Category: grief journey

Ten Years: I’m Not Refusing to Accept He’s Gone…

Even therapists get it wrong sometimes.

Especially therapists that only know what child loss is supposed to look like from books and lectures.

I understand how logical it seems that a parent should be able to accept his or her child is no longer alive. After all, most of us saw our child’s lifeless body and performed whatever rituals our hearts find most comforting.

We haven’t received a phone call, text, message or new photograph. Weeks, months and years pass and no word.

Of course this child is gone.

But a mama’s heart still hopes. Somewhere deep down there is a part of me that longs for connection to this child I carried, nurtured and loved.

So sometimes my heart will play tricks on me.

Read the rest here: Am I Refusing To Accept My Child Is Gone?

Ten Years: It’s STILL Complicated

I first shared this post eight years ago after a group of bereaved parents and I were talking about how things that used to be simple and straightforward simply weren’t anymore.

Things like the question, “How many kids do you have?”

Things like going to a movie or picking a place to eat out.

So. Many. Things.

Honestly, I thought it’d be less of a minefield by now-I mean it’s been ten years already! And while there ARE some things that I find easier, most of the things I talk about in this post are still hard.

❤ Melanie

One of the things I’ve been forced to embrace in the wake of child loss is that there are very few questions, experiences or feelings that are simple anymore.

“How many children do you have?”

A common, get-to-know-you question lobbed across tables, down pews and in the check-out line at the grocery store.  But for many bereaved parents, it can be a complex question that gets a different answer depending on who is asking and where we are.

Read the rest here: It’s Complicated

Ten Years is a LONG Time

Today marks ten years since we gathered with friends and family to say our final good-bye to Dominic.

It had been nine long days since the deputy woke me up on April 12th. Days when I was both unbelieving and overwhelmed by the fact my son would never cross the threshold again.

I woke up that morning numb.

I’d cried every day but for some reason when faced with this final act I couldn’t muster tears.

We received folks for a couple of hours before the service began and during that time I reached behind my back and placed my fingers in Dominic’s cold right hand clinging to the few moments I had left with his earthly shell.

So, so many people I didn’t expect to come, came. So, so many hugs and whispered words and sad smiles marched past as we were forced to participate in a parent’s worst nightmare.

When the funeral director indicated it was “time” I didn’t want to let go. I turned, kissed his cheek and drank in the last glimpse of his face in this life.

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Ten years have come and gone.

The first few were excruciating-I experienced every moment of every day through my pain. I spent hours upon hours thinking about and processing what had happened and what I’d lost.

Gradually, over time, and by doing the work grief requires, I have become stronger and life has grown around my loss. I’ve learned that joy and sadness can coexist. Color has returned to my grayscale world. Most of the shattered pieces of me have reassembled themselves into a kind of whole. My family has survived.

I’m so thankful for every person who helped that day when we laid Dominic to rest. I’m so thankful for every person who has helped since. I’m especially thankful to my family for not giving up on me or on one another.

But I’m still astonished that nearly a decade has passed and Dominic is not part of a single memory or photograph.

Grief anniversaries stop me in my tracks and require my full attention.

Today is sacred. It’s a line in the sand marking “before” and “after”.

It deserves to be remembered.

Dominic deserves to be remembered.

So today I will remember. ❤

Ten Years: Reaching For What I Can’t Have

I thought I had at least a passing understanding of what grief is, what it feels like, how it impacts a heart before my son died.

But I was wrong.  

Until you live with it day in and day out for weeks, months, years you really just. don’t. know.

There are so many feelings wrapped up in what we call grief.  So many surprises along this path.

Who knew that the same heart that would do nearly ANYTHING to spare another parent the awful burden of child loss could also be wildly jealous of that same parent’s intact family?

Read the rest here: Jealousy-Reaching For What I Can’t Have

Ten Years: Anxiety, Grief’s Traveling Companion

At the recent Our Hearts are Home bereaved parent conference, this was a hot topic.

Bereaved parents battle anxiety on a daily basis:

* Are my surviving kids and spouse OK?

* What do I say when someone asks, “How many children do you have”?

* Why can’t I remember anything?

* Will my boss understand that I am just unable to perform my job duties as I used to?

Worse still, is the unexpected wrong number in the night that sends your heart racing and ends all hope of further sleep.

This post is for you, my precious fellow travelers.

❤ Melanie

Grief has a traveling companion:  Anxiety.  And it is relentless.

