You Might Not Get a “Thank You” Card

I grew up in the South with a mama who was extremely concerned with fulfilling every social nicety and especially NEVER neglecting to send a “thank you” card to anyone who deserved one.

I wrote out my own appreciations between Christmas and New Year’s each holiday season from the time I was old enough to know how to address an envelope.

There was never an acceptable excuse for not doing it.

So I understand the folks whose own tradition, upbringing and lifestyle demand every kindness, gift, meal brought or other act of service demands written and postage paid acknowledgement.

But please stop waiting for one from your friend or family member who buried their child!

Several times in the past week I’ve had to counsel and console bereaved parents who have been chided, embarrassed, called out in public or shamed in private for not sending notes of gratitude.

It is unrealistic to expect a grieving parent to have the emotional or mental bandwidth to sit down and compose such things when they are probably having trouble writing a grocery list and brushing their teeth.

No one who hasn’t experienced child loss can imagine how difficult it is to leave a funeral or memorial service knowing that for most people it’s over when for t us it’s just beginning.

Child loss changes EVERYTHING.

We come back to a house that no longer feels like home. Our family has been reshaped in ways we can’t recognize and don’t know how to relate to. If there are other children, we are trying our best to help them navigate their own grief. Marriages are rocked and every weak spot exposed.

Some end.

For those who must return to work, it’s necessary to find some way to muster the energy and attention to do whatever our job demands all the while fighting an internal wellspring of emotion that threatens to undo us any moment. Bills have to be paid. Estates (yes, even for very young children, depending on the circumstances) must be managed. Dozens of times we are forced to make phone calls and say, “My son is deceased, I need to do XYZ on his behalf”.

Mental, physical, emotional and spiritual exhaustion is our constant companion.

Most parents would LOVE to have a moment when they could thank those who helped in the immediate aftermath, who sent flowers, food or a card to encourage them.

But they don’t.

I managed to send about twenty notes within the first month to a few folks who were exceptionally close to our family. The rest waited until November when I used Thanksgiving as a natural moment to express my feelings. I know I overlooked some people and I’ve never tried to make my efforts more complete. I am unusual but writing comes fairly natural to me.

Many parents just cannot do it.

So if you are tempted to confront a bereaved parent because you or someone you represent hasn’t gotten a card in the mail, just don’t. And for goodness sakes, do NOT whisper or text behind their back!

I hope you offered your original help or gift with grace and a heart tuned toward compassion. If you didn’t, then shame on you. If you did, then you shouldn’t mind not having a formal acknowledgement.

You have the great blessing of remaining ignorant of what it feels like to send a child to Heaven before you.

That should be enough.

Leaning Into the True Source of Provision

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 a couple years ago 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.

Read the rest here: Thanks And Giving

I Am STILL Thankful

I wrote this eight years ago but most of it could have been written yesterday.

I was adding up all the things that have happened since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven and each autumn there has been some new and difficult circumstance to mar the beauty of falling leaves.

There have been lovely things too, though-precious moments of quiet rejoicing and memory making. I treasure them in my heart because loss has taught me their value.

Thanksgiving is still my favorite holiday because I am still so very, very thankful.

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday.

My birthday sometimes falls on the day itself (like THIS year), and I have often been able to celebrate with extended family and friends-a full table of food and a full house of fellowship.

I love the colors of fall, the scents of cinnamon and pumpkin, the freedom from gift-giving pressures that lets me focus on the people in my life.

Read the rest here: Thankful But Broken

Prayers and Praise: One Year Later

A LOT has happened since I wrote this post one year ago to share my husband’s cancer diagnosis and need for surgery.

I am oh, so happy to report that the surgery was successful, the margins clean and he’s had no indication he needs additional treatment. He did, however, develop a hernia that necessitated another (much more complicated and invasive) surgery a few months later.

Still, all in all, we are overjoyed that what could have been the beginning of a long and arduous cancer treatment journey was shortened to surgery and easy follow-up visits to monitor blood work.

I wanted to share this again to remind myself and YOU of how important it is to be honest about our struggles. If I don’t let anyone know I need support and prayers, how can I expect them to show up?

Sometimes the ones we expect to come alongside don’t. But often the Lord provides others who do.

❤ Melanie

Can I just say how very grateful I am for every single person who joins me here and in online groups?

