I was always (mostly!) outwardly thoughtful. I wrote thank you notes, brought hostess gifts, remembered birthdays, anniversaries and other important dates in the lives of friends and family.
But I wasn’t always as attentive to or aware of subtle and significant cues others might have been tossing in my direction.
Now I’m especially careful to pay attention and try to make space for things folks need or want to say, to be a safe person for the deposit of feelings or secrets that are too heavy to carry alone and I try, try, try to leave each heart better than how I found them.
I’ve had to examine so much in my own life and heart I never want to give the impression others aren’t free to do the same.
❤ Melanie
2016: Priorities
How many times have I chosen to ignore a friend’s need for companionship-brushing past importantly as I pursued the day’s tasks?
“I’ll get around to it when I have more time,” I think to myself.
And then one day there is no more time. The friend I kept putting off has left this world for the next and I can’t retrieve the missed opportunities.
Nothing stings like words unsaid, hugs not given or love left bound in a heart instead of set free to bless another.
Every morning I get up, make coffee, sit down and drink in the quiet with my caffeine. I listen for a bit and then write down what I hear my heart saying. It has been the most effective habit for helping me walk through this Valley in the four years since Dominic left us.
Silence is necessary for a heart to do the work grief requires.
And that’s what I’ve tried to bring to this space again and again-an authentic and unfiltered portrayal of grief, grace, faltering and faith.
Five years ago I was sitting in an uncomfortable chair in an uncomfortable situation. I had NO idea how it would turn out.
But I’d had practice by then.
I’d learned to let the tears fall when they needed to, to plaster a smile on my face when I had to and to cling tightly to truth because, in the end, that was the only way I’d make it.
If you are hanging on to hope by the thinnest of threads, let me encourage you.
I won’t promise “light at the end of the tunnel” as if it will be OVER one day.
But I will promise light in the darkness if you refuse to let go.
2016: Surrender
“Follow Me,” Jesus said to the twelve.
“Follow Me,” Jesus said to me when I was just a child.
“Yes,” I replied-not knowing or counting the cost.
If it was a single commitment without opportunity for turning back then it would be easy.
I belong to several online bereaved parents’ groups and they are truly a lifeline in so many ways.
I can speak my mind there without fear of rejection or correction or of hurting my non-bereaved friends and family. I learn from other parents farther along in this journey how they cope with birthdays, anniversaries, holidays and every day grief triggers.
Sadly, there are new members added daily. New parents are forced to join this “club” where the dues are higher than anyone would willingly pay.
I wish I could write openly about the things that are going on right now in my life, but I can’t.
So you’ll just have to trust me when I say these past months-really this past year-has been the most challenging since the first 365 days after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.
I have cried more in the past three weeks than I have cried in the past three years.
2020: Wondering If All These Crazy Emotions Are Normal In Grief?
If you wonder if all these crazy emotions are normal in grief, the answer is a resounding, “Yes!”.
Grief is a ball of emotions any one of which may demand more or less of your attention on a given day. It’s not just sadness or missing or sorrow or even pain.
I was recently told by someone that my world was tiny.
It hurt my heart.
Not because it is factually inaccurate but because the person who said it implied that distance traveled from my front door equaled responsibility and influence. If I don’t wander hither and yon, then I’m inferior. If I don’t have paid employment then whatever I do doesn’t “really” count.
I know many bereaved parents have been forced to scale back commitments, maybe change jobs or retire early, and, like me, lead a smaller life than before.
This life I didn’t choose requires that I walk with one foot in the here-and-now and one foot in forever.
It also forces me to forge a narrow path between what my mama heart longs for (my son’s physical presence) and what my faith in Jesus says I SHOULD long for (Heaven).
Some days I do a good job balancing it all and some days not so much.
These posts are a peek inside both kinds of days.
2016: Unnatural
All the fears I thought I knew
All the what-ifs I pondered during inky nights-
None of them-none. of. them. prepared me for this reality.