Before Dominic ran ahead to heaven I had no idea that along with sorrow, missing and heartache, I would have to battle a creeping sense of dread that could turn an ordinary day into a nightmare.

I’ve learned to plan ahead and minimize triggers I can identify, but sometimes I find myself suddenly overwhelmed with no easy means of escape.

That’s when I apply this technique.

Read the rest here: Grounding Exercise for Anxiety

Such Beauty in Community!

It’s hard to explain to anyone who is not part of the child loss community that even though we would NEVER have chosen to join their ranks, these folks are some of the most amazing, compassionate and ENCOURAGING people in the world.

I just got home from Lynchburg, exhausted and definitely looking forward to rest, but also encouraged and excited to keep company in person and online with some of these brave souls.

It was an amazing two days sharing hearts and stories, getting to hug necks and spending time listening to parents speak about their precious children. 

I am always encouraged when I look around a room and see real conversations taking place between two earnest faces who are clearly experiencing “me too” moments. 

So, so much grace, comfort, love and compassion flowed!

Oh, there were tears but there was also lots and lots of laughter.

Lots of conversation around meals and coffee.

We were free to speak aloud many of the words we are so often forced to swallow in daily life. No one was shocked anyone was *still* missing his or her child or slept with her daughter’s pillow, a toddler’s stuffie or in their son’s old t-shirt.

We rehearsed THAT MOMENT and how it divided time into before and after.

Knowing glances passed when one mama shared how painful it is to have family never mention her boy. And again when a dad asked about what to do with all the anger he felt.

NO explanation necessary.

We understand.

What a joy to help other parents hold onto the hope I have in Jesus and His promises to redeem and restore what the enemy has stolen and destroyed.

I witnessed hearts knit together in sorrow and love.

It was beautiful.

Ten Years and Ten Things (plus one) I’ve Learned About Child Loss

The first time I shared this I was trying to distill years of walking the broken road of child loss into a relatively few, easy to think about, “lessons”.

Since then I could add a dozen more but today I’ll only add one: Being a bereaved parent is not my IDENTITY but it impacts who I am in ways I’m still figuring out.

Just as being married or being female or being from the southern United States informs how I walk in the world and interact with others so, too, does having buried a child.

There’s a lot of pressure to pretend that’s not true.

But I won’t do that.

❤ Melanie

I’ve had awhile to think about this.  Nine years is a long time to live with loss, to live without the child I carried, raised and sent off in the world.

So I’ve considered carefully what my “top ten” might be.

Here’s MY list (yours might be very different):

Read the rest here: Ten Things I’ve Learned About Child Loss

Ten Years: Miles and Milestones

Tomorrow I’ll be headed out to the Our Hearts are Home Spring Conference (https://ourheartsarehome.org/conference) in Virginia.

For the first time, my husband will be joining me traveling to a speaking engagement. It has taken him longer to be comfortable sharing with other bereaved parents but he will be there to talk casually to fellow dads and to lend the strength that ten years carrying this burden brings.

We are choosing to break the journey into smaller bits so both our souls will be less taxed from travel when we get there.

Going slower and taking rests has advantages.

My primary topic will be “What, Exactly, IS Grief Work?”-something near and dear to my heart.

I’m committed (as those who gather here know!) to help the grieving and to help educate those who have, so far, been spared.

Getting ready and gathering my thoughts has propelled me into a whole new season of reflecting on the miles I’ve traveled in this journey and the milestones I’ve observed missing Dominic.

It has been good for my heart but also hard on my heart.

The dates for the conference correspond to the tenth anniversary (do you call it an anniversary?) of Dominic’s leaving for Heaven.

I knew this when I accepted the invitation but the reality of it is another thing altogether.

I’d appreciate prayers as I lean into ministering to other broken-hearted parents for the next several days.

I’m going to need them. ❤


Ten Years: From Grief Chronicler to Grief Guide

When I started writing here I had two primary goals.

The first was to share what I was experiencing-how child loss impacted every aspect of my life and the life of my family. 

The second was to allow those outside the loss community a glimpse into what it was like inside and how they could develop a compassionate and helpful response to their grieving friends. 

For nearly seven years those goals didn’t change. 

But recently I was asked (in the context of business) what kind of work I do and I answered (without thinking) that I was a “Grief Guide”. 

It fell out of my mouth before I had a chance to edit my words. 

I’ve thought a lot about that exchange since and realized it was an honest answer. Although I’d also add that I am a “Grief Advocate”-not that I hope others grieve but I will absolutely, positively stand up for those who ARE grieving. 

