Category: child loss

Repost: On The Edge

I wish that I could mark my heart’s healing like I can mark my body’s healing after surgery-wound closes, scar remains, function returns, and forget about it.

But I can’t.

This journey is like walking those narrow ledges on the side of a mountain-doable, but requiring careful attention lest I fall off.

So far, so good.

But I hate days when my attention is drawn back to the threat of falling instead of the journey itself.

Almost three years [now four] and here I am-

still on the edge.

On the edge of an anxiety attack.

On the edge of the cliff of deep sorrow and darkness that threatens to swallow every thing bright in my life.

Read the rest here:  On The Edge

When It’s Been YEARS-How to Bless a Grieving Parent

Please hear me. 

I do NOT blame you that my son and my sorrow have drifted down your list of “things that need attention”.  Your life is as busy as mine once was and your calendar full of commitments and celebrations that require your attendance.

There is no way you would know it’s 69 days until the fourth anniversary of Dominic’s sudden absence. 

There is no reason for you to be aware that as the southern landscape turns to spring, my heart and mind turn to death.  

But it’s the truth. 

As the rest of the world looks forward to Easter (and I do too-for the promise and hope it brings) I am dreading Holy Week.  Dominic was killed the Saturday before Palm Sunday and laid to rest the Monday after Easter.  So every year I relive it twice-once during Holy Week and once again (when the dates are different) according to the calendar.

And each year it feels lonelier and lonelier.  

Because each year fewer and fewer people remember or if they do, they don’t know how to offer that up as a blessing because it feels awkward or stiff.

So may I suggest a few things that most bereaved parents would absolutely LOVE for friends and family to say or do-especially as the months roll into years or even decades?

  • Send a card, message or text indicating that you DO remember.  And not just for the date of passing, but also for his or her birthday or other important milestone dates.
  • Send an electronic or physical copy of a photo.  It feels so empty to peruse the same photos over and over.  It is an invaluable gift to get one I haven’t ever seen before.  Every time it feels like I get a tiny new piece of Dominic to hold close to my heart.
  • If you have saved voice mails or videos-send those.  Not every parent can or wants to listen/watch these, but they are a gift nonetheless.  Just having them brings some comfort.
  • Post a memory on Facebook.  If the child’s timeline is still up, write something TO the child-did you share an experience, a class, a hobby-then speak to that.  Tell me how Dominic is still part of your life.  Because as long as his influence still lives, part of him lives also.
  • Speak his or her name in conversation.  I know it can be awkward.  But don’t shy away from mentioning my child in conversation just as you would if he were living.  If you are talking about an event in which he took part, please, please, please do NOT talk around him.  I remember.  You aren’t shielding me. It is so good for my heart to share these memories with other people.
  • If I post a photo or memory on Facebook, please don’t scroll past with the attitude “there she goes again!”.  I post because I will talk about Dominic just as I will talk about my living children as long as I live.  Yes, it’s the same photo-but I don’t have new ones because I CAN’T TAKE THEM, not because I don’t want them.  If you think it’s  “too much” I challenge you to cut off all (I mean ALL) communication with one of your living children for a week.  That’s just the tiniest taste of what it’s like.
  • If I plan some kind of memorial activity, participate if you can.  Personally I haven’t done this but many parents plan balloon releases or ask people to do a Random Act of Kindness in the name of their child.  If you are able, join in.

There is a common theme here:  if you think about my child, let me know.  

I will not forget Dominic.  

I couldn’t. 

But it is oh, so helpful to know that others aren’t forgetting either.  

missing child from arms

Mona Lisa Smile-Did She Share My Secret?

I’m no art historian.  But I think I may have solved the mystery to Mona Lisa’s smile.

For hundreds of years people have wondered just what is behind that enigmatic expression-it’s a smile, but almost not a smile.

Her lips and eyes do not agree.  

mona lisa

I know exactly how she feels.  

Some folks think bereaved parents want to prolong the pain and sorrow they are feeling.  Some figure that those Facebook posts and Instagram photos and Tweets are aimed at generating pity.

But you want to know the truth? 

