My son’s death is a moment in time, a date on the calendar, a thing of the past for other people.
I understand that.
But for me, it’s an ongoing event.
Every time Dominic SHOULD be here but isn’t I lose him again.
Every milestone he should be marking but doesn’t I lose him again. Every Christmas, every birthday, every ordinary day when something funny happens or I want to send him a text or message, I lose him again. Every time I need his advice and insight, I lose him again.
I didn’t lose him once, I keep losing him.
Over and over and over again.
I lost my child….Today
… I lost my child today.
People came to weep and cry,
As I just sat and stared, dry eyed.
They struggled to find words to say,
To try and make the pain go away,
I walked the floor in disbelief,
I lost my child today.
I lost my child last month.
Most of the people went away,
Some still call and some still stay.
I wait to wake up from this dream.
This can’t be real.
I want to scream.
Yet everything is locked inside,
God, help me, I want to die.
I lost my child last month.
I lost my child last year.
Now people who had come, have gone.
I sit and struggle all day long.
To bear the pain so deep inside.
And now my friends just question, Why?
Why does this mother not move on?
Just sits and sings the same old song.
Good heavens, it has been so long.
I lost my child last year.
Time has not moved on for me.
The numbness it has disappeared.
My eyes have now cried many tears.
I see the look upon your face, “She must move on and leave this place.”
What a privilege to pour my life into them! What joy to see them grow and mature and become people I not only love but admire and respect!
I learned so very much while raising my children. The Lord used them to shape and mold my heart to be more like His. They were instruments of grace and discipline. Over and over and over I had to lay down my preferences and priorities to make way for theirs.
Now I have a grandson.
Another generation to snuggle and teach, comfort and care for.
I’m already learning even more in this season.
This little guy’s early and rocky start in life reignited passion for prayer in mine. Watching him grow and thrive sparks hope and joy like I haven’t felt in the years since Dominic left us for Heaven.
His smile lights up my heart and the room.
Just the other day his daddy shared this picture with me:
James Michael was being silly with him, oohing and aahing and making him giggle.
As I stared at the photo I realized this child was experiencing such joy, such complete contentment, fulfillment and utter sense of safety it was uncontainable.
So it spread all over his face.
Then I had an epiphany-that’s exactly what Dominic feels right now.
This very minute the child I am missing is missing nothing. Precisely when I am wondering if God cares, if He hears, if He’s even near, Dominic is filled to overflowing with undeniable and uncontainable joy because what I hope for he SEES.
And one day that will be me.
All the heartache of this life will fade away to a tiny, tiny dot in the distance. What has been stolen will be restored. What has been bartered away will be redeemed. Wounds will be fully healed and my heart will be whole.
I’ll be full of joy and safe in my Father’s arms. ❤
In addition to their own heartache, bereaved parents carry the heartache of their surviving children.
The family everyone once knew is now a family no one recognizes. Hurting hearts huddle together-or run and hide-and it is so, so hard to find a way to talk about that pain.
I’ve learned that there are new things to miss even five years down this road of child loss.
I’ve learned that any odd moment, random smell, taste,touch, or occasion can pierce that place in my heart that screams, “Dominic should be here!”.
I’m also learning additional ways his absence continues to shape the family we have NOW. Dom’s absence continues to impact decisions, expectations, hopes and dreams TODAY.
I miss family photos when I don’t count heads and note unfilled spaces. It’s not just Dom I’m yearning for. I long for us to all be together-no one missing. It’s a little easier (sometimes) when one or more of us aren’t able to make a particular trip or event because then it’s not ONLY Dominic gone from the frame.
But truth be told, I can’t stop my heart from looking and hoping that this time, it’ll be different.
This time, we’ll be whole.
I miss the ease with which I used to toss together family meals, social occasions and holiday gatherings. I’ve always LOVED making things special and never minded cooking buckets of food. I used to plan weeks in advance-gathering recipes, ideas, decorative items and sometimes little gifts or favors for those who attended. I checked with folks for dietary preferences or allergies. It was a joy even when it exhausted me because I loved shaping spaces and experiences to strengthen family ties.
I miss waking up and facing a new day without reservation or trepidation. I’m a sunrise kind of gal. I used to turn my face toward the big picture window in our living room waiting for first light to dawn and the day to get going. Fresh start. New opportunities.
It took awhile but some days I can do that.
Still there are many days I watch the trees come into focus knowing daylight can’t always lift the darkness in my heart.
I miss turning corners in my house or walking on my land encountering only good memories, happy reverie and hope that tomorrow would bring more of the same. When we moved here over twenty years ago, it felt like home. Plenty of space for children to run, exciting adventures discovering woods, water and animal life abounded. There are so, so many memories everywhere I turn. Memories used to spark hope for more. Now they are silent witness to the line that demarcates our lives into BEFORE and AFTER.