The longer I care for my sheep and goats, the more I understand why God put His leaders through this school of discipleship.
Many days it’s a thankless job-my charges often do foolish things that place them in peril, they work hard to tear down the fences I’ve erected for their safety and they wander away forcing me to chase after them and bring them home.
But I never give up on them.
A shepherd’s heart is revealed in how she (or he) takes care of the weakest animals.
It is kind of a catchy saying to plaster across a Christian school’s gymnasium wall.
I know the one who decided to put it there meant well. But “I can do all things through Christ Who gives me strength” is absolutely NOT about lifting weights, running an extra lap or hitting a ball out of the park.
I’m pretty good at pushing away uncomfortable or sad or downright horrifying thoughts in the daytime.
Sunlight means there’s plenty to do and plenty to keep my mind from dwelling too long on anything that will make be cry or bring me to my knees.
But there is a dangerous space just between wake and sleep, when the house is quiet and my mind is free to explore random corners that guarantees unpleasant thoughts will pour in and overwhelm me.
I can’t tell you how many times the last moment before sleep claims my consciousness is filled with thoughts of Dominic.
2019: When I Can’t See His Hand, I Trust His Heart
No matter how much we love someone, we will eventually fail them somehow.
I know I recite my failure as a mother quite often-usually when I’m tired, weak, stressed and especially burdened with this grief I haul around like a bag of bricks every day.
So it’s hard for me to comprehend the unfailing, faithful, never-ending, compassionate love of God.
But it’s true whether I can wrap my mind around it or not: God’s love never fails.
Reading back through these posts has been both painful and hope-filled.
One will be celebrating the healing my heart has experienced and the next will be mourning how much different my life IS from the picture of how I thought it WOULD be.
A theme running through them all is how very important it’s been for me to have safe people and safe places to express both.
2016: Another Day
I wake and you are still gone.
The cats tap-tap-tapping on my arms and face declare the day has begun despite the dark and I need to climb out of bed.
Why?
What difference does it make?
I trudge downstairs, put the coffee on, feed the cats and settle into my chair to read and write.
Some of us have stories that need tellingNOW. We can’t wait until our age guarantees us a captive audience.
Because telling the stories helps our hearts.
A fellow bereaved mom who has a gift for finding exquisite quotes found this one:
Sometimes I think that if it were possible to tell a story often enough to make the hurt ease up, to make the words slide down my arms and away from me like water, I would tell that story a thousand times.
~Anita Shreve, The Weight of Water
Every time I tell the story of Dominic, it helps to keep him real.
It reminds my heart that he lived, that he mattered, that he matters still.
Can we stop hiding our sorrow and pain and struggles and difficulties and let people in on what’s going on?
I truly believe that if we did, we’d all be better for it.
Because no one-really, truly no one-is spared from some kind of problem. And for many of us, it has nothing to do with our own choices. It’s visited upon us from the outside.
It comes out of nowhere, happens fast and suddenly consumes every aspect of our lives.
If you are a believer in Jesus, you might think you should be immune to these hardships. You might do a quick calculation and decide that, on balance, you’ve led a pretty decent life and certainly God should notice and spare you and yours from awful tragedy.
Or you might look around and notice all those who leave hurt and heartache in their wake and wonder why they seem to live a charmed life while death and destruction have visited yours.
Maybe it’s grief brain or my autoimmune disease or some other biological issue of which I’m ignorant.
But I just don’t have the energy to be on guard, to defend my “territory”, to argue with everyone who might hold a different opinion or who might be experiencing life from a different perspective.
Especially if you give your heart space and grace to walk through the many and varied emotions, memories, challenges and pain that are part of the experience.
But there are no shortcuts or magic to make the process easier or faster.
And so, so much of the work has to be done alone or with a small cadre of safe people.
I pray every day that those who join me here feel safe, seen and loved.
You are not alone.
❤ Melanie
2017: Is It OK To Laugh?
