Child loss is also often sibling loss.
In addition to their own heartache, bereaved parents carry the heartache of their surviving children.
The family everyone once knew is now a family no one recognizes. Hurting hearts huddle together-or run and hide-and it is so, so hard to find a way to talk about that pain.
Read the rest here: Grief is a Family Affair
When it first happened all I could think about was getting through a minute, then a day and then all the decisions and days leading up to a funeral or memorial service.
There’s no road map.
Even when others come alongside (and many, many did!) there’s just no easy way to navigate that part of the journey.
And then I realized that in addition to all the “regular” days that absolutely, positively break your heart, I had to forge a path through “special” days.
It was overwhelming!
Mother’s Day was especially challenging that first year. Our loss was fresh and we’d had to acknowledge and celebrate two graduations and a wedding was about a month away. How in the world could I honor my living children and also safeguard my broken heart?
We muddled through by having Mother’s Day at my daughter’s apartment co-hosted by some of her sweetest and most compassionate friends. Not a lot of fanfare, but good food, good company and a quiet acknowledgment of Dom’s absence but also my living children’s presence.
It was a gift.
This is my tenth Mother’s Day. Every year is different. Every year presents new challenges and every year things change.
Since discovering there is an International Bereaved Mother’s Day my heart has taken advantage of having a day to think about and honor Dominic and then another day to think about and honor my living children.
That helps.
I wrote this post six years ago but can’t really improve on it so I’ll share it again. I pray that each heart who finds Mother’s Day hard will lean in and take hold of the hem of His garment.
It’s really the only way.
Read the rest here: Mother’s Day as a Bereaved Mother
I post this around Mother’s Day every year since my daughter, Fiona, wrote it in the voice of her brother who is in Heaven.
It helps my heart sort the mixed emotions that this day stirs up.
I’m not ONLY a bereaved mother. I’m a mother and grandmother of earthbound children too.
I’m grateful for all of them. So very, very grateful.
❤
Melanie
My daughter, Fiona, wrote this several years ago, in the voice of her brother who ran ahead to heaven.
I am so thankful for her and so sorry that she has gained this wisdom at great cost.
Some of the bravest, most loving women I know are those who have suffered one of life’s greatest losses. I hope you know how truly beautiful you are.
“Dear Mom,
Read the rest here: From The Child Not Here on Mother’s Day.
This will be the tenth Mother’s Day since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.
Every year has been different because families continue to grow and change and the world turns and life marches on.
Every year presents unique challenges and particular paths that must be navigated anew. It’s always an emotional roller coaster.
Read the rest here: Holidays Can Be Hard-What To Do About Mother’s Day
I shared this for the first time six years ago.
Before my mother’s illness and death, before the frighteningly early arrival of our little Captain and the less-frightening and less early arrival of his brother, LT, before an overseas deployment, a destructive hurricane, Covid19, and too many other stressful events to list.
I have watched my kids meet every challenge-sometimes with grace, sometimes with grit, sometimes with both.
They are different people than they would have been if Dominic still walked beside us. They know things their peers can’t even guess.
We all lost so much when we lost Dom. But we still have each other.
And that’s a treasure.❤
I never thought it possible to love you more than I already did.
But I do.
Your brother’s untimely departure has opened my heart in a whole new way to the glory that is your presence. It has made me drink you in like water in the desert.
Read the rest here: A Letter To My Living Children*
Ninety miles an hour-that’s how fast my mind can go from here to there.
From what’s in front of me to what’s behind me.
From laughter to swallowing sobs.
We sit in a living room surrounded by toys and playing with children, talking about life and love and plans and people. The little brown face that turns his eyes to mine looks so much like Dominic I have to suck in my breath.
Giggles. Squeals. Cars running up and down my arm and around my feet.
I will never see Dominic’s children.
Read the rest here: A Peek Inside a Grieving Mother’s Thoughts
I know many who read this blog belong to closed online bereavement groups.
