grieving parents – Page 7 – thelifeididntchoose

A Few Grief Quotes That Help My Heart

When I find words for my feelings it helps.

So I collect quotes, copying them down in my journal and sometimes hanging them where I can see them throughout the day.

Here are a few that speak to my heart. I hope they speak to yours.

I wish there WERE a secret to surviving this journey. But there isn’t. There is just one moment, one breath, one step at a time. I do the best I can each day.

Over time I’ve grown stronger and better able to carry the load. Over time I’ve learned how to shift my focus from my son’s death to his life.

Death ends so many things.

But it does not end the influence of my son’s life on my heart and it can’t steal the moments I shared with him.

As long as I hum the tune of his unique song I can still hear him.

Before I was the one in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I didn’t realize it’s a lifelong journey. I acknowledged that loss changed a person but I didn’t know that it keeps changing you. Grief influences how I experience the present not just how I view the past.

When Dominic ran ahead to Heaven it instantly changed the landscape of my life. The future I thought I’d have was shattered and I was thrust into unfamiliar and often frightening territory with no road map. It has taken a long time to learn how to walk in this uncertain world and I still stumble.

There are no set standards for how or how long a heart grieves. Everyone brings his or her own personality and experience to the process.

It’s tempting to look for a structured guide to measure my progress.

Others can share how they are walking this road but ultimately I have to forge my own trail through the wilderness.

This is one of my very favorite quotes. Great love, great grief. How could it be any different?

When a child is born into a family, no one finds it strange that the addition changes everything. When that child leaves too soon they shouldn’t find it strange that it changes everything once again.

I didn’t just lose my son, I lost the family I used to have.

The place he should be but isn’t looms large every time we sit at the table, gather for celebrations or just line up for a group photo.

Part of the work grief requires is learning to hold onto the love and influence my son poured into my own life. I have had to redefine my relationship with Dominic-figuring out how I to mother a child I can no longer see or hold.

There’s a lot of pressure on grieving hearts to “get better” based on the medical model of illness, treatment, recovery. But grief is not a disease. It truly is the price you pay for love. I have experienced healing in the eleven years since Dominic left for Heaven but I won’t be fully healed until I join him in eternity.

Every single child is a unique gift to the world.

When death steals their presence, the light and love they shared with others lives on.

As long as we remember, as long as we speak their names, they continue to be a gift to those who love them .

Sunday Prayer for a Grieving Heart

Father God,

I long to be enveloped in the sweet peace and safe cocoon of Your people.

But my heart feels oh, so isolated by this great grief it carries inside!

I take my place in the pew and am distracted by the intact, happy families surrounding me. Every bit of chatter about last week’s activities and this week’s plans reminds me I can no longer whisper a reminder to or share an inside joke with my missing child.

Help me come-broken as I am-and offer what’s left of me to You.

Open my heart and apply the Balm of Gilead to my wounded soul.

Speak courage and comfort to my spirit.

Lead the people You call and assemble to practice compassion and to actively reach out to the ones who struggle just to show up.

Thank You for seeing, hearing and loving me even when I feel unseen, unheard and unloved.

Amen

We Don’t Lose Them All at Once-Bit By Bit They Fade Away

I cannot speak for others but in my case, it seems that I did not lose Dominic all at once.

In fact, I’m still losing him.

Bit by bit, a little at a time, nearly molecule by molecule, his mark on my life, my walls, my world grows smaller.

Of course the space he occupies in my heart is safe-a mother’s heart grows larger with each birth and never shrinks again!

But in the physical world, the observable world, the world outside the safe sanctuary of my own soul-his presence THERE is fading.

And that’s it’s own brand of grief that must be recognized, felt, mourned and laid to rest.

Every time Dominic SHOULD be here but ISN’T means another memory made without him, another photograph with a missing piece, another family milestone celebrated a bit more quietly because his booming laughter doesn’t join the chorus.

Every decision that would ordinarily involve consulting all four children’s schedules and desires is one more opportunity to count down two, skip one and go to my youngest. I never can remember that there are only three phone calls or texts to make. My heart hurts each time I don’t check in with Dominic.

