grief education – thelifeididntchoose

Twelve Years. Sigh…

The calendar is relentless. There’s no respect for seasons of mourning or grief anniversaries or weeks of sickness or unexpected early births of grandchildren.

The sun rises, the sun sets and another day is crossed off into history.

So somehow-without my permission-I find I’ve woken to mark the twelfth anniversary (do you call such a horrible thing an anniversary?) of Dominic’s death.

It’s humbling to realize I (and my family!) are not only still standing but flourishing. It’s horrifying to comprehend I’ve continued to live and breathe for 4383 days since Dominic left us.

Most days are pretty good.

Today is hard.

❤ Melanie

When the numbness wore off (maybe around six months) I remember vaguely wondering what years down the road would feel like.

I tried to project the “me” of that moment into the future and imagine how I might deal with life changes, new circumstances, an empty nest, grandchildren (if there were any) and growing older alongside the heartache of burying a child.

But just as it’s impossible to comprehend how the addition of a child utterly transforms a family, it’s impossible to understand how the subtraction of one changes everything just as much.

We are all so very different than we would have been if Dominic were still here.

Life most likely wouldn’t be any more perfect because we would each grow and change, find common ground and find points of conflict, make new memories and drag up old hurts.

Still, none of us would carry the deep wound and traumatic injury of sudden and out-of-order death.

THAT is impossible to ignore. Even twelve years later it’s a red flag, a sticky note, an addendum to every family gathering and holiday.

So we carry on.

Like generations before us who have walked this world dragging loss behind them, we keep going. It shapes us but doesn’t limit us. It informs our views but isn’t the only thing that molds our opinions and frames our choices.

My faith in God’s larger and perfect plan helps me hold onto hope even as I continue to miss my son.

But today is a hard day and I don’t think that’s going to change as long as I live.

I’m getting better at remembering Dominic’s birthday in ways that honor who he is and the man he might have become. I can’t say I’ve figured out any good way to walk through the yearly unavoidable and unwelcome reminder of the day he left us.

I’m learning to allow the grief waves to simply wash over me without resisting them.

Eventually the hours tick away, the day is over and I find I’ve survived yet again.

Silent Sorrow-National Siblings Day and Grieving Siblings

Today is National Siblings Day. It’s fun for those of us who haven’t had to bury a brother or sister to post silly photos and memories.

But for those who have lost a sibling today is bittersweet.

Want to know how to love someone who is missing a brother or sister?

Ask them for a favorite memory. Tell them you recognize it hurts. Don’t dismiss their grief and rush to ask about a surviving mother or father.

Love them. Be there.

❤ Melanie

I am always afraid that Dominic will be forgotten.

I’m afraid that as time passes, things change and lives move forward, his place in hearts will be squeezed smaller and smaller until only a speck remains.

Not in my heart, of course.

Or in the hearts of those closest to him, but in general-he will become less relevant.

But he is not the only one who can be forgotten. I am just as fearful that my living children will be forgotten.

Read the rest here: The Forgotten Ones: Grieving Siblings

This Is What Grief Looks Like

Today I was backing out of the driveway when my eyes landed on the tag of one of our other cars.

Suddenly I realized that I hadn’t renewed our tags this year.

They are due in January and, like other important dates graven in my over- organized brain, I literally NEVER forget.

But I did.

And I hadn’t even thought about it these three months until just now.

My sweet granddaughter, Holly, went to Heaven at Dallas Children’s Hospital January 4th. My elderly dad had eye surgery in Florida January 19th. I was home for exactly four days the whole month.

This is what grief looks like in real time twelve years later.

I still have six half grown kittens born a week before Holly entered the world . I brought their poor mama 700 miles because I didn’t want her to deliver while I was away welcoming my precious girl.

I just can’t let them go.

They are connected to her life, a source of joy, a reminder that death doesn’t claim every beautiful thing.

I’m probably going to keep them all because I can and because a farm can always use more barn cats.

This is what grief looks like twelve years later.

I recently had a nuclear stress test and an echocardiogram. My EKG in January was just a little “off” so my cardiologist sent me for testing.

The results were good. No real issues other than that I need to get back to walking every day and should lose weight.

I finally activated a Fitbit tracker I bought months ago to track my heart rate, activity and steps.

This is what grief looks like even after over a decade.

