I remember the first couple times I ventured out in public after Dominic left us and the flurry of activity surrounding his funeral was over.
I felt naked, afraid and oh, so vulnerable.
The tiniest misplaced word or random glance could undo me and I burst into tears.
If, as a culture, we don’t bear witness to grief, the burden of loss is placed entirely upon the bereaved, while the rest of us avert our eyes and wait for those in mourning to stop being sad, to let go, to move on, to cheer up. And if they don’t — if they have loved too deeply, if they do wake each morning thinking, I cannot continue to live — well, then we pathologize their pain; we call their suffering a disease.
We do not help them: we tell them that they need to get help.~Cheryl Strayed, Brave Enough
Stuck in grief”-it’s a theme of blog posts, psychology papers and magazine articles. The author usually lists either a variety of “symptoms” or relates anecdotes of people who do truly odd things after a loved one dies. “Complicated grief” is a legitimate psychiatric diagnosis.
But who gets to decide?
What objective criteria can be applied to every situation, every person, every death to determine whether someone is truly stuck in grief?
Read the rest here: Stuck or Unstuck in Grief? Who Gets to Decide?
You cannot possibly know that scented soap takes me back to my son’s apartment in an instant.
You weren’t there when I cleaned it for the last time, boxed up the contents under the sink and wiped the beautiful, greasy hand prints off the shower wall. He had worked on a friend’s car that night, jumped in to clean up and was off.
He never made it home.
So when I come out of the room red-eyed, teary and quiet, please don’t look at me like I’m a freak.
A cousin whom I haven’t seen in decades recently contacted my dad in order to complete a family tree he is working to compile.
It’s a noble task and one I fully support.
But when my dad forwarded the request to me (because I had details on my own son’s wedding and his wife’s birth date) it was an unexpected trigger.
Typing away I added mine and my husband’s birth dates and the place and date of our marriage.
Then down the line of my children.
Fiona.
James Michael and his bride. Their wedding date.
Dominic. I have another date for him-one I never, ever thought I would live to record-the day he left this earth for his heavenly home. My breath catches in my throat.
Julian.
My youngest son who is now older than his brother ever got to be.
My second son has no descendants. Every molecule that was Dominic is now in the grave. No representation of his humor, his talent, his face.
His unique light has been extinguished from this world forever.
I realize that these dates will be filed away, made part of a record for those that come after without any understanding of the person they represent.
Just facts on a page.
History.
When Dominic died, I didn’t get a manual on what to do. I didn’t get an orientation into how to be a grieving parent. So when some people asked how they could help me and my family, I really didn’t know.
A comment repeated often by bereaved parents is, “Please don’t use the phrase, ‘let me know if there is anything I can do’, people mean well, but this is unhelpful.”
Another mom put it this way, ” There are too many meanings to this phrase. It can mean anywhere from, ‘I really want to help’ to ‘I don’t know what to say so I’ll say this but I don’t really want you to ask’. Also it’s so hard to make any decisions–trying to figure out what you might want or be able to do is overwhelming. Instead, offer specific things you can do and make plans to do them.”
Read the rest here: 31 Practical Ways to Love Grieving Parents in the First Few Days
The death of any loved one opens a door and forces you to pass through.
You cannot procrastinate, cannot refuse, cannot ignore or pretend it away.
Suddenly, you find yourself where you absolutely do not want to be.
And there is no going back.
Read the rest here: Loving Well in the First Days After Loss
This series was originally published two years ago.
I’m running it again to give me a short break from daily writing as I work on material for a bereaved moms’ retreat coming up this weekend.
I have tweaked and edited the original posts a bit to update some of the information and clarify muddy language.
I continue to be indebted to the parents who graciously shared their own experiences.
My prayer is that these next posts are helpful both to those who grieve and those who love them. ❤
Our journeys begin in different ways.
Just as every birth story is unique, so, too, is every parent’s story of loss. It may be a phone call or an officer at the front door. It may be a lingering illness or a sudden one. Our children may have lived days or decades.
Their death may be anticipated, but it is never expected.
And it is always devastating.
No one is prepared to bury their child.
Read the rest here: Loving Well: Meaningful Ministry to Grieving Parents
Believe me, I’ve imposed my share of“Quiet Mouse” on my own kids through the years.
Raising four close-in-age siblings, sometimes that was the only way to make the last five miles home without losing my mind.
But the premise of the game is really this: I’m bigger, I’m stronger, I’m in control and you are not-so shut up.
Even if you have something important to say.
Even if you feel like you will burst wide open if you have to hold it in.
No excuses allowed. Just. Be. Quiet.
I’ve been a quiet mouse for most of my life when it comes to standing up for myself.
Now, advocating for my children or for someone unable to fend for themselves-that’s another story. But somewhere in my formative years I embraced the message that the most important thing in the world was to keep the peace.
Even if you have something important to say.
Even if you feel like you will burst wide open if you have to hold it in.
No excuses allowed. Just. Be. Quiet.
But all this emotional turmoil I’ve been feeling since Dominic left us has uncovered layer after layer of brokenness, pain and untold stories. His death lifted the lid on the vault that had been sealed for decades.
Emotions are flying out like genies.
And I’ve come to understand that peace at all costs-when the costs are borne by a single individual in a relationship-is not peace.
It’s slavery.
I also realize that not every friendship and family tie is a mission field on which I must spill my life’s blood to prove my love for Jesus.
Sometimes laying down simply enables bad behavior and encourages bullying and disrespect.
I want to walk in love. Always.
But love does not mean I must allow other people to walk all over me.
I don’t plan to.
No more “Quiet Mouse” for me.
I wrote this post last year and want to share it again.
Because the thing God speaks to me over and over and over in this journey is:
LOVE LASTS.
There is nothing I can spend my time, energy and resources on that will follow me into eternity and remain in the hearts of those I leave behind besides love.
It’s nice to get flowers or chocolate or balloons or cards that say, “I love you”.
But true love can’t be bought.
True love is marked by sacrifice, ongoing support, genuine compassion and willingness to do whatever it takes to “be there” for another person.
It means standing with someone even when walking beside them includes bearing the unbearable.
Read the rest here: True Love
Please hear me.
I do NOT blame you that my son and my sorrow have drifted down your list of “things that need attention”. Your life is as busy as mine once was and your calendar full of commitments and celebrations that require your attendance.
There is no way you would know it’s 69 days until the fourth anniversary of Dominic’s sudden absence.
There is no reason for you to be aware that as the southern landscape turns to spring, my heart and mind turn to death.
But it’s the truth.
As the rest of the world looks forward to Easter (and I do too-for the promise and hope it brings) I am dreading Holy Week. Dominic was killed the Saturday before Palm Sunday and laid to rest the Monday after Easter. So every year I relive it twice-once during Holy Week and once again (when the dates are different) according to the calendar.
And each year it feels lonelier and lonelier.
Because each year fewer and fewer people remember or if they do, they don’t know how to offer that up as a blessing because it feels awkward or stiff.
So may I suggest a few things that most bereaved parents would absolutely LOVE for friends and family to say or do-especially as the months roll into years or even decades?
There is a common theme here: if you think about my child, let me know.
I will not forget Dominic.
I couldn’t.
But it is oh, so helpful to know that others aren’t forgetting either.
thelifeididntchoose 