grief – Page 289 – thelifeididntchoose

June Challenge: Five Favorite Foods

Day Five of Kathleen Duncan’s June 1-30 challenge.

The prompt: Share your five favorite foods or recipes.

I grew up in the South where Sunday dinner was delicious and church potlucks were prodigious.

If you were blessed to go to a church that had Fifth Sunday spreads, then you know what I mean.

On cement tables back of the church, good cooks pulled out all the stops and brought forth their most prized recipes for public consumption.

If you wanted a taste of Aunt Wilma’s cake or Aunt Mattie Lou’s beans, you had better be in the front of the line, because the best dishes were emptied fast.

So in honor of those warm memories, I share my five favorite church potluck foods:

Dessert First! {One of the privileges of potlucks}

Banana Pudding-a southern staple, this creamy concoction is both beautiful and delicious. It often arrived to the buffet with a corner scooped out because someone HAD to taste it-just to make sure it was good.

Pound Cake-crunchy crust, moist inside and a perfect foil for fresh fruit or ice cream. If you lived in a rural community it was made all the better wtih farm fresh egss, real butter and NEVER imitation vanilla.

Fried Chicken-before it was possible to pick up a box of chicken on almost any corner-good, iron skillet fried chicken was both an art and a treat. Only the best cooks could manage to get the meat done, yet still moist and produce a crispy crust.

Baked Macaroni and Cheese-full of cheesy goodness and oh, so different, than the stuff in the box! I’m sad that some children don’t even know it can be “homemade”.

Creamed Corn-fresh corn, picked and silked, then scalded and scraped from the cob. Grandmama would pull a few bags from the freezer and cook them down in a pot with a little butter and salt. You could taste summer and love in every bite.

I have fond memories of sitting on cement steps, swatting flies and eating delicious food surrounded by people I love.

I felt safe, protected, full and included.

My heart was assured that there would always be enough love, enough food and enough of everything to go around.

Sweet Words

Watching someone you love in pain is very, very hard.

And it’s natural that people want to say something or do something to try to ease the burden.

They might offer a story illustrating that it “could be worse” or rush past an expression of sorrow by changing the subject or even compliment me on “how well I am doing”.

But none of those things makes me feel better.

The most powerfully validating thing that anyone can say to me is, ” I’m here and I’m sorry”.

I’m sorry for your pain.

I’m sorry that life is not what you expected.

I’m sorry that there is no way to undo the things that have happened and no way to shorten the years you have to live with remembering them.

But I’m here with you and I won’t leave you alone, even when I feel helpless.

Acknowledgement without trying to reframe my experience into something you can understand or accept is the greatest gift you can give my hurting heart.

There’s a Hole in My Bucket

I bet most of you reading this have listened to more than one round of the kiddie tune, “There’s a Hole in the Bucket, Dear Liza, Dear Liza”.

It is a funny song full of silly remedies for patching a bucket that won’t hold water even though it’s been dipped in the well and filled to the brim.

I was talking to my husband the other day about how hard it is to describe the ongoing difficulty of living with child loss.

And this song popped into my head.

Good things still happen in our lives (our bucket is being filled) but losing Dominic has put a hole in the bottom of it (the bucket never gets full anymore).

It’s not that we don’t appreciate and enjoy happy moments. We do.

We love seeing our children, we like to celebrate their accomplishments and sing, “Happy Birthday!”.

We are so very proud of who they are and what they have overcome.

We savor the time we get to spend together, we enjoy eating and laughing and sharing experiences.

But we can’t plug the leak of loss that saps our strength and reduces the fullness of our joy.

Hope postponed grieves the heart; but when a dream comes true, life is full and sweet.

Proverbs 13:12 VOICE

Lest anyone think I’ve forgotten that Jesus promises joy to those who follow Him, I haven’t.

But I also know many promises will not be completely realized until He returns as King on Earth.

The lion will lie down with the lamb, but not today.

Swords will be beaten into ploughshares, but not just yet.

There will be no more night, but the sun still sets once every 24 hours.

I am looking forward to the moment when every single thing I now believe in faith will be plain to every eye.

I can’t wait to see the redemption of not only my pain, but ALL pain.

I long for the morning when JOY is all I will know.

In that day the New Jerusalem shall descend and there will be no need for the sun or moon, because the LORD Himself will be the light.

All the way around shall be eighteen thousand cubits; and the name of the city from that day shall be: THE LORD IS THERE.

Ezekiel 48:35 NKJV

Hard Choice

I usually refrain from commenting on current headlines.

I’m not a fan of inflammatory social network back-and-forth.

And I’m pretty sure that if this post is circulated outside my typical readership, someone will react badly to what I say.

But I believe I can offer some perspective that might be missing from the voices yelling at each other over the recent sad incident at the Cincinatti Zoo.

So here it is: I have buried a child.

I know exactly what that mother and father would have faced if their child had been the one taken out of the enclosure lifeless.

