community – Page 14 – thelifeididntchoose

Safe Friends

I hope you have one.

That one person who knows your greatest joys and deepest pain and keeps it locked in her heart as if the secrets were her own.

She is a gift from God to me, that friend.

She’s the one I call when I’m wracked with sobs and the words won’t come. She knows it’s me and just waits on the line until I can speak. She gets my jokes, knows my weaknesses, my strengths and helps me steer a better path on this hard road called “Life”.

She is a safe friend.

A safe friend listens.

Just listens.

She isn’t formulating an answer while I am talking, she isn’t rounding up cliches or Bible verses or platitudes meant to make her sound wise and shush my sharing. She hears my heart even when my words might not make sense.

A safe friend sees.

Really sees.

She looks in my eyes and pays attention to my expression. She notices when my smile doesn’t match the tone of my words or the silent language of my hands.

She won’t let me by with a quick, “I’m fine!” meant to brush off the real need to spill my guts.

A safe friend stays.

As long as it takes.

She doesn’t leave in the middle of a hard conversation. Even if life gets in the way, she will come back and pick it up. She checks in with me and doesn’t let time unwind the threads that bind us together. If I don’t contact HER, she contacts ME.

A safe friend walks with me.

No matter how steep the path, no matter how rocky the road. We might be hobbling along, broken together, but she keeps going and she keeps me going.

A safe friend encourages me to look to Jesus.

She admits that she doesn’t have all the answers. She agrees that there are many things we will have to wait to understand. But she reminds me that for this, we have Jesus. We have a High Priest Who was tempted in every way yet was without sin. We can enter boldly into the Holy of Holies because by His blood the veil is rent.

She doesn’t issue spiritual ultimatums that undermine, instead of strengthen, my faith in Christ.

A safe friend doesn’t cut me out of her life when my life is a mess.

Even if the mess is of my own making. She helps me untangle the knot, own up to the sin, reach out to Christ and make amends.

A safe friend doesn’t just “happen”.

She allows the grace and mercy and love of Jesus to mold her heart so that He can use her.

Everyone NEEDS a safe friend.

Anyone willing can BE that friend.

I am NOT Crazy!

It was just over a year after Dominic’s accident and a friend forwarded an article about odd behaviors of those who were “stuck’ in grief. Along with the forward was a little tag, “Reminds me of you.”

It hurt my feelings.

And it was inappropriate.

Because not only had I not participated in any of the listed behaviors (most of which anyone would deem odd and some that were actually harmful) but as far as I could tell, I was doing pretty good, considering.

Considering I went to bed one night with four children alive and well and woke in the wee hours of the next day to the news that one was dead.

No warning. No good-byes.

Just gone.

In the months since that day I had gotten up each morning and taken care of necessary tasks. I was not abusing alcohol, drugs or food. I was still exercising when I could.

And I was engaged with my family -working with them to put the pieces of our shattered lives and hearts back together again.

Yes, I cried. A lot. No, I didn’t like to be around crowds. I stayed at home much more than before. I struggled with anxiety when anything out of the ordinary happened. I found small talk hard to follow and forgot things (still do). And I was not participating in many “extra” activities.

I slept with Dominic’s pillows every night-it was a way to touch what was left of him.

But I was functioning.

My friend’s reaction to the fact that I was “still” grieving after a year is not all that unusual.

I speak to bereaved parents who are often made to feel by others as if they should “be over” the death of their child.

They are told to “move on”.

Or, in faith circles, to “be happy he is in heaven”.

Most mental health professionals agree that child loss is probably the most difficult loss anyone has to bear.

A simple Google search will turn up dozens of articles that support this understanding of a parent’s heartache and lifelong struggle to embrace the pain of losing a child.

Yet most people are unaware of this fact.

So I’m here to tell you-grieving mama, grieving dad-you are NOT crazy!

You are not overreacting to one of the most awful things that can happen to someone. Out of order death is devastating!

When asked about his son years after he had died, Gregory Peck replied:

As I’ve written in a previous post Am I Normal?

No one thinks it strange that the ADDITION of a child is a life-long adjustment.

So, why, why, why is it strange that the SUBTRACTION of a child would also require accommodation for the rest of a mother’s life?

I understand that if you haven’t walked this path, you can’t REALLY know what it’s like-even if you try.

I don’t want you to know this pain by experience.

It’s awful and unrelenting.

What I do want you to know is I am NOT crazy for missing my son. I am NOT crazy for wishing I could turn back the clock.

I am NOT crazy because this devastating, paradigm shifting, unbelievably painful event still impacts my everyday life.

Please don’t treat me like I am.

The best help a friend can offer is a listening ear-no judgement-and a hug that says, “I love you. And I’m sorry.”

