companionship – Page 11 – thelifeididntchoose

Making a Difference is Easier Than You Think

Some people’s passions lead them to headline making, world changing careers.

Most of us spend our days in smaller ways.

And we often feel like our tiny efforts create barely a ripple in the giant ocean of human experience.

But I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to be brilliant, rich, beautiful or perfect to make a difference in someone’s life.

All you have to do is care.

Compassionate companionship is a gift.

Learning to sit with another heart in joy and sorrow, victory and pain, sunshine and darkness all the while assuring her you will not leave-no matter what–is priceless.

Think about it: People pay thousands of dollars for a stranger to listen to their heart cries.

Sure, sometimes folks need a professional to help them untangle complex emotions, underlying mental health issues and substance abuse problems. But often, at root, they are simply lonely with no trusted companion for life’s journey.

Who do you know that needs a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on, a heart to affirm that his or her heart is worthy of love?

Choose to reach out.

Be a friend.

Make a difference.

Care & Feeding of Your Grieving Person: “You Don’t Need to be Perfect, You Just Need to be Present”

I just love this.

It’s simple, humorous, shareable and oh, so true.

“You don’t need to be perfect, you just need to be present.”

The Art of Listening

We’ve all experienced it and probably been guilty of it as well: listening with one ear while anxiously waiting to reply or to make a getaway.

I hate that.

What I LOVE is people who really listen.

I knew a woman once who made me feel as if whatever I was telling her at that moment was the most important thing in the world. She would look me in the eye, often take my hand, and never made even the slightest body movement to suggest she had things to do or people to see or anywhere else to go.

Even when we were talking about the most ordinary things.

I want to be like THAT.

I want to make every single heart that shares feel honored, loved, heard and safe.

Should I DO Something? Yes. Absolutely.

It’s possible to stand frozen at the corner of good intentions and helpful action.

I’ve done it dozens of times.

And every time I’ve allowed myself to swallow “but I don’t know what to do” and done nothing I’ve regretted it.

Every. Single. Time.

So I’m here to tell you that when you get that urge, feel that itch, hear that still, small voice that says, “DO something“, then do it.

You may already have a good idea of what it is you need to do, but in case you don’t know exactly how to make a difference in the life of a heart hanging on by a thread, here are some things to get you started:

Text, message or write. Sometimes a phone call is too hard for a weepy friend to answer. Better to send something that she can read and answer when she is able to talk. You can always ask, “Can I call you? I really want to hear your voice.”
Deliver a meal or send a restaurant gift card. Sometimes daily chores are overwhelming and having supper already decided often gives a little breathing room to a heart already struggling to breathe.
Offer to tag along. Go with your friend to that required event or necessary appointment and be a safe space in the crowd, a buffer against too many unwanted questions.
Send flowers or a plant or almost anything sweet and unexpected. There is something magical about the doorbell ringing and a beautiful surprise offered on the other side.
In the case of a grieving friend, photos of her loved one are always a wonderful gift. In the age of digital everything, taking time to print and frame one or two is really special.
Clean the house. When things are cluttered, dirty and messy, it reinforces a sense of futility. Sometimes waking to a tidy space makes all the difference in whether a heart has the energy to get out of bed and start the day.
Run errands. Things that are easy for most people can be overwhelming for a hurting heart. Pick up the dry cleaning, buy stamps, grab some bread and milk. Anything that can save extra stops on the way home from work.
Make a care package. It doesn’t have to be anything extravagant. If you know the person well, include small things that show you are thinking specifically about THEM. A new journal, a pretty pen, a puzzle booklet, tea bags or anything that they might like will encourage a heart.
Take the kids where they need to go or just take them out for a fun time. Parents often bear the burden of their own struggle and also the burden of knowing that same struggle is hurting their kids. Doing some of the heavy lifting of getting children where they need to go helps so much.
Offer quiet companionship. Just come over and sit with your sad or hurting friend. If she chooses to talk, then listen. But don’t feel you must fill the empty air with words. Often silent support does more for a heart than all the sappy sentiments we like to toss at people when they are upset.
“Like” their social media posts. You’d be surprised at how isolated a heart might feel in this age of hyper-connectivity. If your hurting friend is bold enough to admit it publicly, then let her know you see that, affirm it and are not offended by the admission. Sure it can be hard to hear the same sad song over and over but if it’s hard for you-and you can walk away or shut it down-how hard do you imagine it is for the person who cannot get away from the reality of living it?

