grief education – Page 21 – thelifeididntchoose

What are “Secondary Losses”?

While I certainly had no real idea in the first hours or even weeks what losing a child entailed, I understood plainly that it meant I would not have Dominic to see, hold or talk to.

I wouldn’t be able to hug his neck or telephone him.

He wouldn’t be sitting at my table any more.

But the death of a child or other loved one has a ripple effect. It impacts parts of life you might not expect. As time went on, I was introduced to a whole list of losses commonly called “secondary losses”.

Read the rest here: Child Loss and Secondary Losses

Even Here There Are Things I CAN Control

When I opened the door to that deputy and received the news, my world suddenly spiraled out of control.

Over the next days, weeks months I would have to do things I never imagined I might do and certainly things I did not WANT to do. So, so much I couldn’t change. So many ways I lost the right to choose.

And I hated it!

Wasn’t long and that sense of helplessness permeated every corner. Even when it didn’t belong there. I began to feel as if I couldn’t control anything.

So in many ways I stopped trying.

But then one day I woke from the fog of despair. I remembered that there WERE some areas of life where I could still make choices.

And it was empowering!

So here’s a list that I pray gives hope to other hurting hearts.

THINGS I CAN CONTROL

My attitude (how I react to what others say or do)
My thoughts (with great difficulty sometimes)
My perspective (when I’m careful to fill my mind, heart and eyes with truth)
If I’m honest (about ALL things-including my feelings)
Who my friends are (from my end-can’t stop people from walking away)
What books I read (I am choosy and only read things that feed my soul)
What media I consume (stay away from toxic people, topics and television)
What type of food I eat (healthy, appropriate amounts)
How often I exercise (a walk, gentle yoga, online video routines)
How many risks I take (not just physical ones, but also emotional and relational risks)
How kind I am to others (being wounded does not give me the right to wound)
How I interpret situations (do I assume the best or the worst?)
How kind I am to myself (extending the same grace to ME that I extend to others)
How often and to whom I say, “I love you”
How often and to whom I say, “Thank you”
How I express my feelings (I can learn healthy ways to speak my truth)
Whether or not I ask for help (no one gets “points” for playing the martyr)
How many times I smile in a day (smiling, by itself, lifts mood-even a “fake” smile)
The amount of effort I choose to put forth
How I spend my money
How much time I spend worrying (or praying or complaining)
How often I spend moments blaming myself or others for past actions
Whether or not I judge other people
Whether or not I try again when I suffer a setback or disappointment (success is getting up one more time than I fall down)
How much I appreciate the people and things in my life

Exercising control over the parts of my life where I CAN exercise control helps me deal more effectively with the many parts over which I have no control

It does not undo the sorrow and pain of child loss, but it does work to balance the emotional scales.

It makes it easier to face a new day.

It helps me hold onto hope.

And that is a good thing. ❤

whenyoucan27tcontrolthewindadjustyoursails

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 eleven years of intervening experience, nearly eleven years of grief work, nearly eleven 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.

❤

Is My Marriage Doomed After Child Loss? Absolutely Not.

A few decades ago, faulty research methods made popular an inaccurate statistic that a disproportionate number of marriages fail after a couple experiences child loss.

Like many urban legends, once fixed in the minds of many, it’s nearly impossible to dislodge.

And that is more than unfortunate because when marriages falter (and they often do) after child loss, some people just give up because they think failure is inevitable.

But it’s not.

Marriage is hard under any circumstances. It requires sacrifice, compromise, communication, change and most importantly, commitment.

Any stressor makes it harder.

I can’t think of a bigger stressor than child loss. It’s no surprise that many marriages tend to flounder in the tsunami of grief, sorrow and pain that follows the death of a child.

But grief rarely causes the problems that surface, it simply makes them unavoidable.

Suddenly all the energy that was once available to deflect, to distract, to pretend is gone. And things that have gone unaddressed for years or decades can no longer be ignored.

Read the rest here: Child Loss: Can My Marriage Survive?

Some Days are Good, Some Days are Bad-It’s All Part of the Journey

Will today be a good day or a bad day?

Not sure yet.

Mainly because what usually determines THAT is something that happens (or doesn’t happen) at some point after my morning quiet time.

But whether it’s a good day, a bad day or somewhere in between, it is absolutely, completely, utterly NORMAL for my emotions to change as I make my way down the path called “Child Loss”.

As long as I am doing the work grief requires I will continue to have some better days.

But grief still comes in waves in response to triggers or in response to nothing at all and it may be a bad day.

How well did I sleep, rest, eat or exercise? My body affects my emotions in ways I don’t fully understand but absolutely experience.