The Wrecking Ball of Grace

In the aftermath of loss, relationships suffer.

Sometimes it’s because of harsh words exchanged in the heat of emotional moments.

Sometimes it’s due to disagreements about how to deal with ongoing issues. Often, it’s because most people just don’t know what to say and don’t know what to do in the presence of great pain and suffering.

Days and weeks and months pass and one day we wake up and realize that a previously close relationship is now distant and strained.

I know that in my grief I have felt abandoned by people I felt sure would stand with me, would never leave me, would be my most stalwart encouragers.

And I know, too, that I have shut some people out. Some were too chipper or too quick to offer platitudes and others just seemed intolerant of my ongoing pain and sorrow.

Walls have been erected.

My heart sectioned off and my world divided into “us” and “them”.

I’m sorry for that. That’s not the way I want it to be.

Walls between people are built brick by brick.

A word spoken or not spoken. A call, text or message misinterpreted or mistimed.

But they can be brought down with one blow.

Grace is a wrecking ball that breaks through walls and stone cold hearts.

Grace given and grace received.

A call, a text, an email or message that says, “I’m thinking of you. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.”

Or a card sent the old fashioned way filled with love to assure a wounded heart that it is not abandoned or forgotten.

“”I’m sorry.”

“I miss you.”

“I love you.”

It may not be easy and it might take several attempts.

But in the end, who can refuse extended arms and an open heart?

June Challenge: Five Favorite Foods

Day Five of Kathleen Duncan’s June 1-30 challenge.

The prompt: Share your five favorite foods or recipes.

I grew up in the South where Sunday dinner was delicious and church potlucks were prodigious.

If you were blessed to go to a church that had Fifth Sunday spreads, then you know what I mean.

On cement tables back of the church, good cooks pulled out all the stops and brought forth their most prized recipes for public consumption.

If you wanted a taste of Aunt Wilma’s cake or Aunt Mattie Lou’s beans, you had better be in the front of the line, because the best dishes were emptied fast.

So in honor of those warm memories, I share my five favorite church potluck foods:

Dessert First! {One of the privileges of potlucks}

Banana Pudding-a southern staple, this creamy concoction is both beautiful and delicious. It often arrived to the buffet with a corner scooped out because someone HAD to taste it-just to make sure it was good.

Pound Cake-crunchy crust, moist inside and a perfect foil for fresh fruit or ice cream. If you lived in a rural community it was made all the better wtih farm fresh egss, real butter and NEVER imitation vanilla.

Fried Chicken-before it was possible to pick up a box of chicken on almost any corner-good, iron skillet fried chicken was both an art and a treat. Only the best cooks could manage to get the meat done, yet still moist and produce a crispy crust.

Baked Macaroni and Cheese-full of cheesy goodness and oh, so different, than the stuff in the box! I’m sad that some children don’t even know it can be “homemade”.

Creamed Corn-fresh corn, picked and silked, then scalded and scraped from the cob. Grandmama would pull a few bags from the freezer and cook them down in a pot with a little butter and salt. You could taste summer and love in every bite.

I have fond memories of sitting on cement steps, swatting flies and eating delicious food surrounded by people I love.

I felt safe, protected, full and included.

My heart was assured that there would always be enough love, enough food and enough of everything to go around.

A Good Day

Last Friday, my oldest son received his USAF captain’s bars. True to form, his path to this new achievement was unique and memorable. I’m so very proud of him and of his commitment to excellence.

And that meant that he was leaving San Antonio and headed to Maxwell AFB for Commissioned Officer Training. So he was able to swing by home on Sunday!

Sunday afternoon, my kids presented me with this beautiful “Family of Love” necklace for Mother’s Day. It has all their names and birthstones so I can wear them close to my heart. I love it!

James Michael brought me flowers-lots of purple, my favorite color.

And then we were joined by Joe and Seve, two of Dominic’s good friends from Law School. Joe surprised me with this amazing handmade plate from his recent travels to Turkey. I appreciate the love and support of these fellows and their ongoing commitment to remember Dominic and honor our family.

We had Robbie and Jonica over for supper with their new daughter. I got to cuddle this sweet baby and be reminded that love still lives and life goes on.

And no DeSimone adventure would be complete without an “emergency”. While getting food ready and on the table, we discovered a minor plumbing problem that flooded the downstairs bathroom, the laundry area and into the garage (all downhill-literally and figuratively).

So while we girls ate supper, the men worked at repairs.

Just like old times-one boy went in one direction, another went the other way and Julian manned the homefront. Thankfully, they were able to get things back in working order sooner rather than later. But not before I exhausted our supply of 24 full-sized “clean-up” towels that were washed in bleach the next day!