Don’t ignore that voice that says, “Do something”.

Showing up and choosing to walk with a hurting heart can make the difference between a person giving up or going on.

In the end, love is what we DO and not simply what we SAY.

Why We Have to Tell Our Stories & Why We Need Someone to Listen

We’ve all been at the family dinner table when an elder launches into THAT story-the one that gets dragged out every holiday and several times in between.

Often our eyes roll and we exchange knowing glances with the younger set as if to say, “Here we go again!”

But we point our faces toward the speaker, lean in and lap it up.

Because we know this story is important to her or else she wouldn’t be sharing it again.

You learn a lot about your parents and grandparents, older aunts and uncles by listening carefully to the stories that have stuck around in a head that finds it hard to remember what the body had for breakfast.

Some of the stories are wonderful. Sweet, sweet memories of special times and special friends; of younger years and youthful dreams.

Some of the stories are tragic. The baby brother or sister who only lived a few days or months. The mother that died too soon because there were no drugs to treat a common condition. The friend that never came home from the war.

The stories are windows into souls.

Some of us have stories that need telling NOW. We can’t wait until our age guarantees us a captive audience.

Because telling the stories helps our hearts.

A fellow bereaved mom who has a gift for finding exquisite quotes found this one:

Sometimes I think that if it were possible to tell a story often enough to make the hurt ease up, to make the words slide down my arms and away from me like water, I would tell that story a thousand times.

~Anita Shreve, The Weight of Water

Every time I tell the story of Dominic, it helps to keep him real.

It reminds my heart that he lived, that he mattered, that he matters still.

Living on a farm I’ve buried a lot of things in this Alabama dirt, I never thought my brother would be one of them. I miss you so much Hector Dominic DeSimone! ~Julian DeSimone

And in the telling, I am giving away a little bit of him for another heart to carry. His light is passed to another soul that can pass it to another and another.

It doesn’t really take away the hurt and sorrow, but it does help me bear it.

So if I launch into the same old rendition of my favorite memories of my missing son, bear with me.

Be a witness.

Help me carry the burden.

Bereaved Parents Month Post: Why Do Friends Abandon Grievers?

I wrote this a few months ago because it is an issue every grieving parent faces: Why do friends abandon us?

Truth be told, many of us abandoned others prior to our own bereavement for some of the same reasons.

It is really hard to hang in and hang on when a friend is going through such a hard time. Understanding why my friends might pull away helps me extend grace. ❤

It happens in all kinds of ways. One friend just slowly backs off from liking posts on Facebook, waves at a distance from across the sanctuary, stops texting to check up on me.

Another observes complete radio silence as soon as she walks away from the graveside.

Still another hangs in for a few weeks-calls, texts, even invites me to lunch until I can see in her eyes that my lack of “progress” is making her uneasy. Then she, too, falls off the grid.

Why do people do that?

Read the rest here: Why Friends Abandon Grievers

Bereaved Parents Month Post: Have I Lost My Mind?

Here I am four years into this journey and I still have days when I think I have utterly lost my mind.

Not because of internal cues but because of external pressure by family and friends to conform to some idea THEY have of what grief after child loss should look like.

I have to remind myself that they have NO IDEA what this is like and that if I am managing to move along-even at a snail’s pace-I’m just fine.

I wrote this a couple years ago in response to a private message sent to me by a friend:

“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.”

