Something you hear early on in this grief journey is that one day you will find a “new normal”.
I hate that phrase.
Because while I have certainly developed new routines, new ways of dealing with life, new methods for quelling the tears and the longing and the sorrow and the pain-it is NOT normal.
Read the rest here: Nothing “Normal” About It
I don’t know about you, but I find I can often white-knuckle through a holiday itself only to be spent and exhausted on the other side.
Staying busy in the kitchen, trying hard to be present and participate, enjoying extra folks in the house and around the table are great distractions.
I love being with my people!
Of course I’m constantly aware of the quiet tune that plays in the background, “Dom’s not here” but I genuinely appreciate every moment I have with the ones I love.
But…then comes the quiet.
A silent reminder of the hollow carved in my heart.
And I can’t ignore it.
So I have to take a day (or two or three) and rest.
It’s what I call a “holiday hangover” and it has nothing to do with over-indulging in spirits or food.
It’s OK if I don’t rush to tidy the house or start planning for the next get-together. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone.
I can pause, take a breather, sit and read or do nothing at all.
You can too. ❤
If I find in myself a desire for which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.
C. S. Lewis
I remember the first time I felt homesick.
I had been away from home before but never without the company of someone I knew well and loved.
This time was different-I was at a sleepover camp populated with strangers. Kind strangers, yes, but not a familiar face among the crowd.
Read the rest here: Homesick
Today is my birthday.
And while I am truly grateful for another trip around the sun, since Dominic left us it’s not a simple celebration of life lived and the hope of years to come.
The last birthday I had with an unbroken family circle was a lovely surprise party for my fiftieth held in Dom’s apartment.
[Eleven] years later and it seems a lifetime ago.
So when I wake up to another sunrise and take inventory (as those of us who reach a certain age are wont to do) on the anniversary of my birth, I count losses as well as gains.
And I wish, wish, wish that old wives’ tale about blowing out candles in a single breath were true.
Because other than the continued health of my surviving children, there’s only one wish worth the air I take in and out of my lungs-something Dominic can never do again-and that is for him to have the privilege of blowing out the candles once more.
It’s not only HIS birthday that makes my heart ache.
It’s mine.
I would have gladly traded my life for his.
But I wasn’t given that choice. ❤
My son’s death is a point in time for people outside my immediate grief circle. It’s a date on a calendar. There is a period after his name.
But it is an ongoing experience for me and my family.
We don’t only remember on birthdays, holidays and anniversary days, we can never forget.
Yet often others do.
We are not the only ones living a life not of our own choosing. We are not the only ones that feel isolated in our grief.
You do too.
And I’m sorry that when you risk sharing your pain you are shut down by those who just don’t understand. ❤
One of the hard lessons I’ve learned in child loss is that while gratitude is important, and helps my heart hold on, it does not undo grief.
I truly look for and rejoice in every good thing, every tender moment, every smile, hug and bit of laughter shared with those I love.
But I can never stop looking for Dominic’s face around the table or longing to hear HIS voice in the chorus of chatter from the other room.
❤
Oh, how I wish it were different!
The odd bits that break my heart-
The moment my three living children are in the family room, joking and laughing-but his voice is so obviously missing.
The moment I say to one son, “Have you texted your brother?” and don’t have to give a name, because there is only one brother left to text.
Read the rest here: The Odd Bits That Break My Heart
It has taken me a lot of time and a lot of energy to do the work grief requires. There’s no short-circuiting the process. No way to rush through the painful and necessary steps.
For years I struggled with why, “Just think about the memories” didn’t comfort my heart. I treasured them. I tried hard to hold onto them. But that wasn’t enough.
And then I realized that a mother’s heart is not prepared to go on without the company of her child. I never, ever expected that it would be ME reminiscing about Dominic. I was sure it would be HIM thinking about me.
❤
I pull out the memories like treasures from a locked strongbox.
“Handle With Care” because they are all I have left.
But they are not enough.
They will never be enough to satisfy this mama’s heart.
We are supposed to have to remember our elders, our grandparents, even, maybe our spouse at some point-but not our children.
Read the rest here: Why, “Just Think About All The Good Memories,” Doesn’t Comfort My Heart
The world can make a heart panic, scrambling to pile up extra lest “the worst” befalls us and suddenly there’s not enough.
That’s what happened during the pandemic when, for some unknown reason, toilet paper became the currency of security.
But no matter how deep or full the pantry, stuff can’t keep us truly safe.
Ask me how I know.
Only faith and trust in the ever-faithful, never-lying Almighty God guides our hearts Home.
So in this season of thanksgiving, when gratitude is in style, I want to choose a bold strategy to challenge the world’s wrong direction and misapplied “wisdom”.
It’s not enough to pray thanksgiving over my family, my home, my safety net stockpile.
I want my life to be full of thanks AND of giving.
Because when I give I’m boldly declaring that I trust the Lord to give more. I’m leaning into the True Source of provision and leading other hearts to do the same.
A heart of gratitude is beautiful.
It’s what God wants from His children. But that’s only the half of it. A grateful heart that freely gives to others what has been freely given to it is even more beautiful.
God’s economy is one of bounty. I am unconcerned that my Heavenly Father may run out of blessing.
Everything I have, He has placed in my hands.
I am most like Jesus when I open my fists and share the gifts God entrusts to me with others.
My true treasure can’t be counted in dollars and cents.
My real reserve is love poured out and love returned.
There is so much work to do in grief!
So many chores that demand time, energy, effort and sheer determination.
Finding me again is one of them.
I think it’s hard for anyone whose family and close friend circle is complete to understand that I didn’t *just* lose Dominic when death claimed him, I lost the unique part of me that was reflected back from him. There is a “me” only he could draw out, make laugh a certain way, frustrate and tease over very specific issues.
Some memories were held between just the two of us. Now half the experience is buried with him. No matter how hard I try I can’t recall some of the details and even if I do they are only from my perspective.
Before child loss I was a mom who couldn’t imagine living without one of her children. Now I’m a mom who lives without one of her children. I still haven’t figured out all the ways that’s changed who I am and how I walk in the world.
Mirrors and photographs surprise me.
I know it’s my own face staring back but I barely recognize it.
I’m still searching for me.
It’s funny what can make my heart race and my eyes fill with tears.
Sometimes it’s obvious- I hear of another son killed in a motorcycle accident.
But sometimes it’s obscure- like when I see someone using a legal pad to take notes.
Either way, triggers take me back to ground zero. They rivet my mind’s attention and my heart’s focus to the very moment I first learned Dominic had left us.
Read the rest here: Grief Triggers
thelifeididntchoose 