I’m rapidly approaching another unwelcome milestone marking twelve long years since I heard Dominic’s voice, saw his face, hugged his neck.

I’m stronger.

I feel joy.

I don’t cry every day.

But if anyone thinks the absence of my son or my granddaughter doesn’t change EVERYTHING, they are wrong.

Twelve Years: Broken Hearts and Broken Lives

I woke one morning to a frantic voice mail left overnight when my phone was on sleep mode which silences all but my few “favorites” from ringing through.

A precious young woman from my family’s past was reaching out because she knew I was a safe person. I wish I had been able to talk to her when she needed me most but I was left with the only option available: call her back and leave a voice mail message.

It’s a poor substitute for being there when someone is hanging on by a thread.

It made me think of the dozens of ways my children and I have learned to “be there” for broken hearts and broken lives.

It’s an easy yes for any one of us when someone calls and says, “Can you talk?”.

Even when it’s inconvenient or worse, we answer the phone and allow that heart to spill its contents until there is some relief and possibly some way forward.

Some days I’m tapped out.

I may not haul feed bags or lift boxes but my heart is wrung dry by mid-morning.

Hours long telephone conversations in which there is no real answer and no way to untangle complex webs of addiction or family history or personal trauma leave me needing a nap.

I try to take a break when I need to and come back fresh when I can.

In this Season of Sorrow I have a little less to give.

But I am committed to helping other broken hearts limp along toward healing for as long as I am able.

So many have helped me.

I want to share the gift.

Palm Sunday 2026: What if I’m Not Rescued

If you haven’t watched the body of someone you love lowered into the ground while holding your breath and praying, praying, praying that somehow, some way this isn’t real then maybe you can’t imagine what it feels like not to be spared.

Me? It doesn’t take but a single breath to go from “everything is alright” to “my world is shattered”. I feel every. single. death. added to the tally a mass shooting or tornado destruction leaves behind.

So what do we do if we aren’t rescued? What do we cling to if our family isn’t spared?

What if all the prayers lifted on behalf of ones I love don’t stop death from claiming them?

When Jesus entered Jerusalem He was hailed as a hero. But when He didn’t perform as expected He was cast aside.

Will I choose to believe even when it’s hard?

Melanie

So what if I’m not rescued?

What if my family isn’t spared?

What if all the faithful prayers lifted on behalf of ones I love don’t stop death from claiming them?

Will I still believe?

Will I still trust that God is a loving Father who is in control and working all things together for His glory and my good?

Read the rest here: What If I’m Not Rescued?

“How are you doing?” “Not as well as you might think.”

For over ten years this space has been a lifeline to me.

When I first started writing here it was, honestly, a way for me to express feelings and thoughts that were unwelcome in my social and personal circles.

I thought that if I wrote them down for the world to see, maybe some friends (and most especially) extended family, might read them and gain a bit of insight into the long, lonely road of grieving a child.

A couple of weeks ago I confessed that I didn’t have it in me anymore.

So many responded with kind comments and encouragement. Thank you, Thank. You. THANK YOU!

The break has been good in one respect-it gave me a little more freedom to just experience my life and less pressure to turn that experience into something I could share.

Here I sit, not on the DATE of Dominic’s running ahead, but on the DAY (the Saturday before Palm Sunday) of his running ahead and I am not really OK.

I feel like most of 2025 was like 2013-a year of promise.

The year before Dom went to Heaven, I turned 50. As an ardent student of Scripture, I had claimed that year as a Jubilee. All my children would be college graduates, one would be married and they were pursuing their own paths-each successful in their own way. I would finally be able to be more than a mother and free to follow my own ambitions.

April 12, 2014 changed that.

Last year also felt like a kind of freedom.

After over ten years of carrying this burden, I launched an official ministry and was doing things I had only previously dreamed of. Four amazing mom retreats, speaking engagements, book studies, monthly support meetings, the blog, sharing on podcasts and gaining additional credentials in grief counseling all meant I was beginning to live forward once again.

Then my dad had a devastating stroke.

I spent three months just trying to reach equilibrium for an almost 90 year old man who was way too involved in way too many things. If you haven’t had both the privilege and burden of caring for an aging parent, let me tell you it is so. much. more. than you can imagine. Even with every good intention and forethought, running two households is hard.