Most bereaved parents long to feel happy again.  They want, more than anything, to have a few moments when the weight of grief is lifted and genuine joy bubbles up from down deep like it used to.

The first chance I got to ask a fellow bereaved mom, I did: “Will I ever feel happy again?”

She was honest and told me it would come, but that it would take longer than I hoped.

She was right.  

Nearly four years into this journey and I can faithfully report that yes, I do feel happy.  I can laugh, I smile, I rejoice with those who rejoice.

I even have whole days when I am barely aware of sorrow and longing.  

But the me that was jubilant and radiantly glowing with happiness is gone.  

desimones uab family

Instead, most days I am just quietly not sad.  

You can see it in my face.  

Just like Mona Lisa.  

melanie and little bit

Disappearing in the Distance

It’s absolutely normal that the space Dominic once occupied in the hearts and minds of his peers gets smaller over time.

He was only a part of their lives-lives blooming and bursting in the spring of their years. 

They are moving and marrying and having children and building careers.  If he were still living it may very well be they would have lost touch by now anyway.

I know all this and yet it still hurts.

Why do I find it unsettling that he is becoming just a distant memory?

With every passing month the bits of him scattered in the hearts and minds of friends and family fade just a little more.

The vibrant hue of who he was is fainter.  

dominic at Robbies wedding funnyHis light dims and is harder to see in the darkness.

I can’t possibly hope to hold all the memories myself.  

I can’t preserve them forever by myself.  

I depend on others who knew him to be memory boxes too.dominic at gray haven

 

 

 

 

How Can I Deal 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…

Read the rest here:  Dealing With Anxious Thoughts

Winter Sunrise

The sun rises behind bare branches and they look beautiful.

In just the right light and at the perfect angle, anything can be lovely.

bare winter branches

It’s true that every living thing needs rest.  Every working part must be oiled.

And while winter can be hard and heartless and cold and cruel, it is also space and time for re-creation.

If I only look harder I can already see tiny buds of springtime promise on the tips of branches overhead.

Death is winter.

Cold, hard, gray.  Every lovely thing fallen and dry underfoot.

A season of rest-not chosen, unwelcome, resisted.

But rest just the same.

Yet the sun still shines and spreads warmth and light on even these bare branches.

winter sunrise pines and zeke filter

After such a long time can the sap still rise?

Is there life left here?

Will spring come again and flowers bloom?

I’m counting on it.

IMG_1795

It will all happen so fast, in a blink, a mere flutter of the eye. The last trumpet will call, and the dead will be raised from their graves with a body that does not, cannot decay. All of us will be changed!  We’ll step out of our mortal clothes and slide into immortal bodies, replacing everything that is subject to death with eternal life.  And, when we are all redressed with bodies that do not, cannot decay, when we put immortality over our mortal frames, then it will be as Scripture says:

Life everlasting has victoriously swallowed death.
     Hey, Death! What happened to your big win?
    Hey, Death! What happened to your sting?

Sin came into this world, and death’s sting followed. Then sin took aim at the law and gained power over those who follow the law.  Thank God, then, for our Lord Jesus, the Anointed, the Liberating King, who brought us victory over the grave.

My dear brothers and sisters, stay firmly planted—be unshakable—do many good works in the name of God, and know that all your labor is not for nothing when it is for God.

I Corinthians 15:52-58 VOICE

 

Relentless

re·lent·less
adjective
opressively constant; incessant.
Synonyms:  persistent, continuing, nonstop, never-ending, unabating, interminable, incessant, unceasing, endless, unremitting, unrelenting, unrelieved.
please be aware i am trying

Repost: Grieving With Hope

The church at Thessalonica was confused about some fundamental doctrines of the Christian faith.  They were frightened that they had missed Christ’s second coming and they were concerned about loved ones that had preceded them in death.  So Paul wrote this letter to remind them of truth and offer comfort in their emotional distress:

And regarding the question, friends, that has come up about what happens to those already dead and buried, we don’t want you in the dark any longer. First off, you must not carry on over them like people who have nothing to look forward to, as if the grave were the last word. Since Jesus died and broke loose from the grave, God will most certainly bring back to life those who died in Jesus.  I Thessalonians 4:13-14 MSG

This verse is quoted often to believers who have lost a loved one.  At first, gently, sweetly–as an invitation to remember that God is in control, that He has a plan, that the grave is not victorious and that burying the body is not the end.