It felt right at the time and, I realized, it IS right for me, for now.

I’m in the process of trying to do more long form writing. 

I’m gathering notes from what I’ve shared at conferences, at retreats, in person and online interviews and podcasts to create content that could be published into a book or an anthology of short essays. 

It’s helpful to me and I hope, eventually, it will be helpful to others. 

I don’t think my experience is unique or definitive. 

There are so many ways children leave this world and every family is its own community of loss. I can’t speak for those whose child went to Heaven through long illness or addiction or suicide. I hope the Lord raises up those who experienced that type of loss to share their own stories. 

I can speak to the horror and earth shattering experience of sudden death. 

I can speak as a person of faith to the long and painful process of integrating my lived experience with my beliefs and understanding of who God is and how He works in the world. 

I can speak to the difficulty of parenting (even adult) surviving children and the tightrope I walk managing grief and longing for the one missing with the love and joy of three still with me. 

I can speak to the way life grows around grief and the strength I’ve developed over time which allows me to participate fully in the NOW while holding the BEFORE in my heart. 

I can let friends and family outside our immediate grief circle know about the constant background music loss hums in my ears and the ears of others also mourning a child. There is always a low level (sometimes a greater level!) drain on any energy-emotional, physical, psychological-I may have on a given day. 

I can share how Western society doesn’t provide safe space in the larger context of social gatherings, faith communities and other public places for grievers to just grieve. There is so much pressure to let the funeral or memorial service mark and end to outward expression of sadness, loss, missing and longing. 

I continue to face fresh challenges in this journey which provide new insight and require new courage.

I suspect I will until the day I join Dominic in Heaven. 

My passion for paving the way for those who will (sadly) follow on this journey of child loss has not dimmed. 

❤

Ten Years: What’s Helped and What’s Hurt

If I’m honest, the things that hurt in the first days, weeks and months could fill a book.

But now, I’ve developed a thicker skin and a better perspective.

If you are still early in your journey and, like me, a giant walking nerve, then your list would definitely be different.

I can narrow them down at this point to a few.

What really hurts:

  • Assuming you understand my pain (unless you also have buried a child).
  • Insisting that time=healing.
  • Ignoring the ongoing nature of child loss.
  • Questioning my faith because I question what happened.
  • Refusing space to share about my missing child.
  • Not saying Dominic’s name.
  • Acting like I should “be over it”.
  • Pretending like it never happened or Dominic never existed because it makes you uncomfortable to talk about him.
  • Not acknowledging my surviving children’s grief.
  • Ignoring the times of year when grief is especially heavy like birthdays, holidays, and the anniversary of Dom’s leaving.

What helps:

  • Admitting that you STILL might not know what to say or do to support me and my family in marking the loss of and missing Dominic. It’s OK. I’ll help you.
  • Listening. Even if it’s something you’ve heard before.
  • Reacting to social media posts about Dominic. I’d love to have new photos but I don’t. But I may be sharing a newly recovered memory or exposed feeling.
  • Notes, cards, messages and calls that let me know you KNOW. That you haven’t forgotten and that you still help carry Dom’s light in the world.
  • Granting space and grace when milestones loom large and my capacity for interaction is limited. Don’t ditch me because I don’t get back to you. Please.
  • Accepting that I will never be the person I was BEFORE but that I’m still a person. I need affirmation, love and kindness like everyone else.
  • Asking questions, staying curious and compassionate and allowing me to help you understand how grief is experienced over time.
  • Respecting my boundaries. These have changed since the early days but I still have hard stops that mark the edges of what I can and can’t do and maintain my sanity.
  • Sharing photos or experiences you may have had with Dom. He was an adult when he left us and there are parts of him I don’t know. I always love to see and hear about him. ❤
  • Patience. I didn’t get a manual on how to live after burying my child. I’m learning as I go. I make mistakes, say things I wish I hadn’t said, step on toes. I’m genuinely sorry. I’m doing the very best I can.

I will not say that Dominic’s death is good.

It’s not.

Death is awful and should be recognized for the enemy it is.

But I will say I have gained wisdom through this experience.

I’ve paid a price I would never willingly have paid. And I would trade it all for my boy in the flesh, my arms around him, his deep voice added to the chorus at our table.

I won’t waste it.

I will share it.

I pray every day that it helps other hearts walk this Valley and instructs those walking with us.