That’s a beautiful thing- a place where we can share our pain with others who understand it in a judgement-free zone.
We often post photos and our child(ren)’s story in the closed groups.
But today I want to take a moment to provide a public forum for anyone who wishes to take advantage of it.
Read the rest here: Your Child Matters
It may seem like the easiest way to get an inside scoop on how I’m REALLY doing-but don’t do it.
Please don’t ask my kids how I’m doing.
Respect the fact that they have their own grief burden. Respect family privacy and understand you are putting them in an impossible position.
Read the rest here: Please Don’t Ask My Kids How I Am Doing
I did not grow up in an ultra-religious family although we were most definitely Christian.
So unlike some of my friends, I didn’t have a bunch of rules surrounding lifestyle choices that are not explicitly addressed in Scripture (i.e. length of dresses, makeup/no makeup, movies, music, etc.). But one thing was definitely impressed on me: You didn’t take the name of the Lord in vain-not even with “softer” stand-ins like “dad gum it”.
By the time I had kids, I had done considerable Scripture study and managed to draw up a list of “do’s and don’ts” that might put the most strict holiness traditions to shame.
Read the rest here: Lenten Reflections: Living Like Jesus Already Knows My Heart
Let me just say up front I don’t believe in luck or karma or anything like that.
I believe in a Sovereign God who can (at any moment) intervene and sometimes does but who, in general, allows humans to make free will choices and lets the world run according to natural laws He set in motion at the beginning.
That said, I do have a kind of superstitious personal habit of refusing to speak aloud any hope one week, month or year might be “easy” or “good”. Because for decades our days, weeks, months and years have snowballed into a chaotic blur combining lovely moments (birth of grandchildren and a few others) with stress-filled and often life-changing events barely leaving time to catch our breath before the next one comes barreling down the pike.
So when, in late January, I declared February a “month at home” and a “month of rest” I knew better.
I’ve shared earlier that I was diagnosed with Covid Sunday, January 29th. Truly, I have not felt worse within recent memory but am so, so thankful for vaccinations (which did not prevent me from getting it but definitely impacted the severity!) and modern medicine. Both of these meant my extremely exhausted body (just came off nearly three weeks tending my two grandboys plus a week long trip to my dad’s) and immunocompromised state did not end up in the hospital or with awful complications.
My whole family ultimately succumbed to the nasty bug-including my 87 year old dad (who was the first soldier down).
What I haven’t shared is that last Thursday evening I got a call from Papa who was in his local Emergency Room, alone and fitted out for what they thought would be emergency surgery for a non-Covid related situation.
Still talking to him, I rise from my comfy post-supper chair in front of the TV and start tossing clothes in my suitcase (only partially unpacked because, well, Covid) because I’m coming!!!
Calls go out to kids, my husband agrees to stay home and tend animals and we are off within forty-five minutes of the call.
Thankfully, after careful reexamination of imaging, observation of vital signs and a surgeon willing to let Papa decide to take a risk waiting until morning while remaining hospitalized and on IV antibiotics, we avoided emergency surgery.
Fiona, Julian and I arrived Thursday night and got a few hours sleep before showing up early Friday to reassess the situation and help Papa figure out a plan going forward.
He was able to come home with us-weak, tired and on medication-with serious admonitions to take it easy for a few days.
I cannot adequately express the love, gratitude and sheer pride I have for my kids and their willingness to drop everything and come running. They’ve gained this knowledge at a terrible price. I could not have navigated this last, frightening incident without their help and wisdom.
I’m deeply grateful it turned out to be a tiny blip instead of a giant health crisis.
I’m overwhelmed by the outpouring of prayer and concern from folks near and far.
If you are so inclined, pray for a teeny, tiny break for me and my family. We are really kind of worn out.
I’m looking forward (shhhh!!!) to a quieter latter half of February.
Stay tuned for some new posts I’ve been working on and for another trip through Lent together coming soon. ❤
thelifeididntchoose 