And, in the early days and weeks after the funeral, it IS comforting–I chanted it to myself like a mantra and it drew my heart from the brink of despair.

But at some point, this verse begins to feel like a rebuke–the well-meaning friend says, “Don’t you know, that Jesus followers don’t grieve like those who have no hope!”

And I turn, dumbfounded, to the person saying this, and wonder, “Have you buried a child?”

Read the rest here:  Grieving With Hope

Can I Just Be Me?

Even in the very first hours after the news, my brain began instructing my heart, “Now, try to be brave.  Try not to disappoint people.  Try to say the right thing, do the right thing and be the example you should be.”

Whatever that meant.

As I made phone calls and received concerned friends and family members I was so aware that they would take a cue from me-how much can I say, how hard can I cry, should I hug or stand back, should I talk about him or be silent lest it make the tears fall harder?

And here-almost nine years later-I still feel like I need to lead the way in conversations and social encounters.

If I don’t mention Dominic, no one else does and that disappoints me.

If I do mention Dominic, the response is often sympathy or rushing to another topic.

Which is also disappointing.

If I smile, then I’m “so much better’.

If I tear up, then I’m “not over it yet”.

The entire time I’m in the company of others (besides my family and a couple close friends) I am editing myself.  Everything I say or don’t say is filtered through a grid based on how others may receive it.

No off the cuff responses here.

Past experience has taught me that what most folks want from the bereaved (after the first few months or maybe a year) is evidence that they are “moving on”, “healing”, “trusting Jesus”, “getting better” or “finding the silver lining”.

Part of me would like to participate in this ruse because it’s so much easier than trying to push, pull or drag them into the reality that bereaved parents face.

But another part of me wants to rip the blinders off and let them see that this is a lifelong journey that is bumpy, hard and doesn’t look like victory.

It looks like perseverance.

Sometimes I laugh.  Sometimes I cry.  Some days are good.  Some days are awful.

I’m stronger than I was but I’m not “better”.

I’m able to greet most days but I still struggle some mornings to get out of bed.

I enjoy my family and friends but I miss my son.

And sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I could be only me.  

Not a “me” curated for public consumption.

But just me.

days-i-cant-participate

OOPS!! How in the World Did I End up HERE?

My front yard is full of juvenile squirrels.  They love to chase one another round and round-playing some version of “king of the hill”.

I’m used to hearing their chatter and seeing them jump from branch to branch, tree to tree.

But yesterday I saw something I’d never seen before-two young squirrels were clinging desperately to the phone lines that stretch between two power line poles.  They were twisting and turning, grasping for a foothold and completely flabbergasted to find themselves in such a precarious position.

squirrel_on_a_wire

I looked to see how in the world they might have ended up there.  Sure enough, there is a crepe myrtle tree with branches that just graze the phone lines.

I’m pretty sure the silly young things were chasing each other and didn’t realize that they had jumped from the safety of a tree to the danger of the phone line.

As I was watching them I thought about how I can find myself in a very similar situation.

Grief is not a single emotion-it’s a whole suitcase of them!  I can’t help feeling them.  In fact, I NEED to feel them if I’m going to do the work grief requires.

heal and acknowledge

But if I allow myself to be led by my emotions, I can quickly be drawn away from the safety of truth and find myself perched precariously on the high wire of my feelings.

Once there, my sole focus becomes maintaining my balance and I lose sight of where I want to go.

In my scramble to keep my footing, I can sacrifice relationships.

I can take offense when none was intended.

I give offense because I’m angry and wounded myself.

I can allow sorrow to cloud my vision so that I can’t see the real beauty that still remains.

I need to remain aware of where my emotions are leading me so that I don’t end up somewhere I don’t want to be.

highwire image

I’m not nearly as nimble as a squirrel.  🙂