I will share this post every Memorial Day without apology because there are so many parents who join our ranks whose child went to Heaven as a result of military service.
The percentage of the population who have one or more family members in the military grows smaller year after year and it is easy to forget that a relative few perform for the rest of us one of the most hazardous and challenging jobs there is.
I remember.
I hope when (or if) you celebrate with family the freedom we enjoy, you also take a moment to honor those who secure and protect it.
❤
Today is a day when we honor those who gave the last full measure in service to our country and our country’s wars.
It is a day to remember and mark with solemn gratitude the sacrifice of a life poured out.
You don’t have to agree with the reasons for a war to grieve the individuals who died fighting it.
Usually I write about how child loss has impacted my life and the lives of my family.
Part of the reason I do that is to offer encouragement to other bereaved parents and guidance for people walking with and ministering to them.
Sometimes I address my writing to a broader audience that may include people who do not follow Jesus because some topics have more to do with general situations and less to do with faith-although my faith informs my life in every way.
But today I want to say something directly to the Body of Christ in the world whether or not you have personally suffered tragedy:
If we are gathering in the name of our Blessed Saviour and pushing the wounded to the fringe of our fellowships,
we have got it all wrong.
Jesus came for the broken,
the wounded,
the limping,
the very ones who were unwelcome in the “upstanding community”
of synagogues and the Temple.
He had no where to lay His head, carried no purse full of gold and walked everywhere He went.
He died between two thieves, mocked and naked, bleeding and helpless (in the human sense).
When He met people, He spoke directly to their HEART, regardless of their outward appearance.
He met REAL needs.
He LOVED in ways that made a difference.
We are called–I AM CALLED–to be like Jesus.
If I memorize the entire New Testament and miss this truth, I have missed Him.
We read I Corinthians 13 at weddings and treat it like a marriage survival guide.
But that passage wasn’t written to two young people joining lives and “in love”, it was written to the CHURCH as a guideline for how Christ in us should be present in the world.
I don’t want to be a clanging gong!
I want to sing hope to those I meet by reflecting the love of Jesus everywhere I go.
That little tacky plaster has soothed more fears and tears than almost any other invention in the world.
Skinned knee? Put a BandAid on it.
Bee sting? BandAid.
Tiny bump that no one can even see? Oh, sweetie, let me give you a BandAid.
Simply acknowledging pain and woundedness is so often all that is needed to encourage a heart and point it toward healing.
It’s the same in the world of emotional, psychological and spiritual wounds.
But we have yet to invent the BandAid for those.
Instead, frequently we ignore, refute, minimize and pass over the one in our midst who holds out a hand or a heart saying, “I have a boo boo.”
Believe me, I understand-so many of these wounds are incurable, they are uncomfortable to think about, hard to look at.
But often the only thing the hurting heart wants is acknowledgement, a moment of time, a face turned full into theirs, eye-to-eye and unafraid to remain alongside through the pain.
Just as a BandAid bears witness to the wound underneath, our compassionate presence can bear witness to the deeper wounds no one can see.
When we choose to lean in and love, to listen and learn, to walk with the wounded we give a great gift.
Being a pastor doesn’t mean you come out of seminary with answers to everything.
It doesn’t even mean you emerge equipped for very many of the situations and conversations thrust upon you once you enter ministry.
But I know a lot of folks expect you to be a pillar of strength, a fountain of wisdom, a well-spring of comfort. I’m sure you try to be all those things but it takes years to develop the experience needed to know what to say and do and what NOT to say and do in the most sensitive and painful moments humans face.
So when a thoughtful and inquisitive fellow bereaved parent asked the question below, I found myself REALLY considering the essential advice I’d pass along to a pastor about the unique and uniquely challenging ministry to those whose children have run ahead to Heaven.
It is most certainly NOT exhaustive, but hits the high points. It’s short, succinct and can go a long way toward promoting healing in shattered hearts.
I hope my pastor friends will read it and tuck it away in an easily accessible place. I promise you will need it one day.
I hope my fellow bereaved parents and others will pass it along to pastors they know.
❤ Melanie
This is the question:What advice would you give a pastor to serve, encourage, and walk with a grieving parent? What would you tell them not to do?
I would tell a pastor to:
*Listen,listenand listen some more– without correcting or judging. This is not a teachable moment. Take off the theologian’s coat and put on human flesh.
*Acknowledge the depth of their loss- not compare it or try to identify with it (unless you have also lost a child) and absolutely not minimize it.
*Don’t toss Bible verses– especially those intended to “bright side” their experience.
*Don’t stop checking in even if they stop going to church.If your ministry ends at the door of the building, you’ll lose lots of sheep.
*It will take longer-probably by years-than you think it should for them to return to some semblance of “normal”.Be patient.
*Ask, but don’t pressure, parents who once served(or are serving at the time of loss) if they want to continue serving.Some do,some find it impossible.
*Do not engage in gossip and speculation about “how they’re handling” their grief.
*Educate your congregation on the devastation of grief in general and child loss in particular. (See the story of Jacob-how deeply he grieved when he thought Joseph was dead, what a mess his family was…)
*When appropriate, make space in yearly celebrations or traditions for recognition of those who are mourning and who want to have their child (or other loved one) remembered.
*As time goes on, ask specific questions (How is your grief today? What do you find to be a struggle right now? Could you share something about _____, I love to hear about him/her?) and then listen some more.
If you know them well, you will have many more opportunities to come alongside as a compassionate companion in their grief.
If you don’t know them well or you have a very large congregation, you can still use these general guidelines but also engage the help of someone who does know them and who may be better suited to companion them (with your help and support).
So many bereaved parents struggle with church and with their faith.
Each family and situation will be different.
Reaching out in a timely, encouraging, and understanding way helps them hold onto hope.
One of the most devastating aspects of child loss is the overwhelming feeling that NOTHING makes sense anymore and that I have absolutely NO control.
Choosing helpful habits and actions gives me a way to regain dominion over a tiny corner of my world.
And that little bit of action strengthens my spirit and helps my heart hold on.
❤ Melanie
My hardest grief season begins in November and runs to the end of May. Thanksgiving through Dominic’s birthday on (or near) Memorial Day are days full of triggers, memories and stark reminders that one of us is missing.
If I could fall asleep November first and wake up in June I’d do it.
But I can’t so I have to employ all the tricks I’ve learned in the over eight years since Dominic ran ahead to heaven to survive those particularly challenging months.
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.
thelifeididntchoose 