Category: Love

Speak Your Peace-You May Not Get Another Chance

Just a couple of days before Dominic left us, I and another one of my kids had a fuss.

He was frustrated and stressed and I was vulnerable and stressed and a few stray words ended up hurting my feelings.

I said, “I can’t talk anymore now”,  and hung up the phone in tears.

He was sorry and I was sorry and we immediately exchanged texts and let the feelings cool so we could resume our conversation the next day.

He sent me flowers.

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They were still beautiful when he came home to bury his brother.

Our family observes a rule:  Don’t part in the heat of anger.

We may not be over our pain and the reason for the dispute may be legitimate, but NOTHING trumps relationship.

I am so very thankful for that rule.  Because one burden I don’t have to carry is that I might have left Dominic wondering if everything was OK between us.

It was.

So I say to you:

  • Speak your peace.
  • Say you’re sorry.
  • Move TOWARD the people you love and not away from them.

I pray every time I hear a siren that the person they are going to rescue will be alright.  I pray that the family that loves that person will get another chance.  I pray that the call that’s made is, “Come to the hospital to see me” and not “Come to the morgue”.

But you never know-you have NO guarantee that the last time you see or speak to someone you care about won’t be the LAST time.

And then you cannot undo the horror of regret that they might have left this world wondering if you loved them.

“I love you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to stay angry with you.  Please forgive me.”

Say it loud, say it often, say it NOW.

 

 

 

You Can Only Hold On To What You Refuse to Let Go Of

Those hours before I planted one last kiss on my son’s forehead, I held his hand.  

I nodded at the people filing past to pay their respects with my arm tucked behind me, desperate to cling to my child.

no one can snatch them

And I’m still clinging.  

I will not let him go.  

I don’t care how many days or months or years march on taking me further from the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand or the brightness of his smile-I refuse to release my grasp.

It’s hard for someone who has never buried a child to understand why we who have are compelled to speak about them, to post pictures of them, to air our great grief and share our great hope of reunion.

I didn’t have a clue before it was me.

But this is all we have.

There will be no new experiences, no fresh memories, no photos marking higher achievements or life passages.  

So I will hold onto Dominic as a little boy who was so stubborn he would sit in the floor and cry in frustration because he couldn’t yet crawl.

I will hold onto Dominic as a young man who could argue anyone under the table until they gave in because, right or wrong, he wasn’t giving up.

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I will hold onto Dominic who taught himself how to play the drums and pounded away when I took my daily walk so that it wouldn’t be too loud for my ears.

I will hold onto Dominic who talked his way into a program that admitted few students even though he had missed the first semester of classes.

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I will hold onto Dominic who could fight like a banty rooster when he was mad but be as tender as a mother hen with someone who was hurting.

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I will hold onto Dominic who would have never wanted this for me, who would have done anything he could to prevent this great sorrow resting on my shoulders.

I refuse to let go.

Because he is my son.

There is no past tense for a mother’s love.  

as long as I live

No More “Smile and Wave”!

We live in a world of fake smiles, plastic body parts and cheap knock-offs.  We’re so used to it that sometimes we can’t tell the difference anymore.

It’s part of our relationship patterns too.

We see someone we know out shopping and toss, “How are you?” at them anticipating the obligatory reply:

“I’m just FINE!  How are YOU?”  (Said with a deep southern accent and wide, lipsticked smile.)

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But then something unexpected happens.

She says, “I’m having a hard time.  I’m struggling.  This week has been really stressful.“  (Spoken in a whisper, through tears.)

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And I’m faced with a choice:  

Do I shut her down or draw her out?  Do I recognize the courage it took to be honest or do I dismiss her openness as inconvenient and inconsequential?

 

Me, I’ll take genuine, every time.

I will stop, find a quiet corner and allow her to share as long as it takes.  I will pray or listen or hug or console until the storm passes.

Because that has been, and still is, ME sometimes.

Before Dominic left us, if you saw me in the grocery store you would have gotten the answer you expected.  My eyes on my list, my head filled with the next thing I was going to do when I left with my buggy full, my heart unbroken and whole-who’s got time for chit-chat?

Smile and wave was standard practice as I moseyed on down the aisle.

Not anymore.

There is nothing, NOTHING, more important than people in this life.

compassion and stay with you

If you want proof, ask a bereaved mama.

Because no one knows with more certainty, with more clarity and will tell you with more conviction that MORE TIME  with someone you love is the ONE thing you would give EVERYTHING for-in a heartbeat. 

So I will lay aside things and chores and to do lists.  

I will give up entertainment and ignore the urge to check Facebook or Twitter.

Because the person in front of me is a gift.

And I want to unwrap that gift and be present for every moment.

kindness

Grief and Grace:What I Need from Friends and Family

You cannot possibly know that scented soap takes me back to my son’s apartment in an instant.

You weren’t there when I cleaned it for the last time, boxed up the contents under the sink and wiped the beautiful, greasy hand prints off the shower wall.  He had worked on a friend’s car that night, jumped in to clean up and was off.