I had two days between leaving Papa’s home (praying the caregiver who was coming in three days a week would manage half of what I had when there 24/7) and heading to Texas for the too-early birth and ultimately tragically short life of my granddaughter, Holly.

Christmas was made jolly for the grandboys but the adults were just there for the show.

January 4, 2026 was the second day the earth stood still for our family.

Except that it doesn’t. The world keeps spinning and people keep going and somehow, miraculously, our broken hearts continue to beat.

I won’t type every event since then but suffice it to say nothing has slowed down, no provision has been made for deep rest, reflection and the silence that gives any of us the time to process loss and the questions it raises.

So here I am at the Saturday before Palm Sunday once again.

And I am not as well as I might have thought this far into the journey.

I’ve gained all the necessary tools to hold on and to make it to the next morning, trusting the sunrise to bring new mercy and trusting Jesus to help my heart.

But I’m exhausted.

I don’t want to discourage anyone who is earlier in this journey.

I am stronger and better able to carry the load-if I wasn’t, I would not have survived this past year of additional burdens. I only desire to be as honest as possible. so, honestly, today (and probably this entire week) I’m not feeling very strong.

Grief continues to shape who I am and how I interact with the world.

I can’t pretend it doesn’t.

Navigating Grief: Trauma Rewires Our Brains

No matter how a child leaves this earth, it’s traumatic.

And trauma rewires our brains.

The “fight or flight” response that had previously been reserved for truly life-threatening situations gets woven in with memories and feelings and our bodies remain on high alert.

So before we know it, all kinds of ordinary, daily, and definitely not life-threatening situations evoke rapid heartbeat, shortness of breath, anxiety and fear. And the absolutely reasonable response is to get away from those things that make us feel that way.

So we do (or try to!).

We find ourselves running away from people who love us, who want to help us but who just might not understand why we’re running. We cocoon in our homes, in our own bodies and try to find that one safe space where fear and anxiety can’t find us.

But there is no such absolutely safe space.

Trauma rewires our brains, it’s true.

They can be rewired again.

So many good therapies are available for those of us who suffer in silence. Many are based on using physical cues to help a brain learn to distinguish between truly dangerous and only the memory of dangerous.

It is possible to venture out in the world again, to reach for and sustain connection, to lean into company instead of shying away.

Don’t stay hidden, afraid and alone.

Find a trained trauma counselor

Ask for help.

Navigating Grief: At Night, It Can Still Feel Fresh

It happens most often as I am drifting off to sleep.

There is this one spot on the bedroom bookshelf where my eyes landed that first night-one paperback spine that instantly transports me to the moment I had to close my eyes on the day I found out my son would never come home again.

And it is fresh.

Absolutely, positively fresh.

Like “just happened” fresh.

You’d think that nearly twelve years of intervening experience, nearly twelve years of grief work, nearly twelve years of trying so darn hard to learn to tuck that feeling away deep down so it can’t escape would have worked whatever magic time is supposed to work.

it has been said that time heals all wounds rose kennedy clock

But it hasn’t.

Oh, most days I can lock that lid down tight. I can distract my mind, busy my hands and keep my heart from wandering too close to despair.

Darkness though.

Shadows and silence and stillness give room for the memory to rise to the surface.

And it does.

My son is never coming home again.

Fresh.

Absolutely, positively fresh.

“Just happened” fresh.

Navigating Grief: Trauma Rewires our Brains

No matter how a child leaves this earth, it’s traumatic.

And trauma rewires our brains.

The “fight or flight” response that had previously been reserved for truly life-threatening situations gets woven in with memories and feelings and our bodies remain on high alert.

So we do (or try to!).

But there is no such absolutely safe space.

Trauma rewires our brains, it’s true.

They can be rewired again.

It is possible to venture out in the world again, to reach for and sustain connection, to lean into company instead of shying away.

Don’t stay hidden, afraid and alone.

Find a trained trauma counselor

Ask for help.

Navigating Grief: Knocked Down but Not Destroyed

Eternity is impossible for the human mind to grasp.

We talk about it even though we can’t really understand what it means because it’s so far outside our experience and imagination.

But it’s a fact and it matters.

The life I live on earth, made up of days, years and decades is but a blip on the screen of God’s eternal timeline.