The evening ended with lots of laughter and plenty of carbs.

And a rare opportunity for a group photo that had me surrounded by all my children within reach. (Thank you, Alison, for snapping the picture!)

We miss you, Dominic.

And we can never stand close enough to squeeze out the giant hole you’ve left.

But we are living like you lived-making the most of the moments-and loving each other.

It Ain’t Over Til It’s Over

I hear you, mama. That baby toddling away from the security of your arms-you miss those close snuggles and slobbery kisses. But he’s not really LEAVING, he’s just growing.

I know, I know.

First day of school blues.

Where did the time go? How can you drop that little girl off at the front door and trust that her teacher will take care of her as well as mom? She’s getting older, but she isn’t outside your influence.

Oh my goodness!! Already graduating high school? Moving out and going to college! No more daily chats face-to-face across the kitchen table. No more late night confession sessions.

He’s a young man, pulling away, making big decisions without you, but he’ll be home for Christmas and summer vacation.

For all you mamas lamenting the passage of time and the upheavals it brings I have a word: It’s NOT over.

Your child is still within reach. You can call or text or visit. You can touch his face, hug her neck, hear his voice.

Life is changing but it is still LIFE.

Feeling a little nostalgic for what WAS is perfectly normal. Most of us humans aren’t that fond of change.

But children are ours for a season, not forever.

They are given to us as gifts, not possessions.

For some mamas, like me, it really IS over.

The son I brought home from the hospital, the boy I watched grow and mature into a young man, the confident college graduate I saw drive away to start law school-he is gone.

I can’t call or text or visit him.

I can’t forge a different kind of relationship across the miles or make special arrangements for him to travel home for the holidays.

I can’t make new memories or take new photographs. I can’t hug his neck or hear his voice.

So it’s OK to feel a little sad that things are changing. It’s like moving furniture around in the room-you stub your toe in the dark because things aren’t where they used to be.

But for me, it’s like the house has burned down.

I felt a pinch in my heart every now and then as my children grew and more and more of their lives were spent away from me. But I also celebrated each milestone, made much (and still do) of each achievement.

I didn’t want them to be frozen in time, stuck on a shelf, kept “small”.

Enjoy the time you have with your babies, with your children, with your teens-embrace the growing independent persons they are becoming.

As long as they are walking the earth with you, nothing is OVER, it’s just the beginning of something new.

Bill of Rights for Grieving Mamas

One of our family’s inside jokes comes from a movie about the Civil War. A young soldier questioned about why he’s fighting declares, “I’m fightin’ for my rights!”-except is sounds like he’s saying, “I’m fightin’ for my rats!”

So we often laugh back and forth when faced with combative situations by using that line.

You wouldn’t think that grieving would be one of them. But it can be.

I’m kind of a touchy-feely person. One who will hug strangers, pat puppies and offer a hand whenever I see someone struggling.

So it has been a bit of a surprise to find out that some people really want me to keep my grief in the closet.

They would rather I hide my tears. They have decided on an appropriate number of days, weeks, months for my grief to run its course and then it should be “over”.

Now, let me just say that I do not think I have the right to ruin someone else’s day.

I make appropriate arrangements when asked to participate in special events. If I can go and be certain I won’t draw attention away from the celebration, I do. If I can’t, then I’m honest about it and find another way to contribute.

But I can’t spend my life in a bubble.

I’m inevitably going to be around others when a wave of grief hits me. Sometimes I will not be able to control my reaction.

And that’s OK…

So here’s what I believe to be my rights as a grieving mom (other grieving parents may disagree-and that’s o.k.):

I have a right to my feelings. I am open to someone who has demonstrated sincere compassion to help me work through them or to share their concerns if they see me heading toward destructive expression of them. But it is not up to someone else to validate my feelings about burying my son.

I have a right to draw boundaries. So much of my energy is being sapped by working through grief that I just do not have the resources to deal with everyday drama. I care deeply about the other people in my life and I will absolutely be there for them when they really need me. But I can’t be a sounding board for every little thing.

I have a right to talk about my son. He is still my child. He is still part of my life and my family’s life. Most mamas talk about their children all the time. I talk about my living children and I will continue to talk about the child I miss.

I have a right to cry. Tears make most folks a little uncomfortable. I acknowledge that and believe me, I try to hold them back. But when they fall-I won’t hide them as if it’s shameful. I won’t draw attention to myself, but I won’t always slink away either.

I have a right to laugh. Humor still moves me. And a belly laugh is good medicine. But don’t mistake a moment of laughter as a signal that I’m “better”. I am healing, slowly, but I am not whole.

I have a right to NOT talk about how I feel. Life still happens and every emotion I experience is not necessarily tied to missing my son. I don’t always need to “talk about it”. Sometimes, like everyone, I just need time to process and get over something.