I have been overwhelmingly BLESSED by comments and messages time and time again. It’s definitely been a lifeline when grief, other challenges and everyday living makes this old wounded heart want to give up and give in.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

I never take your presence for granted.

Read the rest here: May I Ask for Prayers? Please and Thank You.

Thank You For Seven Years of Faithful Listening!

Seven (!) years ago today I shared my first post in this space.

It was a timid foray into the wider world just a year and a half after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.

I was truly frightened that once I began sharing my intimate thoughts, good (and not-so-good) experiences and things I was learning in this Valley of the Shadow of Death I would either: (1) find out no one really cared and/or; (2) offend friends and family.

But what motivated me to overcome that fear was a sense that for all the information out there on grief in general, I couldn’t find nearly enough first-person experience written in bite-sized chunks on child loss in particular.

After Dom ran ahead, it was difficult for me to sit down and read a whole book. I needed bits I could read on a single computer screen.

I also needed someone to be upfront and honest about what it meant to continue to cling to faith even when it was hard and even when it meant acknowledging doubts and living with unanswered questions.

It’s difficult to believe now with the plethora of popular books (both secular and religious) on “open broken” but seven years ago, there weren’t many around.

So I decided I’d just say what I had to say and let it fall on the ears that might need to hear it regardless of who didn’t like it or chose to ignore it.

And here we are seven years later.

I don’t know how long I’ll keep writing-probably as long as I feel like I have something to say, people are listening and my fingers can still tap-tap-tap the keyboard.

For now, writing is what I do.

Even when life interrupts almost everything else I will find a few moments to jot down thoughts and hit “publish”.

I know some posts are much thinner than others-maybe just a meme or two and an encouraging word. Some are just reworked posts from years gone by.

But I want to show up in case THIS morning someone’s having an especially rotten one.

I want you to know that there IS life after child loss.

A very different life.

A harder life.

A life you didn’t want and wouldn’t ever choose, but life nonetheless.

And I appreciate every. single. heart. who joins me here and cheers me (and others!) along.

So, So Thankful For The Friends Who Stay!

Sticking with a friend whose life is hard and is going to continue to be hard is not for the faint of heart.

Not all wounds can be healed.  

Not all problems have a resolution.

Not all relationships follow a path that leads to a happy ending. 

Read the rest here: To The Friends Who Stay

Update: Covid, Life, Etc.

Let me just say up front I don’t believe in luck or karma or anything like that.

I believe in a Sovereign God who can (at any moment) intervene and sometimes does but who, in general, allows humans to make free will choices and lets the world run according to natural laws He set in motion at the beginning.

That said, I do have a kind of superstitious personal habit of refusing to speak aloud any hope one week, month or year might be “easy” or “good”. Because for decades our days, weeks, months and years have snowballed into a chaotic blur combining lovely moments (birth of grandchildren and a few others) with stress-filled and often life-changing events barely leaving time to catch our breath before the next one comes barreling down the pike.

So when, in late January, I declared February a “month at home” and a “month of rest” I knew better.

I’ve shared earlier that I was diagnosed with Covid Sunday, January 29th. Truly, I have not felt worse within recent memory but am so, so thankful for vaccinations (which did not prevent me from getting it but definitely impacted the severity!) and modern medicine. Both of these meant my extremely exhausted body (just came off nearly three weeks tending my two grandboys plus a week long trip to my dad’s) and immunocompromised state did not end up in the hospital or with awful complications.

My whole family ultimately succumbed to the nasty bug-including my 87 year old dad (who was the first soldier down).

What I haven’t shared is that last Thursday evening I got a call from Papa who was in his local Emergency Room, alone and fitted out for what they thought would be emergency surgery for a non-Covid related situation.

Still talking to him, I rise from my comfy post-supper chair in front of the TV and start tossing clothes in my suitcase (only partially unpacked because, well, Covid) because I’m coming!!!

Calls go out to kids, my husband agrees to stay home and tend animals and we are off within forty-five minutes of the call.

Thankfully, after careful reexamination of imaging, observation of vital signs and a surgeon willing to let Papa decide to take a risk waiting until morning while remaining hospitalized and on IV antibiotics, we avoided emergency surgery.

Fiona, Julian and I arrived Thursday night and got a few hours sleep before showing up early Friday to reassess the situation and help Papa figure out a plan going forward.

