The funny thing about New Year’s resolutions is that they are pretty much the same, year after year. We all have particular struggles and the turning of the calendar seems like the perfect moment to commit to action to try to overcome them.
But most of us fail miserably and find ourselves back at precisely the point from which we started, regardless of our best efforts to change.
Read the rest here: New Year’s Resolutions
Today and tomorrow families will gather around tables and trees and television sets.
Some folks together for the first time in twelve months and maybe a few for the first time in years.
All the cheesy Christmas movies promise that reunion is sweet.
They roll out the fantasy that old wounds are easily patched up and the smell of turkey and apple pie casts a spell on broken hearts and broken relationships.
But that’s not usually how it goes in real life.
Instead of sweet release and precious moments, many families will experience rising tension as one person tries to bite her tongue and another fuels his anger. Politics, religion, personal lifestyle choices and old slights work to raise the temperature of the room to boiling.
And then it happens: He storms out, she leaves in tears and another “Hap-Hap-Happy Holiday” is in the books.
It doesn’t have to be that way.
It can be different.
If, instead of letting words hit our ears only long enough to form a quick rebuttal, we choose to listen-really listen–we can change everything.
If, instead of jumping to conclusions we commit to lavish love, we can undo the knots that form in stomachs and smooth out the furrowed brows.
If instead of making a point we choose to make a friend, we will endure fewer arguments and foster greater compassion.
Listen.
Love.
Repeat.
As many times as it takes to wash the worry out of a room. As often as necessary to weave a web of welcome.
Listen.
Love.
Repeat.
Geese flying over my place form a wobbly “V”.
They call out to one another as they go and remind me that we all need help to hold it together.
I imagine that the stragglers in the flock want to give up.
Even instinct is not enough to overcome exhaustion.
I see it in my goat herd too. Wandering from weed to weed one or two inevitably miss the cue to move forward because their heads are down when the rest move on.
My favorite doe looks up and realizes she is alone. She bellows, begging the others to let her know which way to go.
Alone is hard.
Alone is scary.
And alone leaves me vulnerable to attack.
Every one of us, even the introverts and the boldly solitary, need to know that we are not really alone.
Left to myself, I’d give up. But with help, I can go on.
I’m so thankful I am not alone in this journey.
Not thankful that others know the pain of burying a child, but thankful that in our mutual loss and sorrow, we come together and cry “Courage” to one another.
I know when my race is through the ones who journeyed with me will be a huge reason I made it across the finish line.
That’s why I’m here.
That’s why I keep showing up.
Writing every day is a challenge. Sometimes the words are hard to find. But I’m committed to continue calling out as long as I have breath.
You. are. not. alone.
Remember Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz? She found herself on an unexpected journey with no one except her dog. Then she made a few new friends who were all looking for solutions to their needs. What did they do? They locked arms as they traveled the yellow brick road and encountered its hazards together. As a group, they pressed on toward the Emerald City.
Alone, they were overwhelmed; they succumbed to their fears and obstacles. But when they came together, they found the courage and strength they needed to keep going. They became a healing community sharing common pain and goals.
~Dena Yohe, You Are Not Alone
I’m not making a political statement.
Instead, it’s a very personal truth that I repeat often to myself: We are Stronger Together.
Because left alone in my grief, my sorrow and this dark valley I will give up and give in. By myself, I will convince my heart that there is no hope. Isolated, I will lose sight of the tiny glimmer of light in the distance that can guide me home.
There are many brave women who have come alongside and joined me in this journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
Some I know only from exchanged messages or posts on bereaved parents’ boards. Some I have had the blessed opportunity to meet in person-share a meal or a coffee-and see the beautiful face that encourages me when I think I can’t go on.
Others are authors whose words breathe hope into my exhausted soul.
These linked arms make an unbreakable chain of love, support and affirmation that gives me courage to carry on.
And I am thankful for each and every one.
Talk is cheap.
So many folks think posting a meme or retweeting a catchy phrase is the same as acting on what they believe
It’s not.
If the only action you take to advance the values you claim to hold dear is a few keystrokes behind the safety of a screen I question your commitment.
Don’t tell me you love your neighbor when you don’t know his name.
Get up off the couch and make a difference.
Can I change the world? Probably not.
But I can change my corner of it.
Can I help everyone? No.
But I can help someone.
This is an old story, but it’s true:
I began this blog almost a year and a half into my grief journey.