I miss the certain assurance when someone doesn’t pick up the phone or answer a text that “all is well”. We have always been a family on the move. It sounds ridiculous today, but a driver’s license was the ticket to a personal cell phone when my kids were growing up. As each one gained the privilege of driving away alone, we made sure they had a way to call and let us know they arrived safely. If I called them and there was no answer, it was a good hour or two before my heart went into overdrive and my mind imagined all the horrible possibilities.
Now I make that trip in seconds or minutes despite any logic that can easily explain it away.
I miss having energy to spare. I know part of my energy drain is simply age. I’m not so cocky as to assume the years don’t play a role in slowing me down. But I know that’s only half (or less!) of it. The constant effort to edit, direct, control and contain my words, thoughts and emotions sucks the life right out of me. What used to easily be a one hour job takes two. And projects I could whip together in a day require a week or more. Discouragement makes me sad and tired. So the cycle continues.
I miss sound sleep and good dreams. Right after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven I could barely sleep at all. There was no escaping awful scenes playing across my closed eyelids. Eventually I was able to lull my mind into a kind of calm and sleep a little. Five years later I rarely sleep more than two hours at a stretch without waking. While I usually roll over and doze off again, I never get the kind of restorative rest I really need.
Dreams are another matter altogether.
They are often full of jumbled bits that leave me unsettled and full of dread.
I miss making plans for next month or next year without the silent caveat that we just can’t be sure they will come to pass. A large calendar hanging prominently in our kitchen was my go-to for keeping track of crazy family schedules and commitments for decades. I took it down a day after Dominic died and didn’t hang another for over two years. I couldn’t bear to turn page after page knowing Dominic’s name would never show up again except in reference to him being gone. I have one now. But while I still write things in different colored pen (easier to see and track) my mind knows every single plan is really just penciled in.
Until the day comes or the moment arrives, my heart holds it lightly.
I miss saying innocent good-byes. I was never the crying mom waving a handkerchief as my kids made their way down the long driveway to the larger world. I always missed them, of course. But the goal was to raise independent persons capable of doing things, going places and living their own lives. So a good strong hug, a kiss on the cheek, “I love you” and they were off leaving a smiling mama behind. It never occurred to me that THIS time could be the LAST time I touched or talked to them.
Now, every good-bye is sacred. Every hug a prayer.
I miss hearing Dominic’s name in casual conversation. Oh, we still talk about him. But it’s not the same. Sometimes it’s awkward and leads to odd pauses. Most times it’s more natural. Always it’s with sad recognition that instead of memories we should be sharing fresh stories of adventure.
I appreciate each new day I’m given.
I take nothing for granted because I know how quickly and easily it can be snatched away.
But my heart can’t help but long for the way things used to be and yearn for the way things would be if Dominic were still here.
In memory of Dominic from an anonymous friend for Fiona’s wedding. Photo by Katie Jewell Photography
It’s a well known fact that stress plays a role in many health conditions.
And I think most of us would agree that child loss is one of (if not THE) most stressful events a heart might endure.
So it’s unsurprising that bereaved parents find themselves battling a variety of physical problems in the wake of burying a child.
What may be surprising is how uninformed medical and even psychological professionals are with respect to the very real ways child loss intersects with chronic conditions and often creates new symptoms.
Here is a list of only SOMEof the physical manifestations of grief (via What’s Your Grief?) with my own comments :
Fatigue. If you’ve always been an energetic sort, you might find this aspect of grief particularly disconcerting. This kind of fatigue doesn’t get better with rest. I’ve written about that here.
Some days I can barely make myself get out of bed and when I do, I struggle to do any but the most necessary tasks. Don’t automatically dismiss this symptom as ONLY grief (although it most certainly could be!) get a thorough check-up to rule out other causes such as low thyroid, diabetes, heart disease, major depressive disorder or a number of conditions that can be treated effectively with medicine. Don’t beat yourself up if the doctor decides “nothing is wrong” with you. You are grieving and grief is work! I know this symptom has improved for me over time as I’ve established boundaries, admitted limitations and learned to rest when necessary.
Aches and Pains. Our bodies and minds are connected in ways not well understood. Mental and emotional distress can make any underlying pain condition that much worse. When I’m feeling especially lonely, desperate or sad my autoimmune disease flares AND my perception of the very real pain that causes is heightened. Pain and heartache can lead to a downward spiral that is hard to undo. Get help and treatment for the physical and give yourself grace and space to endure the emotional causes of body aches. Don’t self-medicate with drugs, alcohol or other self-destructive coping strategies. Reach out to a safe person and let them help you find a better way.