Stress can bring tears to the surface. Even GOOD stress can do it. Looking forward to things, planning a party, large meal, trip or event is stressful, even if it isn’t sad. All stress weakens my defenses and makes it harder to employ the techniques I’ve mastered for diverting my thoughts or controlling my tears.

Sunshine or rain? I have learned to count the number of recent cloudy days if I wake one morning feeling bluer than normal. I often realize that a week or more has passed since I’ve seen the sun.

Too much interaction or too little interaction with other humans makes a BIG difference. My introvert self loves long afternoons alone, sitting in silence with a book or crochet, quiet walks in the woods and chore-filled days without music blaring. But healthy solitude can turn to withdrawal if I let it and sometimes I realize my sudden sense of overwhelming grief is, in part, due to lack of human company.

The list is endless.

Thankfully, at nearly eleven years, the better days outnumber the worse ones for me.

But no matter what kind of day it may be, I no longer worry if it’s normal.

Because it’s ALL normal. ❤

you will have good days bad days keep showing up

There Is No Such Thing As “Safe”

I remember as a young mother of four working hard to keep my kids safe.

dominic and siblings little children at nannys

Next to fed and dry (two still in diapers!) that was each day’s goal: No one got hurt.

It never occurred to me THEN to add: No one got killed.

Because the most outlandish thing I could imagine was one of them falling or touching a hot stove and us having to rush to the emergency room.

Then I became a mother of teens and one by one they acquired a driver’s license and motored away from our home.

That’s when I began to beg God to spare their lives.

One particularly frightening test was when all four went to Louisiana-my eldest driving and the rest in the van with her. I made them call me every hour and tell me they were OK. It was the first time I realized that I could lose every one of them in a single instant should they crash-all my eggs in one basket.

I was glad when that day was over. Although the irony is they were no “safer” at the end of those 24 hours than they were at the beginning.

Because what I know now, but didn’t know then is this: There is no such thing as “safe”.

Not the way we like to think of it-not the way we add labels to devices, seat belts to cars, helmets to everything from bicycles to skateboards. Of course we should absolutely take precautions! Many lives are saved by them every single day.

But. BUT…

Life is more random than we want to admit. And there is no defense against random.

There is no way to screen for every underlying physical abnormality, no way to drive so well you can stop the drunk or inattentive driver from plowing through a stop sign, no way to anticipate every foolish choice a young person might make that ends in disaster instead of a funny story.

My first response when Dominic died driving his motorcycle was that I wanted my surviving sons to sell theirs. They did so out of respect for me. Neither of them wanted their mama to have to endure a second knock on the door and the same message delivered twice.

I receive it as a sacrifice offered in love from them.

Because it was.

Since Dominic left us almost [eleven] years ago, I have had to deal with my desperate need to keep my living children safe.

And it is a real struggle.

Each child is involved in a career that includes inherent risk. None of them are foolhardy, but they are exposed-perhaps more than many-to potential bad actors and dangerous circumstances.

julian and branch in snow — This branch fell just minutes after my son was standing in that spot splitting logs.

How I long for those days when I could tuck everyone in, turn out the lights and sleep soundly because all my chicks were safe inside my own little coop! How I wish the only danger I thought about or knew about was a bump on the head from hitting a coffee table!

How my heart aches for one more moment of blissful ignorance!

But I can’t live in some imagined water color past. I have to live in the world as it is.

So I remind my heart that safe is an illusion-no matter where we are. Life is not living if it’s only about preserving breath and not about making a difference.

And I let go.

Over and over and over.

I release them to be who they were meant to be.

Even if it costs more than I am willing to give.

fiona james and julian at james wedding by water

Remembering All The “Lasts”

One of the things even the most uninformed person understands about loss is that the first birthday, the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas and all the “firsts” after loss will be hard.

But one of the things no one tells you about is that a heart will mark the “lasts” just as much.

The last time I saw him.

The last time I spoke to him.

The last time I hugged his neck and smelled the unique fragrance that was my son.

Every year as I approach the anniversary of the day Dominic left this life and stepped into Heaven, I also remember all the last times.

It’s hard on a heart to think about and wish that somehow I had made more of those moments. I long to have just one more opportunity to say what needs to be said, to see his smile, hear his voice, and hug his neck.

But there’s no going back.

So part of the pain of marking the milestones is knowing there is no way to change a thing. Not only the FACT that my son is gone, gone, gone. But also the FACT that whatever I said or did or left unsaid or undone is utterly and undeniably carved in stone.

I don’t know why this anniversary is hitting my heart harder than last year. Maybe it’s because I recognize how much life has happened since Dominic left us. Maybe it’s because I think in terms of decades. Maybe it’s because there are so many exciting family celebrations that he won’t be part of.

I have no idea.

