I wrote this a few years ago in response to post after post across social media of (mostly!) moms lamenting the fact their son or daughter would soon be moving away or off to college.
I get it!
When you are used to having your kid around it’s tough when he or she leaves the nest.
But there is a vast difference in having to work a little harder to stay in contact or arrange visits and never being able to speak to your child again.
It’s an adjustment to compare calendars to find a day your family can celebrate together but it’s heartbreaking to know that one chair will always be empty at every family gathering.
We talk about a lot of things as if they didn’t reflect a real person and a real life.
Addiction is one of them. And let me just tell you, every single number is a life and behind every single life is a family.
Statistics are easy to toss around until one of those numbers represents YOUR child.
My son was not an addict. He was a health nut. But he liked his motorcycle and never saw the contradiction between spending hours at the gym then putting that beautiful body on a fast moving, unprotected engine-on-wheels. A helmet was not enough to save him that night.
Addicts don’t start out wanting the life so many of them end up living.
I was reminded yet again when I spent time with other bereaved parents over the past couple of weeks at two different events how very, very, VERY helpful it has been to do just that.
In the earliest days after Dominic ran ahead, a couple of local moms whose children were also in Heaven came to see me. How I hung on every word! How I longed for a glimmer of hope that I, too, could somehow survive this devastation!
It was much later that I discovered online support groups. And it opened a whole new world of experience, understanding and freedom to ask the questions that had been burning in my heart: “Is what I’m feeling normal?” “Did you still cry every day after months?” “Why can’t I remember anything anymore?”
Almost ten years ago I started writing here and found another level of compassion and companionship when y’all joined me and practically shouted, “Keep sharing!”.
At every turn I have been amazed that so many whose hearts are broken choose to reach out when I know from bitter experience it would be oh, so easy to withdraw.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, my precious wounded healers.
❤ Melanie
There have been many well-meaning but woefully uninformed people who offered advice. Some of it was helpful but most of it was predicated on misinformation and lack of real-life experience.
TheMOSThelpful advice has come from fellow bereaved parents.
They share their hearts and their hopes, their failures and their victories, their fears and their faith. They don’t have to-they could simply focus on their own pain and refuse to offer aid.
This weekend another family joined the ranks of the bereaved.
A beloved son left for heaven in a car accident.
The mama’s best friend messaged to ask what she could do to help this newly broken heart.
It made me dig deep in my memories for who did what in those first hours, first days and how it made a difference in our family’s ability to hold onto hope and to stumble forward in the heavy fog of grief, pain and sorrow that enveloped our hearts.
My friend was already committed to showing up and sitting silently and lovingly with this child’s mother. I didn’t have to remind her of the power of compassionate companionship.
She was going.
She was staying as long as it was helpful and necessary.
She was coming back as many times as needed.
And that is a gift!
I remember the morning I got the news and as the sun was coming up, a truck pulled down our lane. It was Robbie-our “adopted” son. As soon as my oldest son (who was in WV at the time) got the call, he called Robbie. Because he knew I would be able to bear Robbie’s presence and accept Robbie’s help. I cannot describe the relief I felt when he came to the door-another shoulder to help carry this burden until we could gather all our family together to lift it in unison.
And after him came a couple we had known since the kids were little.
Both rushed to our doorstep to offer companionship, practical aid, listening ears and simple reassurance that though this was NOT a dream-oh, how I wanted it to be a dream!–I was not going to walk this Valley alone. They stayed until my husband, son and parents had made it here. I will never, ever, ever forget that gift of unconditional love and time offered just when I needed it most.
Others came. Some did practical things, brought necessary items, helped me begin to think through next steps. But many just sat with me and my children as we waited for my husband to fly in and my parents to drive up.
I cannot overstate how important SIMPLY BEING THERE was!
Thinking back on that time, I dug up some other very practical “first few days” things friends and family can do:
Bring disposable plates, cutlery and plenty of paper goods (toilet paper, kleenex, napkins) along with extra trash bags.
