It’s tempting to avoid someone when their world is dark.
It’s uncomfortable to choose to enter their pain. But Jesus has called us to walk beside the suffering, to encourage the disheartened and to lift up the ones who stumble.
There are no magic words to erase heartache.
Only presence.
And isn’t that why Jesus came?
Read the rest here: The Power of Presence
When I was a little girl, I struggled mightily being afraid of the dark.
Sometimes I could barely close my eyes because I was scared something terrible would happen between going to sleep and waking up.
I outgrew that as I grew into my faith.
But after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven, I found myself again afraid to go to sleep.
Read the rest here: Between Sleep and Wake: Speaking Peace To My Heart
I’m pretty sure most everyone older than five has suffered a bump, bruise or sprain that left them tender for more than a few minutes.
And if you have, then you know the slightest brush up against that sore spot can elicit quite the reaction.
There’s an emotional correlate to physical bruising. And when someone hits that nerve it hurts. Really, really hurts!
It’s impossible to know where all those places are on another person’s body, much less their heart. So we often cause accidental pain to one another.
Read the rest here: It’s Kind of Tender Just There
Life after child loss can be described in various ways.
But any that ring true convey a sense that in an instant, everything is different, shattered, scattered, obliterated, changed.
Read the rest here: Picking Up The Threads
When someone invites you in and serves up her deepest pain along with the coffee it might feel like a trap or a burden or a bother.
But it’s actually an act of great respect and trust.
Read the rest here: A Sacred Privilege
I hid this post in my draft folder for months before I published it the first time.
It seemed too raw, too full of all the pain inside my mama heart to put out in the wide world for everyone to see.
And then it was time (like now) to change the flowers on the place where my son’s body rests and I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, “THIS IS NOT ALL THERE IS OF MY BOY!” I wanted to stop people on the street and make them listen to his story, to give away a piece of him for others to carry in their hearts.
Read the rest here: You Existed, You Exist
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. 
I’ve kept a little notebook by my rocking chair for decades.
It’s where I jot down bits from whatever I may be reading that touch my heart.
When I was younger and focused on raising children the pages were filled with inspirational and aspirational quotes, Bible verses and poems.
Now the pages are full of laments, reminders of life’s brevity and blessings.
Here is one I really love.
❤
Sometimes I run across a poem that is absolutely perfect.
This is one of those.
Blessing for the Brokenhearted by Jan Richardson
Read the rest here: Blessing For The Brokenhearted
Even therapists get it wrong sometimes.
Especially therapists that only know what child loss is supposed to look like from books and lectures.
I understand how logical it seems that a parent should be able to accept his or her child is no longer alive. After all, most of us saw our child’s lifeless body and performed whatever rituals our hearts find most comforting.
We haven’t received a phone call, text, message or new photograph. Weeks, months and years pass and no word.
Of course this child is gone.
But a mama’s heart still hopes. Somewhere deep down there is a part of me that longs for connection to this child I carried, nurtured and loved.
So sometimes my heart will play tricks on me.
Read the rest here: Am I Refusing To Accept My Child Is Gone?
I fell asleep last night thinking about that Friday evening eight years ago when I closed my eyes on the world I knew only to open them to a world I wish I could forget.
It’s odd how these anniversaries play out-there’s the actual date (which, if I’m honest isn’t nearly as hard for me) plus the litany of days that lead up to the date and reconstruct the weekend that ended in tragedy.
The Friday night/Saturday morning combination bring me to my knees even eight years later. Only someone who has endured the doorbell or the phone call can truly understand how dozens of tiny prompts create a mental, physical and emotional response that can neither be ignored nor controlled.
It was raining last night and all I could think was, “Why wasn’t it raining THAT night? He wouldn’t have taken his motorcycle.”
Useless, futile and ill-advised pondering that simply made it harder to close my eyes and go back to sleep.
❤
Friday, April 11, 2014:
Julian and I went to a college honors banquet and came back to the house to find Fiona home for the weekend. I called Hector and texted with James Michael.
I turned out the light and went to sleep.
No warning shots across the bow of life rang out to let me know what was coming.
But that Friday was the last day I spent misunderstanding the awfulness of death and the absolute uncertainty of life.
Read the rest here: The Day Before It All Fell Apart
thelifeididntchoose 