Love is risky business.
There’s no way to guarantee you’ll escape unscathed.
And a broken heart can make us oh, so afraid to try again.
I get it.
My heart was absolutely, totally shattered when that deputy knocked on my door and delivered the news.
But I refuse to lock my love in a vault so my heart can be safe.
Because life without love isn’t life. ❤
“Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.” ~Jesus
Have you ever had a moment when words “slipped out” before you could stop them?
I have.
Standing amidst the wreckage of hasty speech I would do almost anything to stuff them back inside.
I like to pretend that I didn’t mean what I said. I like to imagine that the words don’t reflect what I really feel.
Read the rest here: Words Matter
God can take what Satan meant for shame and use it for His glory. Just when we think we’ve messed up so badly that our lives are nothing but heaps of ashes, God pours His living water over us and mixes the ashes into clay. He then takes this clay and molds it into a vessel of beauty. After He fills us with His overflowing love, He can use us to pour His love into the hurting lives of others.
―
Every single heart has a wounded place.
Every. One.
Don’t cover it up.
Share it with safe people who can help you shake off the shame. Let others in. You may be surprised how many share your own brand of brokenness.
Heart to heart, hand in hand, walk together toward Home.
God sees the tears you hide; He has not abandoned you.
He loves you and will weave these hard and painful things into the tapestry of your life.
He longs to touch your heart at just the place you need healing and bring beauty from ashes.
And then fill you with love and grace to share the healing hope of Christ with others. 
Child loss rips through a life like a tornado-wild, unpredictable, viciously destructive.
It drops from the sky like a meteorite-no warning, no defense, just crushing weight.
It wrecks havoc in absolutely every corner of a bereaved parents’ heart and life.
And there is no safe space to escape from nor insurance policy to cover THAT damage.
When Dominic was killed, his sudden death instantly untethered me from the world as I knew it. I needed friends and family to anchor my heart in love and support so I didn’t float away. ❤
I was one of those people years ago who set her sights on starting and maintaining a blog.
I thought I would post a few times a week and share anecdotes about my family and critters, insight into daily living and inspiration from Scripture and interesting quotes.
No, not THIS blog-the other two I started and quickly abandoned to who-knows-where in cyberspace.
Trouble was that the subject matter, while near and dear to my heart, wasn’t personally compelling enough to keep me disciplined and actively writing.
If someone had said, “Pick any topic to write about”, child loss wouldn’t have been in the first million choices.
No one CHOOSES child loss (Thus the name of the blog: The Life I Didn’t Choose).
But untold numbers of parents EXPERIENCE it every year. This very day, parents somewhere got a knock on the door or a phone call or sat next to a hospital bed as life slipped slowly from their child’s tired body.
Since I was already journaling and had walked this Valley for nearly a year and a half, it dawned on me that the ramblings I’d put down might be helpful to another heart. So I started THIS blog in September, 2015.
And I’ve been here ever since.
I’m not in the raw, breathless place I once was. But grief and loss are part of every breath I take, part of every moment I experience.
I miss Dominic. I still consider death an enemy. Every day I hate what was stolen and long for what was. I mourn the changes grief has wrought in my family. I wish things were different. I discover new ways loss impacts my life and new ways of coping with it.
So I keep writing.
I don’t want anyone to feel alone in this journey. I don’t want anyone to think there’s no way to survive. I don’t want a single broken heart to doubt that God is here and that He will help you hold onto hope.
I’ll spill my heart out in words until the words are exhausted.
It helps me.
I pray it helps others too.
I think it was somewhere around two months from Dominic’s departure when my heart realized life was moving forward whether I granted permission or not.
Not only folks on the fringes and the “bigger world out there” but close by-in my own family, my own circle of intimate friends-people were making plans, having birthdays, going places and doing things.
I wanted to scream.
Could the world not take more notice that it was absolutely NOT business as usual? Was I the only one whose heart was so shattered that the thought of another sunrise was painful? How could I walk into a future that didn’t include Dominic?
By the grace of God, I did it.
No one can keep the world from turning, the sun from rising, time from ticking by.
But it took a great deal of strength and courage.