Place a notebook and pens near the spot folks might drop off meals or other things and ask that they write their names and what they brought inside. My daughter did this for me and while I was often unable to acknowledge it at the time (or unaware of the blessing) I had a record that is dear to me still.
Set up an online meal planning/scheduling group. Make sure to note allergies or special food needs because while it’s wonderful to have food provided, it’s not helpful if the family can’t eat it because of dietary restrictions.
If there are unwashed clothes belonging to the childDO NOTwash them in an attempt to help out. It may sound awful to anyone who has not buried a child, but nearly every mom I know wanted something with her child’s scent still on it. I have a few things of Dom’s that are in a sealed plastic bag. Every so often I open it and inhale what’s left of his fragrance. Smell is such a powerful memory stimulant.
Begin to collect photographs from online sources, friends and family so that there will be many to choose from if the family wants to make a video for services.
Bring disposable Lysol wipes or something similar for quick clean ups in bathrooms and the kitchen. Discreetly tidy up whenever possible or necessary.
Do NOT move papers, piles of mail, etc. without the family’s permission. It may seem like a good idea at the time to make things neat for visitors, but it will be a nightmare later! My brain is nearly empty of details for most of the first month after Dominic left us. I depended on routine and familiar spots to remember where important items might be for the first year. If something had been moved, I could not locate it, no matter how hard I tried. If somethingHAS to be moved, place it in a box-clearly labeled-and attach a prominent note on the refrigerator or someplace like that indicating where it is.
Just sit and listen. Or just sit in silence.Whatever is most helpful to the bereaved parents and their family. Loving presence kept me anchored to this world when all I wanted to do was float away somewhere the pain couldn’t find me.
Compassionate companionship makes the difference between a heart holding onto hope or letting go and falling into the abyss.
Not the kind in Downtown Abbey but the kind who see something that needs doing and just do it.
They open doors, return shopping carts, wash dishes, pick up trash and bend down or stretch high to help children or senior citizens reach what otherwise would be unreachable.
Some of us aren’t naturals but we can learn.
Because when we open our eyes to those around us and choose to be helpful we make a change to our hearts and theirs. We build bridges of grace and kindness that help to connect individuals and communities.
When a person feels seen, heard and cared for, they are much more likely to drop the drawbridge to their heart.
It’s no good saying, “Well, he didn’t ask for help” or “She didn’t let me know she was struggling”.
If we are paying as much attention to our friends and family as we are to social media memes and funny TikTok videos, we can’t miss the signs of desperation and hopelessness.
If we take time to ask important questions there’s no way we won’t hear sadness or loneliness in the reply.
So let’s stop acting like doing good is something only a few select individuals can or should do. It’s a myth that bringing meals and checking in on those who are no longer able to make it to our fellowships or church services or bingo halls is a special skill.
Compassion isn’t a calling or a gift or a virtue.
Compassion is something we choose to practice.
And for those of us who call Christ “Lord” it is a command.
It’s probably genetic (won’t mention any names!) but it has been reinforced by training and life experience.
When faced with a difficult or messy situation, my mind instantly rolls through an inventory of available resources and possible solutions.
And I tended to cut people off mid-sentence with my brilliant (?) plan to save the day.
But there are things you just can’t fix.
I knew that before Dominic ran ahead to Heaven but I mostly ignored it.
I can’t do that anymore.
So I’m learning to listen better. Learning to let others express the hard things that can’t be fixed so that their burden is a bit lighter for the sharing. I’m learning that silent hand holding or hugging or just looking someone in the eye instead of dodging their gaze is a great gift.
I’m learning that lending courage is possible. One heart can actually beat in synchrony with another and the duet is musical and magical strength.
I’m learning that there are too many voices shouting “solution!” and too few ears listening to the full expression of a problem.
I’m learning that often my rush to remedy is hurtful, not helpful.
I’m learning that time does not heal all wounds-there are many among us bearing injuries that may be decades old but have never been spoken aloud because no one would listen.
I’m learning that even the spoken stories need to be repeated often and with just as much emotion each time because the telling has a way of releasing pain all it’s own.