He never made it home.

So when I come out of the room red-eyed, teary and quiet, please don’t look at me like I’m a freak.

Please don’t corner me and ask, “What’s wrong?” Or worse-please, please, please don’t suggest I should be “over it by now”.

If you were reading a novel or watching a movie, you’d show more grace.

You would nod in understanding as the main character made choices that reflected the pain of his past.  You would find his behavior perfectly predictable in the context of a life lived with a broken heart.

I can’t control what makes me cry.  I can’t stop the memories flooding my mind or the pain seizing my heart.

I might be OK one minute and the next a blubbering mess. Grief doesn’t mind a schedule.

But there are some things you can do to help:

  • If you are aware of the circumstances around my child’s death, be thoughtful when highlighting similar situations in conversation, in movie choice, in recommending books or news stories.  I bump into reminders all the time, I don’t need to have them forced upon me.
  • It can be particularly hard to celebrate milestones in another child’s life when that child is about the same age as the one I buried.  Feel free to invite me, but give grace if I choose not to attend a birthday, graduation or wedding.  I’m doing the best I can and I don’t want to detract from the celebration so sometimes I bow out.
  • Ask me if, or how,  I would like my missing child included in family gatherings. Sometimes I want his memory highlighted and sometimes I want to hold it close like a personal treasure.  It might be different one year to the next. Just ask.
  • Be sensitive to the calendar.  Make a note of my child’s birthday, heaven day, date of the funeral or memorial service-these are important dates for me and they will be as long as I live.  In the first months, maybe for years, each month is a reminder that I am that much further from the last time I heard his voice, hugged his neck or saw his living face.  Those days are especially hard.
  • Don’t pressure me to move faster in my grief journey.  And don’t interpret a single encounter as the measure of how I’m doing.  Be aware that it is often a two-steps-forward-one-step-back kind of experience.  It is MY experience and will go as fast or as slow as it does.  I can’t even hurry it along even though sometimes I am desperate to do so.
  • Understand that the things I may share don’t paint a total picture.  There are pains too deep, thoughts too tortuous, experiences surrounding my son’s death and burial too hurtful for me to speak aloud.

I admit that I never thought of any of these things until it was MY son missing.

But now I think about them all the time–not only for my sake, but for the sake of others like me. I try to walk gently and kindly, extending grace and love.

And honestly, that’s really all I want from anyone else-grace, abundant grace.

I will be weepy when it’s inconvenient.  I will react when you can’t fathom why.  I will stay away when you want me to come near.  I will make choices you don’t understand.

I am truly sorry.

But child loss is not something I chose for myself, it was thrust upon me.

I am walking this path the best I know how.

When you extend grace and love me through the roughest places it makes all the difference.

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Blessed Assurance

One of the ongoing challenges in my grief journey is fighting back fear.

Fear of what COULD happen, now that I know by experience what it feels like when it does.

So I try to remind myself on a regular basis that my life and the lives of those I love have never been in my own hands: 

Who’s Holding on to Whom?

Do Good, Be Light, Extend Hope

Dear friends, do you think you’ll get anywhere in this if you learn all the right words but never do anything? Does merely talking about faith indicate that a person really has it? For instance, you come upon an old friend dressed in rags and half-starved and say, “Good morning, friend! Be clothed in Christ! Be filled with the Holy Spirit!” and walk off without providing so much as a coat or a cup of soup—where does that get you? Isn’t it obvious that God-talk without God-acts is outrageous nonsense?

James 2:14-17 MSG

James doesn’t mess around.

He says what a lot of people are thinking but are too timid to speak aloud.

I like that.

We could use a good dose of his brand of preaching in the church today.  Let’s stop pretending that following Jesus is just about getting our theology right.  Let’s stop acting like going to church, serving on committees or teaching Sunday School is the best indicator of where my heart is relative to my Savior.

Let’s face facts:  if my life does not look different than the lives of those who do not know Jesus, then either I don’t know Him or I’m not paying attention to what He’s telling me to do.

I have been blessed on this grief journey by a few dedicated friends who go out of their way to do good, be light and extend hope to my heart when I’m barely holding on.  They have chosen, often sacrificially, to be the hands and feet of Jesus in my life.

And they make a difference!

Sometimes it’s a card in the mail, sometimes a text or message and sometimes a visit-but they DO something.  They might not understand why God is putting me on their heart, but they obey the prompting.

So if the Spirit is nudging you to reach out to someone, don’t ignore Him or put it off. Sure, praying is important.  We are commanded to do that.

But we are also commanded to be physically present and to extend practical help to hurting hearts.  We are supposed to BE the hands and feet of Jesus.

Who knows, I might be the answer to my own prayer that God send encouragement to someone else.

I can choose to do good.

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I can choose to shine light.

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I can choose to share hope.

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And my small gesture be the very thread that holds a broken heart together.  

If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them.