Yet what I do here and now will ripple throughout forever.

Taking hold of that fact, clinging tightly to that truth can help me make choices that will make a real difference.

To win the contest you must deny yourselves many things that would keep you from doing your best. An athlete goes to all this trouble just to win a blue ribbon or a silver cup, but we do it for a heavenly reward that never disappears.

I Corinthians 9:25 TL

I remember one particularly grueling semester in college. I had foolishly stacked five upper level political science classes on top of one another thinking that taking them together would be easier.

That was a dumb idea.

The end of semester assignments included 200 pages of written term papers along with essay tests and other random bits. For two weeks I fell asleep on my bedroom floor, pen in hand, legal pad underneath my head and surrounded by dozens of open books I used for reference.

After composing the papers, I had to type them, add footnotes and bibliography and deliver them. All back before computers and word processing programs made it easy and electronic!

Oh, how I wanted to give up and give in! I was certain that I was not going to make it. I just knew that my body or mind or both would give out before I completed the task.

But they didn’t and I did manage to make it through.

I was willing to put forth the effort and pay the price for a letter grade!

No one cares what I made on those essays. No one asks me about my college classes or grades. At 62 I can’t even remember what I wrote about.

Now I face a much more challenging task: Living without the companionship of one of my precious children. The “grade” I make on this effort has eternal impact.

This is the Valley of Weeping, yet Christ promises it will become a place of refreshing.

“When they walk through the Valley of Weeping, it will become a place of springs where pools of blessing and refreshment collect after rains!”

Psalm 84:6 TLB

I can’t see an end for this grueling work. There’s no “semester break” circled on my calendar.

But there will be an end to this toil and pain-just as surely as there was an end those many years ago.

As for us, we have this large crowd of witnesses around us. So then, let us rid ourselves of everything that gets in the way, and of the sin which holds on to us so tightly, and let us run with determination the race that lies before us. ²Let us keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, on whom our faith depends from beginning to end. He did not give up because of the cross! On the contrary, because of the joy that was waiting for him, he thought nothing of the disgrace of dying on the cross, and he is now seated at the right side of God’s throne.Hebrews 12:1-2

And the reward for faithfully completing this assignment is so much more valuable than a good grade.

Yet, my brothers, I do not consider myself to have “arrived”, spiritually, nor do I consider myself already perfect. But I keep going on, grasping ever more firmly that purpose for which Christ grasped me. My brothers, I do not consider myself to have fully grasped it even now. But I do concentrate on this: I leave the past behind and with hands outstretched to whatever lies ahead I go straight for the goal—my reward the honour of being called by God in Christ.Phillipians 3:12-16

This reward is eternal-a never-ending supply of God’s grace and love and joy that will overwhelm the toil and pain I’ve endured.

Reunion.

Redemption.

Restoration.

So while I wait, I encourage my heart with this truth:

We are cracked and chipped from our afflictions on all sides, but we are not crushed by them. We are bewildered at times, but we do not give in to despair. ⁹We are persecuted, but we have not been abandoned. We have been knocked down, but we are not destroyed. ¹⁰We always carry around in our bodies the reality of the brutal death and suffering of Jesus. As a result, His resurrection life rises and reveals its wondrous power in our bodies as well. ¹¹For while we live, we are constantly handed over to death on account ]f Jesus so that His life may be revealed even in our mortal bodies of flesh.2 Corinthians 4:8 VOICE

God invites me to join Him in the work He is doing.

Isn’t that mind-blowing?

He could announce the Gospel from the mountaintops or have angels declare it from the heavens, but He doesn’t.

He has ordained that these fragile bodies of ours, these fickle hearts, these often disobedient hands carry the Good News to the ends of the earth.

Image result for how beautiful the feet of those

The God of Heaven entrusts me with His love, empowers me with His strength and commissions me as an ambassador of reconciliation to reach a world longing for reconciliation-with Him and with one another.

So when I look up and say, “I don’t have time”. He says, “Get your priorities straight.”

When I whine, “I don’t know what to do”. He says, “I’ve got that covered. Just look around and do what’s at hand.”

When I groan, “It won’t make a difference anyway”. He says, “Do you doubt the power of obedience to the Gospel to change the world?”

My life makes a difference.

Your life makes a difference.

Eternity is shaped, in part, by how we spend it.

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