I’m convinced that if we were a society of listeners who slowed down just long enough to really HEAR other people’s stories we’d be a society with much less pent up anger, bitterness and other dark emotions.
I’m embracing the old saying, “God gave us two ears and one mouth so we should listen twice as much as we talk”.
Sometimes that means literally biting my tongue or placing my hand over my mouth.
But I’m trying not to waste this hard-bought lesson.
On the one hand Death is the triumph of Satan, the punishment of the Fall, and the last enemy. Christ shed tears at the grave of Lazarus and sweated blood in Gethsemane: the Life of Lives that was in Him detested this penal obscenity not less than we do, but more. On the other hand, only he who loses his life will save it. We are baptized into the death of Christ, and it is the remedy for the Fall.
Death is, in fact, what some modern people call “ambivalent.” It is Satan’s great weapon and also God’s great weapon: it is holy and unholy; our supreme disgrace and our only hope; the thing Christ came to conquer and the means by which He conquered.
~C.S. Lewis, Miracles
Bury a child and suddenly the death of Christ becomes oh, so personal.
The image of Mary at the foot of the cross is too hard to bear.
I’m no good at what feels like self promotion in an age of influencers and social media personalities chasing after likes and shares. I subscribe to the George Mueller philosophy of ministry which is to take your needs and heart’s desires directly to the Lord.
But I also know that if people aren’t aware of what the Lord may be doing in a particular area, they may be unaware of how to participate in that work.
So in the hopes of giving folks that opportunity, I wanted to share a bit about what’s been going on lately with Heartache and Hope (the ministry) and with the blog.
Soon it will be ten years since I began writing here.
Since that time, The Life I Didn’t Choose has been viewed over 4,250,000 times. There are more than 3,500 entries and some posts have been shared in the tens of thousands. According to WordPress it has been accessed in every country around the world except North Korea. There is no way to calculate the number of individuals and families impacted reflected by those statistics.
I founded heartacheandhope.org in September, 2024 to expand the ministry begun through the blog and to reach out in different and varied ways to bereaved parents, their families and those that love them.
Since then, we’ve hosted four in-person support group meetings including a special “Blue Christmas” memorial service in December.
I’ve hosted and facilitated two bereaved moms’ retreats (three more scheduled for this year) and traveled to Chattanooga to share with a group there.
Through those contacts and events over forty families have been encouraged to hold onto Hope and wait well, leaning into the promises of Jesus that their pain will be redeemed.
We will continue to host the monthly meetings and hope to add a monthly virtual meeting beginning in March. I will travel to Virginia to share at the Our Hearts are Home Spring Conference in April.
I’dLOVEthe opportunity to meet with pastors, chaplains, social workers and those who tend to be with families at the point of hearing “the news”. I am available and willing to meet with others-just message me.
I’ve developed downloadable, printable resources that are available free on the website.
I know everyone reading this is not a bereaved parent but I promise you KNOW a bereaved parent (even if you think you don’t). I also know that both the blog and the ministry have been helpful to other hearts who are living with intractable unsolvable-this-side-of-eternity pain.
I am so, so thankful to every single person who has prayed for me in the more than ten years since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. Coming up on another anniversary is hard no matter how long it’s been.
I cannot say enough about those who have chosen to walk beside me and who have encouraged me to share my story in hopes of encouraging others. I couldn’t do it without you!
I appreciate the many tangible donations (monetary, time, materials) that have been made to facilitate this work.
You are making an eternal difference, friends!
Lighting a candle is never in vain.
And lighting the way to Hope always bears fruit.
If you want to know more about the ministry you can find that here:
It’s impossible to keep the ripples from moving farther and farther from the point of impact.
And even though I can’t see it, my casual toss has changed the environment of the pond in ways it would not have been changed without my action.
Our lives are like that- we touch other people every day and rarely know how our brief brush may ripple through their lives for years or even eternity.
I have been lifted up by a smile offered by a stranger-that buoyant mood lasting long enough to save an otherwise dreary day.
I have also had a beautiful morning made overcast by the sour attitude of someone that should be helpful.
thelifeididntchoose 