James 4:17 NIV

 

 

Thanks for Listening!

One year ago today I began sharing my grief journey publicly on this blog.

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You can read that first post here.

 

It was (and still is) scary to expose my thoughts and feelings to a wider audience than just the pages of my personal journal.

I’m never certain that what is helpful for me is necessarily helpful for anyone else.  But in writing it down I find that I am able to sort through things better than when I leave it bouncing around in my own head space.

I decided upfront that I would be as honest as possible about what I felt and how I was coping.  I wasn’t sure if I would post only a few times or a lot, if it would turn into a day-by-day diary or a more sweeping revelation of deeper things.

I think it’s kind of been both at times.

And here we are, 366 days (it was a leap year) and  355 posts later and I’m still here and you’re still listening.

I don’t claim to have any special gifting or knowledge or ability.  I am simply one mama whose love for both her child in heaven and her children still here demands that I speak out.

My heart is full of  love and pain.

thank you

And my heart has been blessed beyond measure by those who read and share what I have written.  I’ve met-in person and virtually-many bereaved parents who are helping me as I continue down this road.

I am so very thankful for each one.

I pray that for those who read these words and know the pain of burying a child, I am speaking things you may think or feel but are not willing or able to express.

And I pray that in hearing them spoken aloud, you are affirmed and encouraged that you. are. not. alone.

Dominic matters.  

Your child matters.  

It’s not only OK but absolutely necessary to admit that life after child loss is a struggle.  It is also just fine to take your time working through the pain and sorrow and overwhelming changes child loss brings.

For those who read my posts and do not share this pain, I pray you gain insight into what bereaved parents feel and how burying a child changes EVERYTHING.

I hope you are better equipped to offer the ongoing support we need and crave.  I hope you learn that this is not something we have chosen, it is something that happened to us. 

And I pray that all of us will be more willing to extend grace, mercy and love to one another.

Words are not neutral.  

They bring life or death.

They wound or heal.

May each of us be an instrument of healing for someone’s hurting heart.   

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Roll Call: I Want to Hear His Name

The Vietnam Memorial is a beautiful and meaningful reminder of those who gave their lives in that war.  The stark black stone highlights the 58,307 names engraved in its surface.

MEMORIAL REMEMBRANCE THE WALL CEREMONY NAMES FATIGUES EMOTION
VETERANS KRT PHOTO BY PETE SOUZA/CHICAGO [Photo via Newscom]
Names matter because they represent individuals that mattered-to family, to friends, to coworkers, to a nation.

I shared this a few months back as part of a “Loving Well” series of posts about what grieving parents feel and what ministers to their broken hearts.

I long to know my son is remembered and still matters.  

Please, Just Say His Name.

Lessons From a Midwife on Life, Death and the Power of Presence

A fellow “waiting” mom wrote this and gave me permission to share:

“I coached my oldest daughter through natural labor and childbirth on Wednesday night. She stayed at 9cm for 3.5 hours.

Towards the end she looked at me and said ‘I can’t do this, I’m not strong enough!’

I looked at her and said, ‘You can because you have your husband and me right here with you to give you our strength.’

We held her up while she rocked back and forth moving her little guy down into position.

While I was holding my daughter through such physical trauma I thought about how God held me up after the loss of her sister.

I didn’t have the strength to stand. I felt like I couldn’t do it.

But He held me.

He didn’t take the pain away but He held me up when my strength failed me.”

Her words brought light to my heart.  

Here was a mama who has faced life and death and learned something she was willing to share.

Her experience reminded me of this Brene Brown quote I had read months ago:

Faith isn’t an epidural.  It’s a midwife who stands next to me saying, “Push,  It’s supposed to hurt.” ~Brene Brown

As I reflected on my friend’s words and this quote, I realized there were some lessons here-for birth, for death and for grief.

A midwife does not deny the pain.

It hurts!

It hurts to give birth.  It hurts to say good-bye.  It hurts to carry grief everywhere I go.

When someone comes alongside and denies the truth of my pain, I shut down and stop listening.

But when they enter in and acknowledge my pain, I receive courage to continue pushing.

A midwife does not offer false hope.

She knows that there is no way through but through.  A midwife bears witness and lends strength but she doesn’t pretend it will be easy.

There are no shortcuts to birth and no detours for grief.  I can only face the sorrow, missing and hurt and keep going.

But the journey is easier when someone is willing to travel with me, to listen and to help bear the burden.

A midwife understands that though the pain is great and the process long, it will end.

It hurts.  But it won’t hurt forever.

She doesn’t throw that truth in the hurting mama’s face.  She whispers prayers for mercy.

For the profound wounds of life, there are no quick fixes.  There is no easy healing.

We endure because God through His Spirit lends us strength.

We make it through because Jesus promises to redeem and restore.

And because friends remind us with their presence that God is near.

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What a gift are those friends who stay near when life is hard,

who choose to stick it out when pain makes us both uncomfortable

and continue to love and lend their strength when mine is gone!