Read the rest here: I am NOT Crazy!

Ask Me, Please.

I have been guilty of this more times than I ‘d like to admit.

I assume someone else’s feelings mirror my own and act on that assumption by withdrawing or not showing up or “giving them space”.

But the problem is, most times, on reflection, I realize my action (or inaction) was really all about sparing my own feelings or staying within my own comfort zone.

The heart is deceitful above all things
and beyond cure.
Who can understand it?

~Jeremiah 17:9 NIV

So I’m learning to ask hard questions.

And I wish others would do the same.

Before I assume someone doesn’t want companionship, or a phone call or another text or message, I’m trying to give them the opportunity to say no.

I’ve been surprised more than once when I wanted to keep my distance in the name of “giving someone space” or “not bothering someone” that if I DID reach out, she responded by saying it was just what she needed.

I admit that asking risks rejection or worse-I might end up bearing the brunt of someone’s very bad day (or week!). But not asking means I may not be doing precisely the thing God wants me to do. I may be choosing the easy way out and rationalizing it so I feel better but the poor heart that needs my companionship or encouragement is left without the very help I was meant to provide.

I think Dominic’s death has made me brave in this one tiny place: I say things I might not have said before. I risk pain in relationships where I might not have been willing to risk before. I assume that if I don’t speak important truths RIGHT NOW I might not get another chance.

I long to be a burden bearer for my friends and family because I know what it is to bear a burden.

So I ask and don’t assume.

If someone wants to be left alone, then they are free to tell me.

But I will not stay silent or keep away simply for my own comfort.

Who knows? Maybe this is exactly the good work God has prepared in advance for me to do.

What I’m Learning From Other Bereaved Parents

There’s a kind of relational magic that happens when people who have experienced the same or similar struggle get together.

In an instant, their hearts are bound in mutual understanding as they look one to another and say, “Me too. I thought I was the only one.”

It was well into the second year after Dominic ran ahead to heaven that I found an online bereaved parent support group. After bearing this burden alone for so many months, it took awhile before I could open my heart to strangers and share more than the outline of my story.

But, oh, when I did! What relief! What beautiful support and affirmation that every. single. thing. that was happening to me and that I was feeling was normal!

I have learned so much from these precious people.

Here’s a few of the nuggets of wisdom I carry like treasure in my heart:

Everyone has a story. No one comes to tragedy a blank slate. They have a life that informs how or if they are able to cope with this new and terrible burden. Not everyone has the same resources I do-emotional, spiritual or otherwise. Don’t put expectations on someone based on my own background. Be gracious-always.

Everyone deserves to be heard. Some folks really only have one or two things that they insist on saying over and over and over again. That’s OK. If they are saying them, it’s because they need to be heard. Lots of folks do not have a safe space to speak their heart. But it’s only in speaking aloud the things inside that we can begin to deal with them.

Everyone (or almost everyone) is worried that they aren’t doing this “right”. Society brings so much pressure to bear on the grieving. “Get better”, “Get over it”, “Move on”. And when we can’t, we think there is something dreadfully wrong with us. But there isn’t. Grief is hard and takes time no matter what the source. But it is harder and takes a lifetime when it’s your child. Out of order death is devastating. “Normal” is anything that keeps a body going and a mind engaged in reality without being destructive to oneself or others.

Everyone can be nicer than they think they can. Here’s the deal: I THINK a lot of things. I don’t have to SAY (or write!) them. I’ll be honest, sometimes my first response to what someone shares is not very nice. But when I take a breath and consider what might help a heart instead of hurt one, I can usually find a way to speak truth but also courage. Snark is never helpful. If I can’t say anything nice, then I just scroll on by.

Everyone has something to give. I’ve learned that even the most broken, the most unlovely, the least well-spoken persons have something to offer. It may take a little dusting off to find the beauty underneath, but my heart is stretched when I take time and put forth effort to truly listen to what’s being said instead of just ignoring it because of how it’s said.