But it’s nearly eleven long years since my son crossed the threshold of his family home. It’s nearly eleven years since I heard that familiar deep “Hey!”. It’s nearly eleven years since I waved him down the driveway and hollered, “Be careful!” as he drove back to his apartment.

I am thankful for the faithful love of my God and my family. I am thankful for the compassionate companionship of friends. I am thankful that I am still standing after the awful blow that I was sure would knock me so far down I’d never get up again.

But I miss him. I miss him. I miss him.

I will never be able to watch the early spring flowers bloom again without also remembering that it was those blossoms that heralded the good weather that lured him to take his motorcycle that night.

I will never hear Spring Break plans without counting the days between his last Spring Break trip and the day he met Jesus.

I cannot step outside and smell the grass growing, feel the breeze blowing and hear the birds singing without my heart skipping beats and doing the math. Today marks less than two months before the day he left us.

I understand that for others-if they remember at all-Dominic’s departure is a day circled on the calendar.

For me, it’s an entire season.

I mark every single day that led up to that day. I remember every single conversation, meeting, text and phone call. I remember all the things I did and regret all the things I didn’t do.

While the world is celebrating new life, I’m remembering a life that ended.

Dear Friend, Have a Day. It Doesn’t Have to Be a Good One.

I don’t know about you, but I think of every day as a blank canvas and it’s my responsibility to paint something useful or beautiful or helpful on it.

I’m a list maker so each night before I drift off, I usually jot down 3 or 300 things I would like to do the next day.

I get up, get started and then (more often than I’d like to confess!) hit a wall.

Read the rest here: Have A Day. It Doesn’t Have to Be a Good One.

After Almost Ten Years, Why Am I Still Writing

I ask myself this question often: Do I want to keep writing in this space?

Sometimes the answer is a resounding, “no!”.

Because while I love to write, some days it’s hard to put together words in a way others can understand. Sometimes I’m tired, or rushed or just tired of thinking about how grief and loss impact my life.

And then I ask the follow up: Do I still have anything to say?

That’s the one that keeps me here.

Because as soon as I think the answer is “no” to that question, a conversation or a comment thread or a personal experience brings up something that I feel I need or want to write about.

So I sit down and begin again.

I made a commitment in the beginning to be as honest as possible and I’ve done that the best I know how while protecting identities of those who are part of my story but who have their own stories to tell (should they choose).

I also promised to be transparent about my thoughts on God, on faith, on life everlasting. I feel like I’ve done that. In fact, I’m pretty sure some of my rambling has shocked friends and family from time to time. But I’m not afraid of shocking God. He knows my frame, knows my heart and cannot be made small by my questions or doubts.

I try to do research when appropriate to bring together resources and ideas for bereaved parents in one place.

One of the most frustrating things to me in the early months of missing Dominic was how hard it was to find good resources. The Internet is not your friend if you are looking for local and accessible help for practical problems. It was over a year and a half before I found a closed group of like-minded bereaved parents. But once I did, oh, what a difference that made in my journey!

So if you are interested in finding a safe, closed group, ask me. I know of several.

And then there’s the sweet comments that (usually) mamas send my way-either through Facebook or here. When someone writes that looking for the blog post each morning helps them get out of bed-well, that’s both encouragement and a serious responsibility. I don’t want to not show up and disappoint a heart. Even when all I have to offer is only my words.

So for now, at least, I plan to stay.

When my life circumstances make it impossible to carry on or I run out of things to say (which my mother will swear won’t happen!) then I’ll quit.

I send each post into cyberspace with a prayer-even for my readers who don’t believe in prayer:

“Father God, help each heart hold onto hope. Send a ray of sunshine into every cloudy day. Bring someone along who will listen, who will care and who will offer a hand to the one who is too weary and broken to take another step. Help them believe that they are seen, they are loved and that they matter. Overwhelm them with Your love, grace and mercy.”

You DO matter.

I DO care.

If you need to talk, message me.

If you need a safe space, I’ll direct you to it.

I’m not going anywhere.

Choosing Love: Why Unfinished Stories Make Us Uncomfortable

Attention spans are shorter than ever.

It’s easy to understand why. We live in a world full of sound bytes, memes, tweets and T-shirt slogans.

But life can’t be reduced to such little snippets, even if we wish it could.

Not every biography has the perfect “beginning, middle, end” arch that makes for a good and satisfying story.

Some of us can’t tie up our experiences in tidy boxes, with colorful bows and a lovely tag line that inspires thousands.

We are living unfinished, messy, hard stories that keep shifting, changing and require us to face mountain after mountain and valley after valley.

And we stumble.

A lot.

Read the rest here: Fix It Or Forget It: Why Unfinished Stories Make Others Uncomfortable

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