grief – Page 274 – thelifeididntchoose

Waiting With Hope

Oh, we mamas are experts at waiting.

We wait for nine months to hold that little person growing inside us. We wait for them to learn to crawl, walk, talk and read. And then we wait to pick them up at school, for piano and dance lessons to be over and ball practice to end.

As long as our children are with us, we are always waiting for something.

We never expect to be waiting to join them in heaven.

But some of us are.

And this waiting is real hard-not like the other times when I knew about when the waiting would end. Even though it was sometimes tiresome, lessons and practice wouldn’t last much longer than the appointed time.

I guess I believe there is an appointed time for this waiting to end as well.

I do believe that God has my life in His hands. When my work here is through, He will call me home, just as He called Dominic.

Trouble is, I can’t find a clock that tells that time. I can’t look at a calendar and know for certain THIS will be the day.

And not knowing how LONG I have to hold on is a huge part of what makes it

so.

very.

hard.

Sometimes I want to give up. Sometimes I want to let go of hope and dive into despair.

Some days I am afraid I can’t keep on keeping on.

Not. one. more. step.

But God has promised to meet me even here.

His Word tells me that there is a reward for those who wait with hope, who trust even when it seems foolish and who lean in even when they would rather run away.

But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him,
on those whose hope is in his unfailing love,
to deliver them from death
and keep them alive in famine.

  We wait in hope for the Lord;
    he is our help and our shield.
In him our hearts rejoice,
    for we trust in his holy name.
  May your unfailing love be with us, Lord,
    even as we put our hope in you.
Psalm 33:18-22 NIV

The Amplified Bible renders that last verse like this: “Let Your mercy and loving-kindness, O Lord, be upon us, in proportion to our waiting and hoping for You.”

In proportion to my waiting and hoping, God will fill my hurting heart with HIS mercy and loving-kindness.

He will strengthen me regardless of how many days I must walk in this waiting.

If I hold onto the hope I have in Christ, He promises not to let go of the other end.

Shake Off the Shame

shame

Shame is a shackle as sure as any chains forged from iron.

And it often finds its home in the hearts of those who bury a child.

Bereaved parents may feel shame for lots of reasons:

Circumstances surrounding the death of their child-suicide, alcohol, drug abuse;
Inability to provide the funeral or burial they want due to financial constraints;
Missing signs or symptoms of an illness that may have led to death;
Family dynamics that pushed a child away from home or relationship.

The list could be endless-on the other side of child loss our brains pick apart every interaction, every choice, every moment that could have gone one way but went another.

Grief is WORK.

But it is impossible to make my way through the pile of emotions if I’m shackled by shame. I can’t move freely and effectively if I’m bound hand and foot by things I can’t control and can’t change.

In the midst of all this work, some bereaved parents find they are immobilized by depression and/or anxiety and need medication to help them through.

woman looking through rainiy window.jpg

And they feel ashamed.

Can I just say this?

There is NO shame in seeking help.

There is nothing shameful about using whatever tools are available to make this awful journey more manageable.

A wise and kind doctor friend said, “Medication does not make the sorrow and pain go away, but it can calm the mind and create space so you can do the work grief requires.”

You are not a failure if you need medical help to quiet your mind. You are not weak if you take a pill to keep from feeling like you’re going to come out of your skin. You have done nothing wrong if you can’t sleep and require a sleep aid to allow your body the rest it needs to carry on.

Don’t compare your journey to anyone else’s.

You are unique. Your path through this heartache is your own.

Do what you need to- for YOU.

Shake off the shame.

grief-is-not-linear

It’s Personal! — Boxx Banter

From my friend and fellow bereaved mother, Janet Boxx:

“Talk to me when your world has collapsed around you. Talk to me when you are afraid. Talk to me when you can name your fears and when they are a vague Specter looming threateningly over your shoulder, unnamed but real nonetheless. Talk to me when you are afraid to take your Savior’s hand and when you are equally afraid not to. Talk to me when the ability to project a positive outlook has been striped from your arsenal of weapons. Talk to me when it becomes desperately and intimately personal. Then I will think you understand. . .”

“God is good all the time”, is not a flip statement you rattle off to project confidence in your Savior. It’s not a mantra you repeat hoping to convince yourself of its truth. Those six words are a sacrifice of praise that are torn from the depths of despair and lifted in defiance from the ashes of a life burned down around you.

via It’s Personal! — Boxx Banter

Assurance

I know many who wonder about the eternal destiny of loved ones.

