child loss – Page 258 – thelifeididntchoose

Why I Won’t Forget Death: Lessons in Living

The other day I listened to an NPR interview of Amy Tan, author of the Joy Luck Club among other best-selling titles.

Her brother and father died within an year of one another when she was fifteen.

I was spell-bound as she recounted how that experience shaped her adolescence and still shapes her today. I identified with things I am observing in my children and things I feel in my own heart.

She said she thinks about death every day. Not in a morbid sense, but in the sense that she is very aware death is every human’s experience, eventually.

Some of her friends call her paranoid.

Some of my friends call me gloomy.

But she went on to say that thinking about death gave her a precious gift: It made her constantly evaluate if what she is doing right now matters, if it is truly her passion and if it is something she will be glad she did when her time comes to pass from this life into the next.

I think she’s right.

Solomon said, “It is better to go to the house of mourning Than to go to the house of feasting, For that [day of death] is the end of every man, And the living will take it to heart and solemnly ponder its meaning.” Ephesians 7:2 AMP

It’s easy to get caught up in everyday details and forget the sweep of life. It’s tempting to fritter away a day, a month, a year, a decade doing meaningless and unfulfilling things. But my time is limited-whether I am 20 or 40 or 60.

Burying Dominic has made me zealous to make every day count. It has made me impatient with foolish pursuits and material measures marking success or failure.

I will not waste the years I have left on things that don’t matter.

And I will measure what matters by the yardstick of death.

“Whatever will matter on our dying day, and then when we stand before the Lord, is what matters most today, right now, at this instant.”
~Ray Ortlund

Fault Lines: Bereaved Parents and Social Anxiety

I’m no geologist, but from what I understand, earthquakes are nearly always “about to happen”. Fault lines guarantee it. Pressure is building underneath the surface of the earth and when it reaches a level that can no longer be contained, it spews.

Can I just let you in on a secret?

Bereaved parents are full of fault lines.

Many of us are nearly ready to blow almost every single minute, yet hold it in and hold it together. If you could put a meter to our temple and measure how close we are to a come apart, you would be amazed that it happens so rarely!

And this is why we sometimes say, “no” to an invitation. It’s why we stay home from church or baby showers or weddings. Not because we are anti-social, but because social situations present unique challenges to our desire to keep it together.

We don’t want to become the center of attention when the center of attention should be the mom-to-be or the wedding couple or the birthday boy.

It may be months or years or decades since our child ran ahead to heaven. And you may think that’s enough time to “get over” or “get past” or “learn to live with” his or her absence. In some ways it IS. Most of us have a “game face” we plaster on to make it through ordinary days and even some extraordinarily difficult ones.

But underneath the veneer of “everything’s OK” there are the fault lines and when extra pressure is applied, we just know we might blow.

Many times I want to be there, really I do. If I choose not to be, know that it’s because I am trying to be thoughtful, not ugly. I stay home out of love, not disrespect.

So please extend grace.

Give me the benefit of the doubt.

Let me bow out gracefully when I know in advance my heart won’t be able to hold on.

It’s best for both of us, really. ❤

Repost: Daily Battle-Tempted to Give Up

I wrote this over six months ago. Parts of it still describe me. Parts of it don’t.

I continue to struggle to find an overarching narrative to my current story.

My empty nest (which was inevitable and a GOOD thing) is somehow emptier with one child not just out of sight but totally unreachable.

So many adjectives that once reflected who I am no longer fit. And I can’t seem to find the ones that do.

When a bad day comes-and it does from time to time-I’m still tempted to give up and give in. Struggling to endure seems like more trouble than it’s worth. Heaven is tempting, and I’ve got someone waiting for me there. ❤

So many things raced through my mind in the first five minutes of hearing the news:

Oh, God! Is it true? (I have to authenticate his identity);

How do I tell everyone? (I have to make phone calls);

What do you do when your child dies? (I have no idea how to plan a funeral);

and on

and on.

Of course, that doesn’t touch the FEELINGS flooding my heart.