And while I am deeply saddened by the loss of a beautiful, majestic and endangered gorilla, my heart cannot make peace with the idea that there was any other option than to secure the safety of that child.

Before I go further let me say this: I am an animal lover. I have always been an animal lover.

I rescue spiders and moths and take them outside. I step over worms and beetles. I grow flowers for butterflies and feed the hummingbirds. I don’t use pesticides on my yard. I don’t kill snakes.

I respect life in all its forms.

But I think that we need to go beyond blaming/not blaming the parents and blaming/not blaming the zoo personnel to a root issue.

Sometimes we are left with hard choices that have to be made in a very short time.

Animals, especially endangered animals, get a lot of press these days.

Internet websites, videos on Youtube, traditional news outlets and glossy print magazines splash beautiful and moving pictures across our computers, phones and television screens. I’m thankful that the hearts of humans are turning from exploitation to conservation.

And I’m glad there are programs like the one at the Cincinnatti Zoo working to save species that are otherwise headed for extinction.

The death of a child rarely gets the same attention.

Unless the death is the result of a sensational act of violence or a media-worthy accident, children die every day with only an obituary mention in a local newspaper.

So I understand the outrage generated by Harambe’s death.

And I understand how even parents of young children who have never buried a child could entertain the notion there was “some other option”.

But if we covered the stories of families who have lost children with the same zeal and creative journalism as we do the lives and deaths of endangered animals, that would change.

If the despair, heartbreak, brokenness and utter horror of bereaved parents’ lives were on display like the sickening piles of poached elephants and rhinos then at least we could have a discussion that was more informed and even-tempered.

Because it doesn’t matter whether or not that child’s parents looked the other way or should have known-once the child was in the enclosure and at the mercy of a gorilla, a choice had to be made.

We can all second guess whether this or that could have been done.

But if it were your child, I don’t think you would be guessing.

And from the heart of a mother who can only visit her son at the cemetery, I’m not guessing either.

June Challenge From Kathleen Duncan

I have met a number of amazing women on this journey I would never have chosen for myself.

They encourage me, love me and give me a safe place to bare my pain, my questions and my prayer requests.

One of these women is Kathleen Duncan, a fellow homeschool veteran and also a bereaved mother. She blogs at Kathleenbduncan and I highly recommend you check out her site.

This month she’s posting a daily challenge and has invited others to join in.

I’m pretty sure that I won’t manage to do it every day, but today’s prompt was too good to pass up, and I had the time to write something.

The prompt is: ” One Piece of Advice”

My response:

Make peace with yourself-your body, your hair, your personality and all the things that make you, “you”.

Don’t wait until things are “better”, “perfect” or somehow different to jump in and savor the life you have and the people God gives you.

Be yourself, no one is better qualified!

Unhealthy Denial

Ignoring pain doesn’t make it go away.

The world we live in is a broken place where bad things happen and life can be hard.

Sometimes believers in Christ can convince themselves that admitting their world is dark with pain or suffering or questions diminishes the power of God–that it speaks ill of God or that it means God is insufficient to uphold us in our weakness.

If I pretend that I’m never afraid, or that I never experience darkness, I am denying others my aid.

Even worse, I may be shaming them to silence, sending the message that if they are experiencing pain, something is wrong with THEM.

God of the Day and God of the Night

Sowing in Tears, Reaping in Joy

I was asked by a sweet sister-in-Christ to share wisdom with mamas still in the trenches of raising their families from the perspective of a mama who is not only past that stage but has laid one of her babies to rest.

I thought about how the two perspectives might merge into a single message.

And I realized that when I made the choice decades ago to live with eternal perspective God was preparing my heart to lose Dominic. When I committed to loving and living each day, I was laying a foundation that could not be shaken, even when my whole world crumbled around me.

I am so thankful for the years I had with my children at home.

Yes, it was hard.

Yes, I was tired.

But oh! the sweet, sweet memories I can cherish in my grieving heart!

Time-that coveted commodity of motherhood.

Always more dishes, diapers and duties than hours in the day.

Weary limbs labor to meet the needs of our families, always looking forward to the next obligation and managing on not enough sleep, not enough rest, not enough encouragement.

It’s so easy to lose sight of the fact that while we live in a world bound by time and space, we are created for eternity where neither will hem us in.

As a young mother with four children ages six and under, I remember trudging through many days in a sort of foggy haze, vaguely aiming for the goal of making sure everyone was fed, washed and safe but uncertain of what else might be important.

The tyranny of the urgent can push what’s important past the fringes of our attention.

Our vision can be so consumed with the day-to-day until there’s no space for long-term goals or ambitions.

But God has ordained that our children, eternal beings, be set in families.

He has commissioned us as mothers to help mold and shape these little lives into the people He wants them to be, to take their place in His plan for an eternal kingdom.

One of the truths that gave me strength while I was in the middle of those hectic years was reminding my heart that this was not going to last forever but that how I chose to deal with these temporary opportunities and frustrations would impact eternity.