Headaches. Needless to say, stress makes tension headaches more likely. Sometimes, though, a headache can be a symptom of something more serious. Don’t dismiss an especially sudden, intense or long-lasting headache as “just grief”. It could be previously undiagnosed high blood pressure, stroke or migraine. Those being ruled out, various relaxation techniques, cold or warm compresses, over-the-counter analgesics and gentle stretches might help.
Sometimes grief headaches can be alleviated by the simple act of telling our stories. Bottling up emotions and thoughts adds to the ongoing stress and tension of my child loss burden. When I spill them-either on paper in a journal, in a closed online bereaved parents’ group or in person to a safe friend or family member-often I feel the band around my head relax and the pain fade away.
Tightness in Chest, Shortness of Breath. The day I got the awful news, I remember asking friends who came to sit with me over and over, ” Am I still breathing?” My world was spinning out of control and my body responded. Anxiety after child loss is real. Broken Heart Syndrome is real. Heart attacks are not uncommon. Don’t ignore these symptoms. But don’t be surprised if they persist despite all tests to the contrary. When I feel trapped and overwhelmed, a walk outside or even to another room can help. Deep breathing exercises and grounding exercises can often interrupt an episode.
Forgetfulness. I wrote this post on Grief Brain: It’s a Real Thing! a couple years ago and am always surprised to see it shared repeatedly. But I think it strikes a chord with any heart walking through grief. You are not crazy! You are not experiencing early onset dementia (most likely). Like other symptoms, get checked out if they persist or worsen. But odds are, your experience falls within the range of normal for anyone whose life has been shattered by child loss. Losing things, forgetting things, getting lost in familiar places, missing appointments or bill payments, inability to remember names of people you know well-all of these are common after loss. In time, the symptoms usually diminish. They have for me. I still have to rely on lists and reminders much more often, though. And that’s OK.
Inability to Focus. Like grief brain, this is another cognitive manifestation that’s not only annoying, it can impact life in significant ways. Before Dominic ran ahead to Heaven, I was an avid reader. I often had three or four books going at the same time. I could spend hours focused on a single project. Not anymore. I sometimes find it difficult to read a recipe.
I have to take frequent breaks when working on something because my mind gets fuzzy and I just can’t pay attention for more than a few minutes at a time. Some bereaved parents have to change jobs or careers because they are not able to perform necessary tasks anymore. This particular symptom has not improved very much for me although I’ve found ways around it. I use lists to keep an external record of what I should be doing and when. I mix up mindless chores with ones that require more attention to give my brain a break. I try to dissect larger jobs into smaller, manageable chunks. And sometimes I just have to admit that today a particular thing just isn’t happening.
Appetite or Digestive Issues. Stress has long been linked to gut problems. I suspect we’ve all had that “rumbling in our tummy” from time to time even before child loss. For many of us it’s exponentially worse after. Some bereaved parents try to stuff emotions by stuffing themselves with food. Others can’t eat at all. Still others experience stomach ulcers or bowel disease ranging from acute to chronic. I was hospitalized twice in the first year after my son’s death for serious colon issues.
Again, don’t ignore sudden or persistent symptoms. Try to eat well and avoid self-medicating with food. Added pounds rarely add up to better emotional or mental health. I let pounds I’d lost ten years ago find me again. Get help if you need to from someone willing to act as an accountability partner. I’ve recently joined a friend in setting goals for ourselves and sharing recipes and meal prep. Try to treat food as another aspect of grief work and manage it the best you can.
Getting Sick More Often. Stress lowers the immune system. That’s a fact. So when bereaved parents encounter germs (as we all do from time to time) it may well be our bodies don’t have the energy or resources to combat them. Colds, flu, strep throat, skin infections may all be more likely this side of child loss. Don’t be discouraged to seek treatment. There is so much we can’t control in life, but getting antibiotics for an infection is pretty easy.
It’s not in your head, mom or dad!
Grief has real physical manifestations.
Don’t be dismissed or denied the care you need.
Educate your healthcare providers and insist on being heard.
*photo credit: The Weight of Grief Scupture ~ Celeste Roberge*
Child loss rips through a life like a tornado-wild, unpredictable, viciously destructive.
It drops from the sky like a meteorite-no warning, no defense, just crushing weight.
It wrecks havoc in absolutely every corner of a bereaved parents’ heart and life.
And there is no safe space to escape from nor insurance policy to cover THAT damage.
When Dominic was killed, his sudden death instantly untethered me from the world as I knew it. I needed friends and family to anchor my heart in love and support so I didn’t float away. ❤