Read the rest here: Daily Battle: Tempted to Give Up

Trying to Hold off the Holidays

Here they come round the bend like a pack of dogs chasing that rabbit on a racetrack.

No way to slow them down, no way to step to the side and ward off the relentless message that Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming soon-so, so soon.

Internet ads scream, “You’ve got to buy it NOW! You’re running out of time!”

Billboards, radio and television ads, and calendars count down the days.

Decorations assault my eyes and ears and nose (thank you pumpkin everything!). I cannot get away. There’s no where to hide.

So I have decided to take the offensive. I will do the things that must be done as quickly, as efficiently and as quietly as possible.

I am sending Thanksgiving cards instead of Christmas cards. I like the fall colors better than traditional yuletide hues anyway. No one says the yearly update letter has to be postmarked in December.

Our gift-giving is much simpler now than before Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. I’m less inclined to wrap dozens of presents to pile under the tree and more likely to give cash or gift cards along with a heartfelt note. So I will get all this together before the weather warrants a fire here in the Deep South.

I’m easily overwhelmed.

And too much of anything just seems like entirely. too. much.

Instead of loads of decorating that involves changing out all the everyday with holiday, I will put out a few bright things and lots of candles.

Flickering light in approaching darkness speaks hope to my heart.

I will concentrate on people, not on things. I am making space on the calendar for casual conversation instead of constant motion.

I won’t be swept along by the yuletide current, struggling for air, barely making it to January and glad the holidays are over.

Sip and savor.

That’s my motto.

I’m sticking to it.

The Reality of Ongoing Grief in Child Loss

One of the most difficult things to explain to anyone who has not buried a child is this: I didn’t just lose Dominic ONCE, I continue to lose him.

I lose him every single time there is a moment when he SHOULD be here but isn’t.

I lose him when his friends graduate, get married and have children.

I lose him again on Christmas morning when HIS face isn’t around the breakfast table and HIS name isn’t on the presents around the tree.

I lose him when I need to call and ask a question about my computer or need his opinion when trying to make a decision.

I lose him when everyone else is making their way home for the holidays or a birthday or just a visit-his car never rolls up the lane, his smiling face never emerges, his arms never reach out to wrap me in a bear hug.

I lose him when his siblings line up for photos-the space where he SHOULD be but ISN’T looms large.

I will never know the joy of standing at his wedding.

I will never be able to congratulate him on his first court victory.

I will never see his children

I won’t have his companionship in my old age.

He is gone-out of reach.

Untouchable.

Lost.

Repost: Of Leaking Buckets and Grief

I first wrote about this a few months back when I was pondering the FACT that no matter how wonderful the moment, how beautiful the gift, how marvelous the fellowship of family or friends, I am simply unable to feel the same overflowing abundant joy I once experienced.

Since then, I’ve been thinking about the great heroes of Scripture and studying their stories in detail.

I may be wrong, but I haven’t found one whose life did not contain pain.

Read the rest here: Of Leaking Buckets and Grief

Why Self Talk Matters

What you tell yourself matters.

What you rehearse becomes what you believe.

What you believe becomes what you do.

When Dominic first ran ahead to Heaven, I was determined to hold onto truth with both hands. I would not allow my mind to wander the winding path of “Why?“ or “What if?” or “Where now?”

I was able to keep that up until the funeral.

Then the bottom fell out.

All the thoughts I had kept at bay crashed through my defenses like an invading army. My mind was consumed by questions, doubts, horrible imagery and awful anxiety.

Slowly, slowly I recaptured the conquered territory.

I hung scribbled Bible verses and encouraging quotes all around the house. I refused to read or listen to news stories recounting accidents. I began the day with remembering Dom was gone, but also remembering I was still here and that my three living children, husband and parents needed me.

When my heart screamed, “Give up! Give in! It’s not worth it!”

My head answered, “No. I will endure. I will continue. I will be the one to carry Dominic’s light into the world.”

If I speak doom, gloom and despair to myself then I will live darkness, defeat and disillusionment.

If I speak courage, calm and compassion to my heart then I will live with hope and reach for happiness.

