she went around the circle asking, “So what are you primary make up concerns?” and over half of us said, “I don’t wear make up.”
Poor woman.
She had no idea that we had long passed the point of faking feelings or saying what someone expects just because they expect it.
I know it was a stretch for some of the moms to make their way to this place they’d never been to and walk into a room full of women they’d never met.
It was a stretch for me to facilitate discussions when I felt I had reached my limit for anything besides staying home for the rest of this year.
But it was worth it.
There is nothing as beautiful as broken hearts gathering together to love, uplift, encourage and listen to one another.
If you have the opportunity and are afraid, please step out.
Take a chance and link arms with fellow grievers.
I promise you will be glad you did.
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Letting Go of Extra Responsibilities
I’ve always been quick to volunteer.
Often the “yes” flies out of my lips before my brain has engaged.
That lands me in all kinds of trouble.
But I’m trying to learn to bite my tongue until I can take stock of just how taking on another responsibility may push me over the edge.
I’m walking on a razor thin rim around the pit of despair-especially this time of year and it doesn’t take much for me to fall in.
I know that other people think, “Well it’s been nearly five years!” And I understand that to them, it seems like plenty of time to get my act together, to figure out how to live with child loss, to grow strong enough to shoulder whatever burden they think I have left and just get on with life.
But what they don’t understand is that this journey requires constant adjustments, has unending and new challenges and truly is uphill all the way.
There’s no coasting-it’s ALL hard.
Think for a minute how overwhelmed you are with all the activity, demands for baked goods, invitations, shopping, cooking, visiting, managing family responsibilities, hectic schedules and every thing else that the holidays entail.
Now multiply that times one hundred or a thousand.
That’s what it feels like for me and other wounded hearts trying to juggle ongoing pain and the holidays.
I want to participate. I want to be the old me that could say “yes” to every request. But I’m not that person anymore.
I will do what I can do.
I will say “no” to what I can’t do.
And I won’t feel guilty for preserving my energy and my sanity.
When coping with difficult disappointment or stress, it’s wise to let go of what you really, truly don’t need. Give some of your responsibilities, if you can, to someone else. Delegate what someone else can do. Say ‘no’ to new assignments or projects that aren’t absolutely necessary, and again, don’t feel bad about it. Don’t only accept help, ask for it — and be specific.
After all, when the storm has passed and you’re feeling stronger, you’ll be able to pick up those responsibilities again.
~Steven Earp, Storms of Life