God in His mercy extends grace to everyone who believes.

thief-on-the-cross-yancey

NOTHING can separate us from the love of God:

nothing-can-separate-hands

God promises that HE holds on to US–HE finishes the work He began in us.

“And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.”

Philippians 1:6 NLT

Even if the last choice someone made was a foolish one, or a desperate one, The Good Shepherd brings all His sheep home.

“My sheep recognize my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them real and eternal life. They are protected from the Destroyer for good. No one can steal them from out of my hand. The Father who put them under my care is so much greater than the Destroyer and Thief. No one could ever get them away from him. I and the Father are one heart and mind.” ~Jesus

John 10:27-30 MSG

sheperd

No. It’s a Complete Sentence.

When news that Dominic left us spread, our yard was filled with friends and family here to help bear the burden of grief and loss.

Our house was bursting with people and food and phone calls-more coming and going than our gravel lane had seen in a lifetime of living up in the woods.

It was beautiful and terrible all at the same time. Beautiful because we were not alone in our sorrow and terrible because it was due to that sorrow they were here.

In those days between the accident and the funeral I was boundary-less.

People hugged me, fed me, cleaned my house, cut my grass, tended the animals, asked me questions, told me stories and I just accepted it-whatever “it” was-because I was utterly unable to do anything else.

But in the weeks that followed, as the pain made itself more at home in my heart-as it expanded to fill every nook and crevice-I realized that I had to put up some fences.

My oldest son was getting married just a couple months after the accident.

There’s a lot of stuff to do for a wedding as most folks know. So I got a phone call one week after Dominic’s funeral and the person on the other end launched into a long saga regarding a minor detail and expected me to 1) listen attentively; 2) care as deeply as they did about something that absolutely didn’t matter; and 3) join with them in light-hearted, laughter-filled banter.

I just. couldn’t. do. it.

So I didn’t.

I politely but firmly explained that I was unable to continue the conversation and that in future they needed to contact me through my son. I promised I was 100% committed to making the wedding happen, to doing my part and to being as happy as possible on the day.

But until then, unless it was a true emergency, please leave me alone.

Drawing a boundary created space for me to DO what needed to be done without the added burden of extra emotional baggage.

Before Dominic left us I was a “yes” person.

Smiling stylish woman showing sign excellently, isolated on red

Need help with an event? Why, sure I’m available.

Need someone to take your Sunday School class? Absolutely.

Keep your toddler? Just drop him off-we’ll play with the critters all day.

Phone call counselor and Homeschool Help Hotline-that was me.

Not anymore.

I’ve learned that if I am to have the energy needed to do necessary things, I have to protect my heart. I am too weak to carry everyone else’s burdens. If I am going to survive this journey I’ve got to prioritize.

I still listen.

I still help.

But I do it in a more healthy way-with respect for myself as well as others.

It is OK to say, “No.” And I don’t have to offer a reason. It’s a complete sentence all on its own.

All of my children had urged me over the years to draw boundaries. But I had grown from a parent-pleasing first born into a people pleasing adult and I just couldn’t do it.

Dominic even crafted a wire sign that hung on my kitchen curtains in the shape of a cursive “no”.

He made me repeat the mantra: Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.

He’d be proud of me for finally taking his advice.

Repost: I Am NOT Crazy!

It comes up over and over in support groups for bereaved parents:

Am I normal?

Am I doing alright, coping well, making progress?

Do others struggle to get through a day even months or years after losing a child?

I want to reach through the computer screen and hug each one.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

You. are. NOT. alone.

You. are. NOT, Crazy!

Homesick

desire-for-another-world-c-s-lewis

Forty years!

Forty years Israel wandered in the desert, unable to claim the promise given them through Moses.

Forty years forbidden to set foot across the Jordan and partake of the bounty that lay on the other side.

Forty years of death as the rebellious ones were laid to rest because of their rebellion.

I bet they got tired of traveling. I bet they were weary of moving on. I bet they wondered (even though they had sure knowledge) just when this would be over.

And all that time, even in the midst of their heartsick longing to go back, have a do-over, make it right and the heavy weight of knowing, knowing, knowing there would be no going back, the LORD was in their midst-a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night-He was there.

I understand completely.

Sundown yesterday began the Feast of Tabernacles for Jews around the world. It’s a seven day period to celebrate God’s faithfulness in the wilderness and to remember that this world is not our home.