Odd pieces of mail come in his name-leftover from mass mailing lists that have not yet been purged of deceased individuals. Still a little shocking, always sad, I carry it up the quarter mile to the house and lay it on top of the pile of other things that prove he once walked the earth.

Digging through the toolbox in the garage for a screwdriver and there’s that funny little part he took off a car years ago and tucked inside the drawer-just in case we could use it for something. I smell the grease and gas and feel him near.

Then my mind drags my heart back to reality and he’s gone again.

Dozens of moments make me miss him anew.

I’m not delusional.

I know he has run ahead to Heaven.

But my heart holds on to every shred of physical connection as long as it can.

And then he’s ripped from me all over again.

World Suicide Prevention Day 2025: Light a Candle

I’m always cautious when I write about suicide. It’s not part of my own lived experience and I never, ever want anyone to think that I am trying to represent those for whom it is.

But I know so, so many parents whose children left this life by suicide and don’t want to shy away from the subject just because I need to be careful in addressing it.

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day.

The name, in itself, is fraught with emotion.

Who doesn’t second guess whether they missed a clue that the person they love is so desperate that suicide seems to be the only way out of their pain? I am loathe to add one iota of guilt or doubt on the heart of a grieving parent!

But I think most folks whose loved one completed suicide would join the host of experts and others who say: Pay Attention! Don’t Be Afraid To Ask Hard Questions! Take Comments About Self-Harm Seriously!

It’s absolutely, positively true that some individuals fall quickly and silently down the pit of despair. There are no tell-tale outward signs warn of their intentions.

Many, though, begin the descent in predictable and observable ways.

So today, in honor of those who are missing someone who is no longer here, take a moment to familiarize yourself with these warning signs.

Commit to reach out and to ask hard questions.

Be an encourager and a hope-speaker.

And light a candle.

For the ones who didn’t make it, for the hearts who love them and for the ones who are looking for any sign there is more to this life than pain and darkness.

*If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health, please reach out for help. There are many resources available to provide support and guidance.

National Hotlines:

Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741

988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline: A 24/7 hotline for immediate support.

NAMI HelpLine: 1-800-950-NAMI (6264)

Some Days are Hard Stops. When I Can’t Ignore the Missing…

Most of the time I’m just kind of rolling along.

There are things to do, places to go, people to see, animals to feed.

I get up, get going and get on with it.

But there are some days that are what I call “Hard Stops” on this journey. They are the days that force my heart to take special notice of the fact that Dominic isn’t here.

Sometimes they are milestone days like birthdays or holidays or the anniversary of that awful knock on the door.

Sometimes they are events where he should be there-like seeing his brother one more time before he deploys half-way around the world.

These days make my heart measure the time since I last hugged his neck, heard his voice, saw his strong, square hands reach across the table for the salt shaker-and I am overcome with how long it has been!

Then my heart shifts to the months and likely years I will have to live with this aching empty place where he should be but isn’t and I fear I just can’t do it!

Many days I’m able to distract myself from the sorrow and to live with the missing.

But these “hard stop” days force me to face it head on. and it is overwhelming.

Every. Time.

So what do I do?

When my heart is overwhelmed, I take it to the Rock that is higher than I.

I run to the Refuge of my Faithful Father.

I turn my eyes to my Savior Who will redeem and restore.

I put my hand firmly in the hand of my Shepherd Who will not leave me in this Valley of the Shadow of Death.

And I pray for myself-and every heart having a hard time holding onto hope today-that we will feel the Father’s loving arms around us and that He will give us strength to stand.

Lord, Make Me a Lighthouse!

There are two ways to deal with the scars pain leaves behind: try to cover them up or display them boldly.

Hiding seems the easier way so many times-because the scars are tender and the last thing I want is to invite more pain. But it takes great effort and is rarely successful.

The edges peek out here and there and then I’m left awkwardly trying to explain how I got them and what they mean.

If I refuse to hide my scars and instead lay them open to the world, I am vulnerable, true. But I am also in a position to help others who are suffering the same pain that etched those scars in my heart.

So I choose not to hide.

I choose to be a lighthouse.

Not because I think I can steer others clear of the rocks of loss and sorrow, but because I want them to know they are not alone.