First it was a “grin and bear it” kind of courage. I strapped on my armor and tucked a hankie in my pocket. I could show up and smile (a bit), talk (awhile) and muddle through.
Sometimes it didn’t go so well. I had to apologize and leave early. And I was always exhausted.
Then it was an “I’m going to be present for my family” kind of courage. The last thing I wanted to do was shortchange my earthbound children. I worked to get a better handle on my thoughts and emotions. I learned how to pre-grieve major events and milestones. I found I could bring Dom with me by wearing a meaningful piece of jewelry or tucking a keepsake away where I could touch it if I needed to.
I was able to laugh (most of the time), make small talk and write dates on the calendar again.
Now the courage that helps me hold on as I’m pulled forward into the future is informed by the fact that every passing day is one day closer to the reunion my heart longs for. What first seemed impossible is now habitual. Sorrow and joy can coexist. I don’t have to be empty of one to feel the other. The future is not my enemy-it’s where I can and will love ALL my children, husband, family and friends well until the day we are in eternity together forever.
My love for Dominic is Background Music to everything I do. But it doesn’t always demand my full attention. Sorrow is no longer all I feel and Dominic’s absence no longer all I see.
Sunrise is still hard to face some days.
My heart will always long for the time things were as they should be instead of how they are.
But I’m thankful for the courage to step into the future even when I’m afraid.
I wrote this a couple of years ago in response to post after post across social media of (mostly!) moms lamenting the fact their son or daughter would soon be moving away or off to college.
I get it!
When you are used to having your kid around it’s tough when he or she leaves the nest.
But there is a vast difference in having to work a little harder to stay in contact or arrange visits and never being able to speak to your child again.
It’s an adjustment to compare calendars to find a day your family can celebrate together but it’s heartbreaking to know that one chair will always be empty at every family gathering.
Read the rest here: Please Be Patient With Me
I am still utterly amazed that since November 2015 I have managed a blog post every day.
At first, I was writing because I wanted to make public the things I was learning in this Valley and to honor my missing son.
He had been in Heaven a year and a half by then and it was clear to this mama’s heart that (1) people (including ME before it WAS me!) had absolutely NO IDEA what life after child loss was like once the funeral was over; (2) one way to redeem this pain was to share how God had been faithful even as I struggled; and (3) I just didn’t see too many honest portrayals of life after loss for Christ followers (which is not to say they didn’t/don’t exist but I hadn’t found them).
So I wrote.
Read the rest here: How and Why I Keep Writing: A Shepherd’s Heart
Journaling has been and continues to be a very important part of my grief journey.
Putting thoughts on paper gets them out of my head.
Writing them down helps me understand them.
Reading them back is an excellent reflective exercise. It’s a way to track progress, recognize repeating patterns and see where I need to do more grief work.
Sometimes I use Scripture, quotes or other prompts to get me started. Often I may look up words in the dictionary and jot down the definition or synonyms or examples. I may draw my way around a concept or cut out pictures from magazines or the newspaper to add to my creation.
There have been days I’ve spent hours and several sheets of paper moving my feelings from my heart to the page.
So if you want to try your hand at journaling, here is a list I find useful.
Don’t set any parameters or have any expectations.
Just write, color, draw or whatever flows naturally.
And if the tears fall, let them.
❤
Sometimes I run across a poem that is absolutely perfect.
This is one of those.
Blessing for the Brokenhearted by Jan Richardson
There is no remedy for love but to love more.
—Henry David Thoreau
Let us agree
for now
that we will not say
the breaking
makes us stronger
or that it is better
to have this pain
than to have done
without this love.
Let us promise
we will not
tell ourselves
time will heal
the wound,
when every day
our waking
opens it anew.
Perhaps for now
it can be enough
to simply marvel
at the mystery
of how a heart
so broken
can go on beating,
as if it were made
for precisely this—
as if it knows
the only cure for love
is more of it,
as if it sees
the heart’s sole remedy
for breaking
is to love still,
as if it trusts
that its own
persistent pulse
is the rhythm
of a blessing
we cannot
begin to fathom
but will save us
nonetheless.
—Jan Richardson
[Emphasis added]
thelifeididntchoose 