I have a right to celebrate or not celebrate, participate or not participate in holidays, birthdays, remembrance days or any other special day or occasion however I am able-even if it means changing long-standing traditions or routines. I do my very best to live up to the expectations and needs of the people that are close to me. I want to have birthday parties, exchange gifts, celebrate graduations and weddings and other major milestones. But sometimes I might have to attack these gatherings in a slightly different way. I’m not the same person I was before Dominic left us and I can’t always do things the way I used to.

I have a right to be heard. I don’t expect nor do I want to be the center of every decision or every event. But I have a right to express my opinion, I’m not invisible. And no one knows what is best for me except ME. It’s easiest if people just ask me what will be most helpful instead of assuming that I would or wouldn’t like this or that.

Navigating the death of a child is a treacherous journey. I understand that those who have not travelled this path may not think about how hard it is and some of the little things that can make it easier or harder.

I am so thankful for the ones who try.

I’m Listening

I was reminded recently by another bereaved mother that my child loss experience is not universal.

I appreciate her honesty and bravery.

And I would just like to take a moment to say:

“I hear you. I see you. I acknowledge that you have a unique perspective that I do not share by experience.”

It’s hard to put myself in someone else’s shoes when I’ve never had to wear them myself.

We are all limited in many ways by the trials, temptations, joys and triumphs we have known in our lives.

But I don’t want to sit satisfied in the silo of my own experience.

I want to enlarge my understanding of what others are going through, how they are coping, how they are hurting.

So I begin by sharing MY story because it’s the only one I know from the inside.

But it is not the only one I want to know.

Tell me your story.

I promise to listen.

We buy tickets to movies, purchase books and cruise the Internet gobbling up other people’s stories. Yet we often make it difficult for those we know to tell us theirs.

We jockey for attention at gatherings, or worse, give all our attention to electronic devices. We think we KNOW other people’s stories so we don’t want to bore ourselves with listening again.

The truth is, we know less than we think about the folks we rub shoulders with every day.

Displaying Our Scars

What if, instead of hiding my pain, I allowed others to see it and offer it as a testimony of the power and grace of God in my life?

What if, instead of pretending that “everything is alright”, I admit that it’s not, but that God is still on the throne?

What if, instead of creating a gulf between myself and others by walling off parts of my life that I deem too messy, I throw open the door and invite folks inside-mess and all?

My scars make me who I am. My struggles are part of who I am becoming. And my messy life is the only one I’m likely to have this side of Heaven.

As I’ve written before:

If the people I meet think that I have it all together all the time, they are going to be much less likely to admit that they don’t. And let’s be real, none of us have it all together.

We all have at least one place in our lives that hurts and that needs healing.

Everyone has scars.

Authenticity is the key to opening doors and creating communities where one person can reach out to another and where genuine healing can begin.

You can read more here: Dropping the Mask

Mother’s Day as a Bereaved Mother

In recent years I’ve noticed more awareness of how hard it can be for women who struggle with infertility to walk into church on Mother’s Day and I am glad.

Pews filled with other women’s children and bulletin announcements, public recognition of “oldest mother”, “youngest mother”, “mother with the most children” along with the obligatory sermon based on Proverbs 31 conspire in a litany of accusation against the barren womb.

Some of these women choose to stay home. Others may be silently lifting a prayer for grace or may, like Hannah, be begging God for a child.

As a bereaved mother, this is a complicated holiday for me too.

I am so, so thankful for all my children.

I received each as a gift from God and treasure them in my heart.

Being a mother has been and continues to be the most demanding and most rewarding thing I have ever done or ever hope to do.

I used to look forward to Mother’s Day.

Not so much because it celebrated me as a mom, but because it was a moment to pause, reflect and remember how wonderful it is to be surrounded by my children.

But there’s no train from here to Heaven, no telephone line that can bridge the gap between where I am and where Dominic is.

I will never again be able to gather my children around our earthly table, see each of their faces, hug their necks.

So bear with me.

Let me be happy for the children I can see and sad for the one I can’t.
I might join in with singing, or I might just close my eyes and remember Sundays past when we were sitting in the same pew, together and strong.
If you see me rush out of the sanctuary at the end of service, please don’t stop me. Let me go-I may have held back sobs during the closing prayer and need to escape and let them loose.

And if you think of me and other mothers who have buried children, pray for me and for them.

Pray that we finish strong, that we persevere and that we continue to cling to the One Who can carry us through the rest of our days with hope and courage.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing [through the experience of your faith] that by the power of the Holy Spirit you will abound in hope and overflow with confidence in His promises.
Romans 15:13 AMP

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