I’ve often been the person who refused to go along with some group’s plan to ignore a real issue and try to talk around it.
I usually begin like this, “I know it’s hard to talk about, but let’s be honest and…”
I’m even more inclined in that direction now. If my son’s instant and untimely death has taught me anything, it’s taught me that there’s no use pretending.
So I’m not going to pretend: Western society doesn’t do grief well.
Read the rest here: The Elephant in the Room
I write a lot about what bereaved parents (me!) wish others knew or understood about child loss and this Valley we are walking. And I am thankful for every person outside the child loss community who chooses to read and heed what I write.
But I want to take a minute to tell those of you who are not part of this awful “club” that I get it-I really do get it–when you need to put distance between yourself and me or other people walking a broken road.
Read the rest here: I Get It-I Really DO Get It.
Part of the reason I share my story is to provide insight for people who haven’t lost a child into the hearts and lives of those who have.
But mainly it is to be a voice for and to encourage other parents walking this valley by letting them know they aren’t alone, their feelings and experiences are perfectly normal and that just as welcoming a child into your family is a life-altering event, saying good-bye to a child is a life-altering event.
We do not expect a mom to “get over” the changes having a baby brings to her everyday experience, and we should not expect a bereaved mom to “get over” the changes burying one brings either.
Want to help? Read: Loving the Grieving Heart
It must be something about this time of year that prompts me to clean out corners and long neglected spaces in our home of more than a quarter century.
The extreme heat makes even the unsavory certainty I’ll run across painful memories more tolerable.So here I am again-digging through boxes, papers and bits and pieces of “before”. Reminded that life requires work and grief makes it both more unavoidable and more difficult.
❤
I’ve spent the last two days rearranging our family room.
Since my husband has retired, we no longer use it as we once did and I realized a few weeks ago that it was ridiculous to have it set up the way it’s been for decades when our needs have drastically changed.
So we decided to tackle the job of sorting/moving/dismantling books, videos (yes, we still have a few!), DVDs, CDs and random other bits and pieces of a life long lived in the same place.
Read the rest here: Dismantling The Past
Can we talk about my missing son and quit pretending that just because he’s no longer present in the body, he’s not still part of my life?
Can we say his name without also looking down or away like his death is a shameful secret?
Can we share stories and memories and laughter and tears just as naturally about HIM as we do about anyone else?
Read the rest here: Can We Talk?
It’s still dark here.
The days are getting perceptibly shorter for those of us tuned in to the turning of the earth and the passing of the seasons.
But the light is coming. It always does.
And that is what I have clung to in these more-than-ten years since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. That’s what compels me to write.
I want every hurting heart to know that the night doesn’t last forever.
It’s also why today I have something exciting (and scary, if I’m honest!) to tell you: I’ve created an official ministry for the work I do here and on Facebook through Heartache and Hope (https://www.facebook.com/heartacheandhope/).
The Lord planted a vision in my heart awhile ago to expand into new territory.
I am a quiet person who longs only to stay (mostly) in my home and surrounding area. I once loved traveling but now only really enjoy it in the company of family to low-key destinations that afford plenty of space and natural beauty.
But I am stepping out into uncomfortable places and trusting my Shepherd King to provide the means and direction to journey on.
I’m not one to appropriate Old Testament verses to justify current choices but I do absolutely believe that He nudges us to spread out and to reach further than we might choose to do in our flesh.
So, like Jabez, I pray:
Oh that You would bless me indeed and enlarge my territory! Let Your hand be with me, and keep me from the evil one.”
And God granted his request.
I Chronicles 4: 9, 10
The ministry is called “Heartache and Hope” and is a federally recognized 501(c)3 non profit so donations are fully tax deductible to the extent allowed by law.
This is my hope and heart for this new endeavor:
If you host a local group and are interested in my coming to share with you in person, please feel free to DM me. I can’t promise to accept every invitation, but I am going to accept as many as I can.
Along with the blog, public page and private bereaved parents’ group, I am working on a website with resources, links to other excellent ministries and graphics for sharing. There will also be a way to donate and to contact the ministry online. (Look for that in the next week or so!)
Until then, I am including a QR code at the end of this post and will also share it on my personal and public Facebook pages if you feel led to join me in this endeavor.
I won’t be making appeals or sending emails or selling products because I trust that what the Lord births in a heart, He brings to fruition. Other than periodic updates on where He is leading and how He is providing, nothing will change in this space.
I am, and will always be, devoted to sharing honestly about my journey and encouraging other hearts along the way.
*If you would like to donate, you may scan this QR code or click on the following link:https://square.link/u/cNen14Q1
I’m ending Bereaved Parents Month by sharing this post because I still have moments when I marvel that I’ve survived.
❤
It was the question I asked the bereaved mother that came to my son’s funeral.
It was the question a mother asked me as we stood by her granddaughter’s casket, surrounded by family and flowers.
And it is the right question.
Because when the breath leaves the body of your child, and you look down at the shell that used to be the home of a vibrant, living soul, you simply can. not. breathe.
Read the rest here: How Do You Breathe?
My son’s death is a moment in time, a date on the calendar, a thing of the past for other people.
I understand that.
But for me, it’s an ongoing event.
Every time Dominic SHOULD be here but isn’t I lose him again.
Every milestone he should be marking but doesn’t I lose him again.
Read the rest here: “I Lost My Child Today” by Netta Wilson
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.
Read the rest here: Waiting With Hope
I was asked awhile back to be part of a project shepherded by fellow parents-in-loss, Laura and Gary House (https://ourheartsarehome.org/).
They wanted to gather and publish stories from other child loss survivors in hopes of encouraging hearts and strengthening the faith of parents facing the unimaginable.
I don’t mind saying that in spite of all I’ve written in this space for the past [nine] (!) years, it was challenging to distill my thoughts about that night, the days that followed and my own faith journey since into a single chapter.
But I, and a dozen other parents, did just that.
In our own words we tell our stories. We share our struggles and our triumphs. We write honestly about how our faith was challenged and how it carried us through.
Every chapter was written by a parent who has a child (or children) in Heaven. Several chapters were written by dearly loved and greatly admired friends.
One chapter is mine in which I share Dominic’s story.
It was a long process but I’m happy to report that the book is now available on Amazon!
Eleven different chapters full of heartache, hope and help written BY bereaved parents FOR bereaved parents (and those who love them).
Until Then: Stories of Loss and Hope would be a blessing to any bereaved parent, to friends and family of bereaved parents (to help them understand the journey) and also to ministry leaders who will, at one time or another, be in a position to shepherd and counsel bereaved parents.
This is a labor of love.
All proceeds above production costs go to ministry to bereaved parents, not the authors.
Consider purchasing a copy or two for yourself or as a gift. 
thelifeididntchoose 