Feast of Tabernacles Transp.png

I think it is a beautiful tradition and a wonderful way to speak truth to our hearts.

Because it’s easy to forget.

Unless something happens that sharpens the homesick longing that lies latent in all our hearts, it’s easy to get comfortable here. Life seems pretty good-we gather our people and our stuff around us and think, “I could stay here forever.”

But no one stays here forever.

This world is not my home.

It never has been.

And I am tired of traveling. I am tired of moving on. I wonder just when this is going to be over.

But even here, God is in the midst of it.

Emmanuel-God With Us-is near.

Jehovah-Shalom-The LORD My Peace-is speaking peace that passes understanding to my weary spirit.

I was created for a place where love and light reign and sickness and death cannot enter.

I feel it every day.

“I began to try to define the pain I felt. Yes, it was sorrow, but it was something more, something infinitely deeper. I felt it all the time, even when I was happy. It wasn’t just sorrow. It was a longing; a pining for a better place and time … no, not just a better place and time, a perfect place and time; a different reality. It felt like longing for home, but not for a home I had ever been to. I began to see that it was something like homesickness …. Perhaps Christians are the most consistently homesick people in the world because they know this world (as it is) isn’t their true home. Yes, I was home, but I was still homesick.”
~Elyse Fitzpatrick, Home

Repost: The Forgotten Ones-Grieving Siblings

I continue to be amazed at the resiliency of my surviving children.

They have shouldered the burden of loss so bravely and well.

But it is hard.

And everyone needs help to carry on.

As midterms approach, I was reminded that surviving siblings often exhibit signs they need help that may go unnoticed by those around them.

So I wanted to post this again-it has been shared thousands of times and seems to be helpful: The Forgotten Ones: Grieving Siblings

Strong or Weak? How Labels Harm the Hurting

Labels and categories can be helpful. When cruising the grocery aisles I’m thankful for the signs that point the way to “vegetables” or “baking needs”.

But labels can be harmful when applied to people.

label-jars-not-people

Thankfully public discussion rarely includes some of the ugly words I heard growing up.

And that’s a good thing.

It means we are free to talk about the things that really matter without having to clear the hurdle of offense.

This trend has yet to take hold in wider circles when speaking about or speaking to bereaved parents and other hurting people.

From the outside looking in, we tend to classify struggling hearts as either “strong” or “weak”. We apply standards based on our own experience and background to determine whether or not a particular soul is “handling it well” or “crumbling under the stress”.

The problem with labels for hurting people is that it puts extra pressure on them and lets those around them off the hook.

heard-stories-but-not-know-heart

You probably mean it as a compliment when you say, “You are so strong”.

But I know it’s not true-I’ve gotten very good at holding it together in public and at saying all the right things when I meet folks on the street.

I can look you in the eye, recite answers to the question of , “How are you doing?” by focusing on the current status of my surviving adult children. What you probably won’t notice among the well-rehearsed lines is I never share my heart-I never tell you how I FEEL.

If I opened that vault there’s no telling what might spill out.

You walk away confirmed in your opinion that I am doing well, that I no longer need any active encouragement or ongoing prayer. I’m off the “ministry list” because I am past the point of crisis and doing just fine.

Or you may see me at a vulnerable moment and think, “She’s weak” or “She’s really struggling”.

I AM weak and I DO struggle.

If you are tired of hearing about the ongoing struggle, how tired do you imagine I am living it?

If you wish I would “get over it”-how much more do you think I wish it never happened?

You may give up because it’s too much trouble to keep reaching out. You may tuck me in the basket of lost causes because you think I’m not committed to keep trying.

It’s easy to draw a line in the sand and decide that you will go thus far and no farther in extending help or encouragement or grace because you CAN walk away.

But I am not a lost cause.

Each day Jesus meets me in my weakness and brokenness and gives me the strength I need to carry on.

And He often does this through people-people who choose to walk alongside and not label me or my journey. People who are committed to continue even when they are tired of helping carry the burden and sick of hearing my story.

Grace–abundant grace-given and received is what makes life livable.

Love, not labels is what I need.

It’s what everyone needs.

never-forget-the-ones-who-helped-me-through-grief

Holiday Planning Helps for Grieving Parents

As much as I hate the mashup of Halloween/Thanksgiving/Christmas that assaults my senses every time I walk into a store, it IS a reminder that, like it or not, the holidays are coming.