It’s Never Too Late to Step Up. There’s NO Expiration Date on Grief.

I belong to several online closed groups for bereaved parents/ grandparents. A current topic is “How did family support you in your loss?”.

I am stunned at the number of bereaved hearts that were abandoned.

I am thankful I’m not among them.

Happier, pre-loss days. My amazing family-all in one place.

If you stepped back instead of stepping up when a family member experienced loss there is still time.

Admit your fear, failing or whatever and offer support NOW.

They still need you.

There’s no expiration date on grief.

There Is Hope in Every Scar

Sometimes people ask, “How can you cling to Jesus when He could have saved your son, but didn’t?”

I give the same answer Peter gave, “Lord, to whom would we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

He is light and life in the Valley and on the hilltop, in the fire and in the flood.

He will redeem every tear and restore every thing the enemy has stolen.

My scars tell a story: Yes, I’m wounded but I’m still walking. I’ve been hurt but I’m healing.

There’s hope in every scar.

Suffering is but a moment.

This is not forever.

Jesus is.

Hallelujah!

Able to Look Forward: A New Season in Grief

For a long, long time I couldn’t bear to see a monthly calendar.

I didn’t want to be reminded that time refused to stand still for my broken heart and I hated there were no more “Dominic” events to scribble in on the blank squares.

Around the third year I was able to once again mark major events like birthdays, holidays and short family trips. But it was even longer before I was able to truly look forward with excitement to those things.

Eleven plus years, multiple family changes, a pandemic, retirement and two grandchildren have reshaped my heart so that I’m genuinely thrilled to prepare and participate in most things from family meals to “Granny Camp” , quarterly Bereaved Mom Retreats (next one in just over a month!), and my oldest child’s fortieth birthday celebration in a couple weeks.

I’m not forgetting nor minimizing Dominic by diving into these events with gusto. In fact, I’m sure he would approve.

So I’m entering a new season of grief-one which makes room for current joys and celebrations while still holding space for Dominic.

I can be present and participate without reserve.

I am making memories with those who are still here.

Enjoying every moment.

Grief Work 2025: A Letter to My Living Children*

I shared this for the first time eight years ago.

Before my mother’s illness and death, before the frighteningly early arrival of our little Captain and his brother, before an overseas deployment, a destructive hurricane, Covid19, my husband’s cancer diagnosis and too many other stressful events to list.

I have watched my kids meet every challenge-sometimes with grace, sometimes with grit, sometimes with both.

They are different people than they would have been if Dominic still walked beside us. They know things their peers can’t even guess.

We all lost so much when we lost Dom. But we still have each other.

And that’s a treasure.

I never thought it possible to love you more than I already did.

But I do.

Your brother’s untimely departure has opened my heart in a whole new way to the glory that is your presence. It has made me drink you in like water in the desert.

No more do I take even a moment for granted. Never again will I be “too busy” to listen to you, to hug you, to greet you on the porch when you decide to make your way back home.

I promised you when that deputy came to the door we would survive.

And we have.

I promised you that I would never raise Dominic onto a hallowed pedestal that obliterated his orneriness and only kept track of his laudable qualities.

I pray I have lived up to the promise.

We are changed-every one of us.

I am so very proud of you for continuing to live. It would have been easy to give up. It would have been easy to “live for the moment” and give in to hedonism.

You haven’t done that.

You have had to carry more weight than you should. I am so very anxious to see how you take this awful pain and weave it into your own stories-how this dark thread helps define who you become and how you choose to impact your world.

You have lent me your strength when mine was waning.

You have checked on me and loved me and borne patiently with me and with one another when it would have been easier to walk away and try to create a life outside this place of brokenness and vulnerability.

I am always cautious when ascribing feelings and words to our departed Dominic-it’s easy to make him say or feel whatever is most convenient since he’s not here to dispute it. But I am certain of this: while he would never, ever have wanted us to bear this awful burden, he would be so, so proud of the way we have supported one another in doing so.

Like always, our family has closed ranks and lifted together the weight that would have crushed us individually.

It’s who we are.

It’s who we have always been.

*I am absolutely convinced that Dominic is very much ALIVE today in the presence of Jesus. But for now, I’m denied his daily companionship,

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