At first I wasn’t fully committed to writing on a regular basis.
I certainly never thought I’d write every day.
But this month marks a milestone: From November 1, 2015 to today I have posted at least once a day. Not every post original-some reposts of my blog or links to other blogs.
But I’ve shown up.
And it has been helpful to me, even if it hasn’t helped anyone else.
I had been journaling since the day I got the news but was too raw and too hurt to share my thoughts with anyone but God.
Goodness, I’d been journaling for almost 20 years and never expected to share any of it with anyone. It was my way of working through hard emotions, recording insights and venting things that wouldn’t be helpful for others to hear.
But here I am-letting so much of it out to the world.
Every time I press “post” I still tremble. Am I saying something helpful? Hurtful? Foolish? Wise? I never know until I get some feedback.
I appreciate everyone who has commented on or “liked” or shared a post.
It gives me courage to carry on.
My only ambition for this effort is that I remain authentic, faithful and honest about the journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
I want to finish well. I want to make Dominic proud.
It is my way of redeeming the pain.
Thank you for joining me in the journey.
If you’ve ever been in any kind of counseling or recovery group , you have probably seen or heard this acronym and advice: HALT before you speak.
It’s a great reminder that I should take a moment to consider my frame of mind before I blurt out something that might damage a relationship or wound someone else’s heart.
I had never thought about it until recently, but it is also a great reminder to us who grieve that what we interpret solely as grief (which we cannot control) might be compounded greatly by other things (some of which we can control).
So I am learning to apply the HALT acronym to a grief spiral in my own life.
When I feel absolutely overwhelmed and the grief wave is dragging me under I ask myself, “Am I hungry, angry, lonely or tired?”
H-Am I hungry?
Some of us eat our feelings and some of us avoid food when we are stressed. Either can be terrible for health and for mental well-being.
If you have ever been diagnosed as borderline diabetic in the past, intense grief can send you over the edge-request that your primary health provider do an A1-c test, not just measure fasting glucose.
If you don’t feel like eating, make it a non-option. Set an alarm on your phone if you have to and consider food as medicine. If you aren’t fueling your body appropriately, you just simply don’t have the energy to do all the things grief requires.
If you find you are overeating, try to portion out healthy and lower calorie snacks that can help you feel full but are lower in sugar and empty calories. Or instead of eating, try taking a walk or doing a few minutes of impromptu exercise.
A-Am I angry?
Somewhere in life I embraced the idea that anger is “bad”. When I am angry, I feel the anger and also feel guilty for being angry.
Acknowledge your anger.
If it is toward a person, ask yourself if you can bring it to them and mend the relationship. If that’s not an option, think about how you can construct boundaries to limit that person’s impact on your life, at least while you are experiencing the most intense feelings of grief.
If it’s toward God, express it in a journal or aloud or to a safe friend. The Psalms are full of “Why God?”; “Where are You?”; “Why have You abandoned me?”
If your anger is toward your missing child, consider writing your thoughts in a journal or a letter to him or her. Often I find that really all I need is an opportunity to express myself. It doesn’t “fix” things, but it makes them bearable.
L-Am I lonely?
Grief is an isolating experience.
Once the funeral and first few days or weeks pass by, most people around us either don’t think about our loss or don’t recognize its ongoing impact on our daily lives. There have been many days when I have felt very, very alone.
I have been blessed with some amazing friends who continue to seek fellowship even though it’s been 2 1/2 years since my son left us. And I also joined several online communities of bereaved parents where I can vent my feelings any time and be assured that I am received, affirmed and understood.
I think anyone who hopes to heal after the loss of a child must have a safe someone to talk to. If you don’t have friends or family that can fill that need, consider counseling. There are just some things you have to speak aloud to be able to work out.
T-Am I tired?
I know that for many bereaved parents, sleep is elusive. And once asleep, staying asleep is a whole other issue. But without proper rest, you cannot have the resources to do the work grief requires.
If you are consistently struggling with sleeplessness, consider asking your healthcare provider for help. There are a number of natural sleep remedies (melatonin, valerian root, etc.) that may be appropriate. And if necessary, prescription medicine can help break the cycle of insomnia.
None of these things-hunger, anger, loneliness or feeling tired-are the root cause of my grief.
I grieve because my son is gone.
BUT–any of them, or a combination of them-can make me more vulnerable to feeling worse IN my grief.
I cannot control the fact that I am grieving.