Thankfully our family has always turned to laughter as a way of making it through things that would otherwise bring us to tears. So it wasn’t but a couple days past when we got the news of Dom’s leaving we managed a giggle here and there as his friends shared some funny stories with us.
But it felt strange to have laughter bubbling up in my throat even as I couldn’t stop its escaping my mouth.
It wasn’t the unforced expression of joy and merriment it used to be. Instead it was a strangled, mishapen gurgling mixture of the joy I once knew and unspeakable pain I now knew.
It didn’t float airily into the atmosphere, it thudded heavy to the floor.
This time of year is especially challenging for those of us who miss a child who has run ahead to Heaven.
Across social media parents are lamenting the changes (they feel like they are “losing” their child) a new school year brings.
It takes a LOT of self-control to refrain from commenting on their so sad posts and pointing out that while it may be more difficult to see/talk to/visit with their child, it’s not impossible.
Yeah, NOT impossible.
2016: It Ain’t Over Until It’s Over
Here they come.
It’s time for the First Day of School photo contests on social media. Shot after shot of little ones and not-so-little ones posing with new book bags and new clothes holding a chalkboard sign that indicates their grade.
And then the pictures of college freshmen toting boxes into dorm rooms, waving good-bye to mom and dad, beginning their adult lives unfettered by curfews and parental oversight.
Then the laments, “I can’t believe they are growing up!”
I hear you, mama.It IS a challenge to watch them grow up. But you aren’t really saying, “good-bye”.
And it sounds just like what it is-mixed up, disoriented and confused. Like a kid spun around with a blindfold playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey at his five-year-old birthday party.
That’s me.
I depend on routine, habit, regular workflow patterns to help me remember what I need to do and when. So if something (or a bunch of somethings!) interrupt my tired old footpath through the day, it confuses me.
There was a lovely tradition practiced in Jewish communities when Jesus walked the earth.
After a betrothal and before the final vows, a groom returned to his family home and built an addition to his father’s house in preparation for his bride.
The bride made herself ready and then waited because she didn’t know when her groom would return. What began as hopeful anticipation might sometimes have turned to fear if the groom tarried too long in coming.
I’m doing this as much forMEas for anyone else-going through seven plus years of blog posts to take stock of how my grief journey has changed over time.
I thought it would be helpful to some newcomers (both to the site and to the path) and to those who’ve been around since the beginning to look back and take stock.
For those who are fresh on this road, I pray they are encouraged to know they are not alone. For those who’ve traveled far, I pray they recognize the many ways they have grown stronger and better able to carry this burden.
So here are the blog posts for this date, in order, from 2016 through 2022. When there were duplicates (because I had reposted a previous entry) I am leaving it out.
2016: Prayers I Still Pray
As I mentioned yesterday, prayer after loss is complicated for me. I wrote a post months ago The Problem of [Un]Answered Prayer that addressed this.
But I AM able to pray Scripture-especially the prayers of Paul, which are centered on asking God to strengthen others and to expand their understanding of His love, compassion, power and grace.
Obviously, this particular post is dated. But I’m including it because it was the first time I’d been asked to speak instead of WRITE about my loss. It was a great step of faith and I am thankful I did it.
My mother was gravely ill (she lived 2 more years but we weren’t certain at the time) and it was a long and arduous journey to Arkansas (not by miles but by emotional endurance).
I was able to hug the necks-for the first time- of so many fellow loss parents who had encouraged and strengthened me.
2018: Trusting God After Loss-Why It’s Hard, Why It’s Necessary
One of the greatest challenges I faced this side of child loss was finding a space where I could speak honestly and openly about my feelings toward God and about my faith.
So many times I was shut down at the point of transparency by someone shooting off a Bible verse or hymn chorus or just a chipper, “God’s in control!”
They had NO IDEA how believing that (and I do!) God is in control was both comforting and utterly devastating at the very same time.