Everyone deserves grace. Because I am the recipient of grace, it is mine to give-without fear of running out-to every other heart I meet. Sometimes I forget this. I want to apply a different measure to others than I want applied to me. But grace is the oil that greases human relationships. Freely given and freely received, it provides a safe space for hearts to experience healing.

Everyone is standing on level ground when we gather at the foot of the cross. There’s no hierarchy in God’s kingdom. We are all servants. I am responsible to my Master for walking in love and doing the good works He has prepared beforehand for me to do. My works are not your works and your works are not my works. I need to keep my eyes on Jesus, not on others always trying to see if I(or they!) “measure up”. The standard is our Shepherd and only grace and mercy can help me strive for that goal.

Everyone needs courage. When Jesus gave His charge to the disciples He told them it was “better for you that I go”. What??? How could that be better? But it WAS. Because when Jesus returned to the Father, He sent the Holy Spirit as the personal, indwelt connection to Himself. He knew they would need courage to make it through. The Spirit calls courage to our hearts. And we are given the privilege of calling courage to one another. The bravest among us quivers sometimes. You’d be surprised how often one word is the difference between letting go and holding on.

There are dozens more things I could share.

I have met some of the kindest, wisest and most grace-filled people this side of child loss.

They have been the purest example of the Body of Christ I’ve ever known.

I am thankful for what they are teaching me.

❤

How and Why I Keep Writing: A Shepherd’s Heart

I am still utterly amazed that since November 2015 I have managed a blog post every day.

At first, I was writing because I wanted to make public the things I was learning in this Valley and to honor my missing son.

He had been in Heaven a year and a half by then and it was clear to this mama’s heart that (1) people (including ME before it WAS me!) had absolutely NO IDEA what life after child loss was like once the funeral was over; (2) one way to redeem this pain was to share how God had been faithful even as I struggled; and (3) I just didn’t see too many honest portrayals of life after loss for Christ followers (which is not to say they didn’t/don’t exist but I hadn’t found them).

So I wrote.

Then I realized (much to my surprise!) that there were mamas (and a few daddies) hanging on by such a tenuous thread to hope that my meager attempt at redeeming this pain was strengthening their grasp.

Then it became a ministry.

Shepherding is in my blood.

I’ve been a shepherd my whole adult life-first to my own children and then to other children through various home school groups and activities. Then God granted a desire of my heart when He allowed me to become a “real” shepherd 20 years ago to a flock/herd of sheep and goats.

I’ve learned so, so much.

I’ve learned that consistency is key.

My herd depends on my faithful feeding and my peaceful presence. They love routine and hate change. They respond immediately to my voice and run straight to me when they are afraid.

They will endure nearly anything as long as they are assured it is from my loving hand.

I am not able to shepherd every heart that reads this blog.

But I hope that a bit of my shepherd’s love and care and compassion is present in each post.

My desire is that consistency helps the hearts that congregate here every morning. I long for my words to feed hope to you from time to time. I pray that routine gives you something to look forward to even on the hard day. I pray that I faithfully point you to the Shepherd of your soul who can provide shelter no matter where you are or what is chasing you.

I pray that together we can endure and persevere and finish strong and well.

I continue to write because I love you.

I continue to write because if a single post reaches a single heart on the verge of giving up and helps that heart hold onto hope, then it is worth every minute I spend thinking about, composing and producing these posts.

And, frankly, many of you have ministered hope to MY heart.

Dom left for Heaven about when my nest became empty. Thirty years of raising children and twenty-plus years of homeschooling came to an end right when my heart was dealt this grievous blow.

All the energy and time I had poured into shepherding my children was suddenly available for a new adventure at the very moment when adventure was the last thing on my mind.

Sharing has turned survival into something beautiful.

I am so thankful for that.

And I am oh, so grateful for each of you.

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