He was able to come home with us-weak, tired and on medication-with serious admonitions to take it easy for a few days.

I cannot adequately express the love, gratitude and sheer pride I have for my kids and their willingness to drop everything and come running. They’ve gained this knowledge at a terrible price. I could not have navigated this last, frightening incident without their help and wisdom.

I’m deeply grateful it turned out to be a tiny blip instead of a giant health crisis.

I’m overwhelmed by the outpouring of prayer and concern from folks near and far.

If you are so inclined, pray for a teeny, tiny break for me and my family. We are really kind of worn out.

I’m looking forward (shhhh!!!) to a quieter latter half of February.

Stay tuned for some new posts I’ve been working on and for another trip through Lent together coming soon. ❤

I Want to Be Full of Thanks AND Giving

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 a couple years ago 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.

Read the rest here: Thanks And Giving

Don’t Let The Outside Fool You

What a blessed relief it was to drive up our winding lane and enter home after my husband’s surgery!

I am absolutely overwhelmed by the encouraging words and prayers lifted on our behalf. If you’ve raised your voice to Heaven, begging for relief, only to have your hopes dashed, then you understand how amazing it feels to have prayers answered.

I am happy, happy, happy to report that my husband is doing well.

A couple days ago he had a follow-up appointment to remove the staples from his incisions and there was no sign of infection. He was warned by the doctor not to mistake the lack of evidence declaring major surgery on the OUTSIDE with what they did to him on the INSIDE.

He was solemnly adjured to continue to take it easy for several more weeks so that deep and necessary healing could occur.

Because my mind is never all that far away from thinking about Dominic, loss, my own grief journey and the many who join me here walking the same broken road, I quickly found myself comparing Hector’s surgery to the experience of child loss.

From the outside-very soon after all the formal visiting, meal bringing and memorial service or funeral-most bereaved parents look “fine”.

We have to.

The world doesn’t stop turning because our world imploded.

Work, life, family duties, household chores, and all the ordinary things determined by hours and calendars keep rolling along.

But on the inside, every bit of who we are, how we feel, what we think has been devastatingly poked, prodded, ripped apart and rearranged.

And just like there is no substitute for TIME in physical healing, there is no substitute for TIME in emotional, mental or spiritual healing either.

So if you are fresh on this path, new to the rigors of trying to “do life” while mourning your precious child, recognize that there is oh, so much damage where people can’t see.

Even when (or if!) you are able to return to some semblance of normal, to carry on with duties and obligations and even muster a smile for special occasions, your wounded heart will require special care.

Don’t let others hurry you along or dismiss your very real need to maintain safe boundaries to protect it.

My husband’s body will bear scars from his surgery although the inner works will undoubtedly heal fine. I’m thankful for modern medicine that makes it possible.

It’s not so easy to heal a broken heart.

I’m convinced that while there is a measure of healing in this life it will never be complete until eternity.

But I’m certain that healing can only occur when we give ourselves the grace, space and time necessary to do the work grief requires.

May I Ask for Prayers? Please and Thank You.

Can I just say how very grateful I am for every single person who joins me here and in online groups?

I have been overwhelmingly BLESSED by comments and messages time and time again. It’s definitely been a lifeline when grief, other challenges and everyday living makes this old wounded heart want to give up and give in.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

I never take your presence for granted.

Today I’d like to ask a favor.

Would you pray for me and my husband?

This morning my husband and I are getting up before the sun and making our way to a local hospital for surgery. He was diagnosed a couple months ago with prostate cancer and, while caught early, it is severe enough to warrant treatment.

It’s certainly not the most fearful thing we’ve faced together and we have every expectation that it will go smoothly and will result in him being cancer-free for the rest of his life.

But it’s still kind of scary.

When the worst thing you can imagine has already happened it doesn’t take much for a mind to wander that dark and well-worn path back to potential tragedy.

So I’ve been concentrating on good things like our grandboys, recipes for Thanksgiving desserts, stitching this year’s family Christmas ornament and the amazingly hope-filled statistics for this particular type of cancer.

I’m choosing not to google complications or listen to anyone’s horror story of how “my cousin had that done and…”.

My loins are girded with coffee and optimism (and my favorite prayer for mercy and grace!).

I’ll let you know how things go.