Self-talk matters more than we know.

How I frame my experience-both my son’s death and my ongoing interaction with the living-determines if I will waste the days that remain or will work to make them count.

I have no control over the past, but I have a little over the future.

I can’t change what happened, but I can change my attitude.

#Iknow

After publishing the last post, there has been interest on some private grief support sites to create our own version of the #metoo hashtag sweeping social media.

We tend to talk among ourselves, lamenting the lack of understanding that losing a child changes everything.

So here it is, folks. Our opportunity to stand and be counted. Our chance to have our voices heard.

Let’s speak up.

Let’s refuse to be shamed into silence.

#Iknow

“Me Too”: The Power of Validation

In the wake of revelations that Harvey Weinstein built his media empire in part, by harrassing (and worse) women who worked for him, there is a Facebook wave of “me too” posts by women and men who have also been harrassed, molested or assaulted.

It is empowering.

Because when hundreds, thousands and tens of thousands raise their social media “hands” to be counted, suddenly the lonely heart hiding in the corner realizes they are NOT alone.

I am thrilled that the secrecy and shame of sexual misconduct by men against women is being dragged into the light. That is where it belongs.

I want to do the same for child loss. I want to do the same for grief. I want to start a bold campaign where mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, grandparents and others say, “Me too!”

My heart hurts too.

My life is NOT the same and will NEVER be the same without my loved one’s companionship on earth.

I STILL look for him to come through the door on holiday weekends. I still long to CALL her and share good news or talk over my day. I CANNOT give up his old clothes or put away her toys or bundle up his belongings for charity.

I have to suck in my breath when a quick glance at a passing stranger tells my heart, “THERE HE IS!”

But my head says, “No, that can’t be him-he’s GONE.”

Songs-all kinds of songs-provoke memories, feelings, tears. Dry it up. Keep the fake face smiling. Look forward, don’t let them see.

There are thousands of us. Thousands. of. us.

Who will stand and raise their hand and SHOUT, “Me too!”?

The Problem With Microwave Presets: Struggling with Others’ Expectations in Grief

I hate microwaves that have the “quick minute” presets!

It takes MORE time for me to undo that feature and tap in how long I want to nuke my food than it would if it weren’t set up that way.

And sometimes I feel as if “undoing” is a great deal of what I do as a griever.

I have to dispel others’ expectations of what I should be feeling, doing or thinking.

I have to help them understand that unless you have been here, you CAN’T understand.

I pray they never understand.

But in the meantime, here we are, walking the same road but experiencing discord in communication, relationship, expectations and outlook.

Sometimes it’s ME. I’ll admit that up front.

Sometimes I am feeling so vulnerable and broken that the slightest misplaced syllable, the tiniest hint of disapproval, the merest whiff of impatience sends me down the rabbit hole of darkest night and endless grief. I receive things not as they are MEANT but as they FEEL filtered through my own pain.

But sometimes it IS the other person.

Sometimes they are thoughtless, heartless and unsympathetic. Sometimes they think that time has healed all wounds and that I should be “over this”-whatever THAT means. Sometimes it’s inconvenient for them to continue extending grace when what they need is a spot filled on the roster, a hand to help or a quick fix to one of their problems.

I have better days now at over three years since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. I even have better weeks every now and again. But what a given day or week will be like is still not mine to decide. Although I steel my mind and heart against the sorrow and missing, one word can pierce the armor I so carefully arrange and I am felled.

So I try to help my friends and family understand that. I spend time (especially when I am less emotional) explaining what it feels like to continue to miss my son. I hunt down examples to share that may speak to their hearts and circumstances. I write this blog. I’m honest when making plans to say that I may have to back out at the last minute or only stay for a portion of an event.

In many ways it’s like having an infant again. When I was nursing my babies there were always things I had to say “no” to or situations that had to be adapted to accommodate the baby. Feeding schedules and nap times dictated my life.

No one seemed to mind then.

My current life is equally hemmed in by what I can’t control.

Try as I might, it’s impossible for me to meet the expectations of others. I’m not a microwave.

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