grief journey – Page 29 – thelifeididntchoose

Palm Sunday Reflections…Eleven Years Later

Many of you are aware Dominic was killed the Saturday before Palm Sunday in 2014.

I spent THAT day contacting friends and family who needed to know, welcoming the warm hugs and sad faces of folks driving up our long driveway to offer prayers and help, and just trying to breathe.

Waiting, waiting, waiting for my husband to get home from his job in California. Looking desperately for James Michael to make it here from West Virginia. Walking-because I couldn’t sit still-and weeping because I couldn’t contain the sorrow.

By Sunday everyone was under the same roof and we went to church.

Not because of some super-spiritual commitment to show the world we hadn’t lost our faith but because it was a habit and we had no idea what else to do as we waited for Dominic’s body to be released from the coroner’s office at the state capital.

I don’t remember much from that service. I have no idea what the sermon was about or what songs were sung.

I do remember that at one point the pastor asked the question, “If you could have any super power in the world, what would you choose?” and then went on to list a few, including the ability to turn back time.

My surviving children and I locked eyes. No question. THAT was what we longed for. Go back to the moment Dominic left his apartment. Warn him to stay home. Change the story.

I also remember a sweet friend who hobbled over on crutches (she had injured her leg) during worship to just put her arm around me and allowing me to lean into her, telling me with her presence that she was oh, so very sorry.

I can’t testify that after Dom’s funeral I was inclined to show up on Sunday to a space where (by my standard of suffering) folks sang songs about the sacrifice of worship without a clue.

I couldn’t take the pseudo closeness of people physically pressing in and asking me how I was doing when I had no idea. They meant well. They truly did. But it felt like pressure to provide an answer that would assuage THEIR fears that, faced with the same loss, faith would survive.

I can tell you that after eleven years I am headed to my local congregation this morning with a different perspective.

My heart still hurts marking these days. I’ve got to get past Resurrection Sunday and the Monday following before I’ve walked through it all, including his funeral and burial.

But my Shepherd King has been faithful to lead me with gentleness and mercy along this broken road.

He gave me rest when I needed it and pushed me to walk on when I didn’t want to but it was the right thing to do.

I’ve learned that while others may not know MY pain, they have their own and the comfort I’ve received from Jesus is mine to share with them.

I know I can’t turn back time and, in my heart of hearts, wouldn’t want to.

Dominic is experiencing the fullness of what we hope one day to see.

His joy is full.

Mine will be too-sooner than I think.

–

Eleven 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 eleventh 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 4018 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 eleven 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.

Was It a Dream? The Gap Grows.

Tomorrow will be eleven years since Dominic left this life and entered Heaven.

I had someone ask me last week how I was doing and, surprisingly, I could honestly reply I was doing OK.

Today, not so much.

The gap between life lived AFTER and life lived BEFORE is growing and while I cherish every new memory, the old ones are fading.

My cousin asked me about that yesterday and I told her that sometimes it almost seems like a dream-a family of four children, growing, learning and striving toward what I thought would be a future knit together in love and shared experiences.

Oh, you say, “But you still have three children and now you have grandchildren!”

Yes, yes I do. I am thrilled and work hard to be present for them and for every important moment they celebrate or sad moment they struggle through or ordinary moment when we sit having snacks outside under the sun.

But this mama’s heart was enlarged to hold another child who is now forever absent.

And that space is always present and always empty.

Tomorrow I have foolishly agreed to participate in a church event.

I will show up and I will share the gospel with the little children whose upturned faces will remind me that even they are vulnerable to the awful curse of a fallen world.

Pray that I have the strength to be engaged.

Pray that seeds will be sown and lives will be changed.

Pray for those who already carry loss and for those who will face it in the future.

There Is NO Rush, Dear Heart. Take Your Time.

Time, by itself, does not heal all wounds.

But of all the factors that promote healing, there is NO SUBSTITUTE for time–not in the physical world of surgery and broken bones and deep wounds and not in the inner world of emotional pain and brokenness and sorrow.

Our bodies are made to be amazingly resilient.

Most people don’t really think of surgery as an assault on the body, but it is.

The surgeon knifes through layers of flesh and tissue that are designed to keep intruders out, mucks about inside, does what he or she came to do, and closes up–hopefully without introducing bacteria into the wound. Some medication may be prescribed to promote healing, control pain and reduce the risk of infection.

Then the patient goes home to recover.

But it is really TIME and the body’s own healing powers that do the lion’s share of the work.

Our hearts and minds can be resilient too.

Frequently, someone who suffers an assault on their emotions may not bear outward signs and symbols to mark what they’ve been through. And well-meaning friends and family can forget that healing has only begun and is far from complete.

Sometimes broken people feel pressured to put on a brave face and to stuff their feelings.

For the body, ignoring doctor’s orders to rest after surgery can mean another hospital stay due to complications that might have been avoided if the patient had been given sufficient time to recover.

Emotionally wounded people can end up with complications from pressure to rejoin regular activities and engage society in ways for which they are not yet ready.

It takes TIME to heal from burying a child or any other traumatic loss.

There is no way to rush the healing. It takes HOURS AND HOURS to think about, respond to and process the feelings that overwhelm anyone who is grieving or trying to cope with emotional upheaval of any kind.

So be patient with yourself.

Understand that there will be good days and bad days.
There will be forward movement and steps backward.
Sometimes it will be easy to do something or go somewhere and the next time it might be really hard.

And don’t be afraid to let others know you are still healing.

Deep emotional wounds require great care and an extended period of time to heal if the healing is to be sound and free from unnecessary complications.

You are not selfish to draw boundaries around what you can and can’t do, what you will and won’t allow and where and when you engage with others-you are being wise.

For those walking with the wounded: extend grace and be patient.

Thank God you are not bearing this burden and be mindful of placing demands or pressure on the wounded to heal according to a predetermined timetable.

Then support them in their effort to give themselves the TIME they need to heal.

As If Time Were In OUR Hands…

Every spring and every fall we dutifully make the rounds to our clocks and digital devices, putting them first forward an hour and then back in an attempt to make the days “longer”.

As if time was in our hands.

The sun rises and sets according to the Creator’s schedule, we can neither speed the world’s turning, nor slow it down.

We can only choose whether to be present in the moments He grants us.

The day Dominic died settled firmly any ideas I may have had about time, or control, or knowing what the future holds. In one instant, a line was drawn across the years and they were divided into “before” and “after”. I couldn’t turn back the clock and gain even a single hour of the days or weeks or months before his accident.

Don’t waste the precious and irretrievable hours you are given-we are all just one breath away from eternity.

Clocks don’t determine the length and quality of my days–love, laughter and gentleness do.

None of us knows when our lives will end.

Because I have been forced to face the truth that time is in God’s hands-I choose to spend the time He gives me on things that matter, pouring into the lives of those around me and sharing what’s important with those I love.

So teach us to number our days

that we may gain a heart of wisdom

Psalm 90:12

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

Refusing to Hide: Lament Is Worship

We usually think of worship as songs of joy and happiness extolling the virtues of God and Christ.

While that is most certainly a form of worship, it is absolutely not the only one.

Biblical lament is an honest, vulnerable expression of pain, a crying out to God in faith as we are suffering.
― Cindee Snider Re

Worship is also the broken whimper of a scared and wounded child, crawling into the lap of her Abba Father.

Read the rest here: Refuse to Hide: Lament As Worship

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. ❤

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