I cannot remove the burden of sorrow and pain that losing a child has placed upon me.
But I can make adjustments in my lifestyle or life choices to make it easier to bear that burden.
I continue to be amazed at the resiliency of my surviving children.
They have shouldered the burden of loss so bravely and well.
But it is hard.
And everyone needs help to carry on.
As midterms approach, I was reminded that surviving siblings often exhibit signs they need help that may go unnoticed by those around them.
So I wanted to post this again-it has been shared thousands of times and seems to be helpful: The Forgotten Ones: Grieving Siblings
Labels and categories can be helpful. When cruising the grocery aisles I’m thankful for the signs that point the way to “vegetables” or “baking needs”.
But labels can be harmful when applied to people.
Thankfully public discussion rarely includes some of the ugly words I heard growing up.
And that’s a good thing.
It means we are free to talk about the things that really matter without having to clear the hurdle of offense.
This trend has yet to take hold in wider circles when speaking about or speaking to bereaved parents and other hurting people.
From the outside looking in, we tend to classify struggling hearts as either “strong” or “weak”. We apply standards based on our own experience and background to determine whether or not a particular soul is “handling it well” or “crumbling under the stress”.
The problem with labels for hurting people is that it puts extra pressure on them and lets those around them off the hook.
You probably mean it as a compliment when you say, “You are so strong”.
But I know it’s not true-I’ve gotten very good at holding it together in public and at saying all the right things when I meet folks on the street.
I can look you in the eye, recite answers to the question of , “How are you doing?” by focusing on the current status of my surviving adult children. What you probably won’t notice among the well-rehearsed lines is I never share my heart-I never tell you how I FEEL.
If I opened that vault there’s no telling what might spill out.
You walk away confirmed in your opinion that I am doing well, that I no longer need any active encouragement or ongoing prayer. I’m off the “ministry list” because I am past the point of crisis and doing just fine.
Or you may see me at a vulnerable moment and think, “She’s weak” or “She’s really struggling”.
I AM weak and I DO struggle.
If you are tired of hearing about the ongoing struggle, how tired do you imagine I am living it?
If you wish I would “get over it”-how much more do you think I wish it never happened?
You may give up because it’s too much trouble to keep reaching out. You may tuck me in the basket of lost causes because you think I’m not committed to keep trying.
It’s easy to draw a line in the sand and decide that you will go thus far and no farther in extending help or encouragement or grace because you CAN walk away.
But I am not a lost cause.
Each day Jesus meets me in my weakness and brokenness and gives me the strength I need to carry on.
And He often does this through people-people who choose to walk alongside and not label me or my journey. People who are committed to continue even when they are tired of helping carry the burden and sick of hearing my story.
Grace–abundant grace-given and received is what makes life livable.
Love, not labels is what I need.
It’s what everyone needs.
My husband is the child of immigrants. And even thirty years after coming to America, my in-laws preferred their native Italian to English.
So when we would be in a crowded room, comments flying, I struggled to keep up with what was being said because I didn’t speak the same language.
As the years went by and our relationship deepened, I realized they had the same struggle when I would try to communicate complex truth in English. It wasn’t their heart language and some things just didn’t translate well.
Sometimes feelings got hurt because what one of us thought we were saying was not what the other person heard.
Subtitles would have been useful.
The other day in an attempt to keep my unwell body in a chair, I pulled up Amazon and picked a movie. It was in French with subtitles.
I thought, “I’ll try it.”
But as the movie went on, I realized that I was unable to give full attention to either the action of the movie or the subtitles that interpreted the dialogue.
It took way more effort than I was willing to commit to what was supposed to be a relaxing couple of hours.
So I turned it off.
Today someone in a bereaved parents group to which I belong asked if anyone else found holidays exhausting.
The comments were a resounding “yes”!
The more I thought about it the more I realized that a big part of what makes it so exhausting is a communication gap.
I am not the same as I was before burying a child.
My family is not the same.
Nothing is the same.
Some of the “not the same” is the gap between my understanding of how I have changed and the lack of understanding by others about how I have changed.
Many friends, extended family members and acquaintances continue to relate to me as if I’m the “old” me. That creates tension and requires energy to deal with-I either have to overlook it, try to help them understand or figure out how to deal with it some other way.
We’re just not speaking the same language anymore.
Sometimes I think subtitles would be helpful.
But even then it would still be exhausting.
thelifeididntchoose 