When overwhelmed and undone, I reached for the robe of the One Who made me and Who made the children He gave me.

When faced with another day of unending obligations and limited resources, I leaned into my God Who supplies more than I can ask or think from His abundant heavenly treasure.

I had to learn to live IN the moment but not FOR the moment.

Burying my son has made me nostalgic for the days when my children were young and still at home. I have combed back through memories, dug up old photographs and thought long about what I would do differently if I had known then what I know now.

I am so thankful that before my heart was broken, it had already been filled with the promise that today is not all there is; that right now is not the only truth; and that our lives are a blip on God’s eternal timeline that has no beginning and no end.

Our children are gifts, not possessions.

One day they will grow up and build their own lives and families. There will be long days without interruption, fewer dishes and clothes to wash, clean floors and extra closets.

But the love, grace, mercy and energy poured into them as children will count for forever.

No seed is wasted. No toil is fruitless. No work is unrewarded.

Labor on, sweet mama. You are planting for eternal harvest.

Memorial Day

Dominic was born on Memorial Day, May 28, 1990. I had spent the weekend working in the yard without a thought that my son would soon be appearing. He wasn’t due for ten more days and so far, none of my children had been born “early”.

I wasn’t ready!

But he was determined to make his entrance on his own terms. And that’s pretty much how he did everything.

And then he left us-“early”.

I wasn’t ready for that either.

We celebrate Memorial Day with cookouts and fun family gatherings. But that isn’t what this day is for. This day has been set aside to remember those who died serving our country.

In war after war, families across America have been devastated by the deaths of their sons and daughters, many taken in the prime of life, at the dawn of adulthood.

Almost every family and community has a story of burying a promising young soul that was sure to make a difference but who never got that chance.

My father served and my son is now serving.

And to all the mothers and fathers whose sons and daughters gave the last full measure for their home and country, I say:

“Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for the love poured into the child that became the brave man or brave woman who would put his or her life on the line for what they believed in. Your toil bore much fruit that continues to bless others today.”

You have given up what no one has the right to ask of you.

You live with both the honor of your child’s legacy and the horror of your child’s absence.

And if your child survived the battlefield but could not survive the scars of war, I am so very sorry.

I understand the pain of missing the child you love, I hear your heart and I am praying for you.

As we gather with our families and enjoy freedom purchased with the blood of sons and daughters, may we REMEMBER.

May we honor the ones who gave everything they had to secure our liberty.

And may we remember the families left behind who can never forget.

The strongest love anyone can have is this. He will die to save his friends.

John 15:13 WE

The Absence of His Presence is Everywhere

Something I’ve been learning in this grief journey is that loss is an ongoing event.

It’s not confined to the moment of death, the funeral, the burial or even the boxing up of belongings.

I suffer loss every time there is a moment when Dominic would have been present, should have been present and isn’t here.

It happens when I need to ask him a question, get his opinion, long for his help or just want to hear his voice.

It happens when I look at myself in the mirror and realize that the living mirror that was Dominic is gone.

There is so much more to his absence than just the hole in my heart.

I shared some of these feelings a few months ago:

A family isn’t just the sum of its parts. It isn’t a simple equation that can be worked out on a chalkboard or around a dinner table-this person plus that person equals two persons.

A family is an organic mixture of personalities, relationships, strengths and weaknesses that exponentially influence one another. I always joked that our family was a ready-made committee. Wherever we went we brought a fully staffed, action-ready army of six that spread out and triumphed over whatever challenge we faced.

You can read the rest here: Minus More Than One

Do They Have Birthdays in Heaven?

Today would have been Dominic’s twenty-sixth birthday.

He should have been a little over a year out of law school and one year into a career.

Instead, he’s not here. And he will never be HERE again.

I’m getting pretty good at shifting my focus from the giant hole that is where Dominic is supposed to be to the fullness of the life that still surrounds me. Not today.

Today the absence of his presence is especially keen.

I miss him.

I miss his smile.

I miss his harsh logic that would slice through a conversation like a knife. I miss his noisy descent down the stairs-always snapping his fingers to a rhythm in his head.

I miss his sense of humor.

I miss his fearlessness.

I miss his hugs.

I miss how even though he claimed to “hate” kids, he melted every time one crawled into his lap.

I miss how he used to launch himself, back first, on my bed to announce he was there to talk for a bit.

I miss how he found special tools to help me in the kitchen when my arthritis kept me from being able to do something I loved.

I miss how he could combine tough talk and smooth BS into cajoling a complaint department to not only fix the problem but throw in a gift card as well “to keep his business”.

I miss being able to call him with my stupid tech questions and have him walk me slowly through the solution (even though I know it frustrated him).

I miss his texts, his calls, his FB messages. I miss his tweets.

I know I’ll see him again someday and that we will never have to say good-bye again.

But until then, I really, really miss him.

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