It took me awhile to revisit the basic tenets of my faith and tease out what was truly scriptural and what was simply churchy folklore.
When I was a little girl my family made a yearly pilgrimage to the white sand and clear water beaches in Florida.
We were allowed to wade out on our own as high as our waist while the adults talked and sunbathed on shore. If we wanted to go deeper, even for those of us who were good swimmers, we had to wait for the grown ups to join us.
I have a vivid memory of one sunny day when the waves were rolling in and my six-foot-tall dad was standing neck deep in the Gulf. I was a little closer to shore and decided to join him.
My young mind didn’t do the math between my short self and his taller one and stepped off an underwater ledge into water way over my head. I panicked when I realized there was no way for me to save myself.
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.
We all love to think that life is a never-ending ascent toward bigger, better and more enjoyable moments.
Our children are born and we think only of their future,not their future deaths.
But I think it’s important to document my own self-doubt and my weariness.
Maybe it’s something about the heat of August or maybe it’s just the too-early appearance of holiday decorations reminding my heart another frenetic season is just around the corner.
Whatever the reason, this month seems to always be one of reflection.
❤ Melanie
It will soon be seven years since I started writing in this space and I have to say, it’s been such a blessing to share the good, the bad, the ugly and the desperate with hearts that choose to come alongside and encourage me!
But I’m tired.
I’m just not certain I can keep pumping out (even recycled) posts every single day.
I just came home from my uncle’s funeral. He met Jesus face-to-face the end of June but we didn’t have his service until July 29th for lots of reasons.
Then I opened my computer after a long day of travel and unloading a car full of memories to the news a precious friend-in-loss and indefatigable encourager of grievers had laid down for a nap and woke in the arms of her Shepherd King.
Joy Hart Young was famous for saying, “The BEST is yet to come!” and I believe she is experiencing it at this very moment. She’s in the Presence of the One who saved her, sustained her and loves her. She is reunited with her son, Matt, and tears will never again be her food.
No more night. No more death. No more sadness or sickness or disappointment or sin.
Hallelujah! Amen.
My uncle was old and full of years. Joy wasn’t exactly a spring chicken (she’d approve of my saying that) but she wasn’t the age one might expect to leave this world. Her son and my son were so, so young when their earthly lives ended and their heavenly ones began.
Death comes to us all. No one gets out alive.
Death is a line in the sand that cannot be crossed. What hasn’t been said or done can never be said or done. That’s one of the reasons it’s so very hard.
My uncle made some choices that were burdensome for his family to live with after he left. They will continue to mold his legacy in the hearts and minds of those who loved him.
Joy chose to take the pain of child loss and allow it to shape her into a vessel of hope, grace and encouragement for other parents suffering the same devastating sorrow.
So I’m reminded again that our time here is short. How short (or long) only the Lord knows.
What I do in that time matters.
I won’t get a second chance to live my life. I can’t recoup lost moments or lost years.
There are some practical things I can do like create an end-of-life file or notebook to make it easier on those left behind.
But there are more important things INEEDto do if I’m going to leave a legacy of love.
I have to keep short accounts, make amends, ask for and grant forgiveness.
I need to hug necks, speak aloud the beauty I see in others, shake off shame and emotional baggage.
One day (please Lord let it be!) I’ll lie down and not wake up.
I hope the only sorrow I leave behind is the sorrow of missing my presence, not the sorrow of unsaid words or unhealed wounds.
I’m human.
I’ll miss someone or someplace I need to address.
But (Hallelujah! Amen.) in Heaven it will all be made whole.
I didn’t grow up doing in-depth Bible studies so when I “discovered” the Bible in my early twenties, it was an exciting adventure to dig for treasure in the Word of God.
Along with Scripture itself, I devoured book after book on theology.
I could not get enough.
By my mid-thirties I had developed a fairly well-defined and defensible doctrine. I really thought I understood how God works in the world.
thelifeididntchoose 