Some days I go gangbusters-rip through my “To Do” list from top to bottom before lunchtime.
And some days I can barely get up out of the chair in the morning for a second cup of coffee.
Most times I have no idea what throws me into a tailspin.
Oh, I’m prepared for the “circle the date on the calendar days” like Mother’s Day (coming up!), Dominic’s birthday, his heaven day and the holidays. But there are random, not-special-occasion-days that plunge my head under a grief wave that I did not see coming.
Maybe it’s the smell of cut grass through an open window or the sound of a motorcycle thrumming at the end of our lane or the sight of trees full of leaves (again-another season he isn’t here). I really don’t know.
The drowning feeling may last five minutes or five hours. All I can do is go with it and hope the wave spits me out sooner rather than later.
And they DO pass.
My heart is always tender, always aware of missing Dominic. But it is better able to join in laughter and celebration than it was even six months ago.
I no longer feel as if I am drowning every moment of every day with only a gasp of air now and then.
Instead I feel like I’m swimming-tired and often out of-sight of shore-but managing most of the time to keep my head above water.
Grief waves come. They will always come. I have to endure the choking, sputtering, frightening, drowning feeling when they do.
But they are not the only thing I feel now.
And for that, I am very grateful.
I know that others want desperately me to be “better”. They want me to be happy and carefree and back to the Melanie they knew before child loss.
And not just for their sake, for mine too.
It’s hard to watch someone you care about in pain.
But my reality has been forever changed.
Read the rest here: Love Doesn’t End
International Bereaved Mother’s Day is observed the Sunday before Mother’s Day in the United States. This year it’s tomorrow, May 6, 2018.
I didn’t even know such a day existed until I was a mom that needed it.
For those of us who have children in heaven, setting aside a day to acknowledge that unique mother/child relationship is helpful.
Traditional Mother’s Day is meant to be a time of celebration. A day when children send cards or flowers or give gifts to honor their mom and let her know that years spent pouring into their lives are appreciated.
Lots of church pews and restaurant tables are filled with family as children come home to be with mom.
But Dominic can’t come home.
That makes Mother’s Day complicated for me.
It means that while I am thrilled to spend it with the children who can make it home, there is always a tinge of sadness to the celebration. And I hate that. Because they deserve a whole-hearted mama.
So I’m thankful this other day exists. Thankful for a day when I can think about and speak about and embrace the child that won’t be with me next weekend.
Because Dominic is STILL my son. He is still very much a part of my heart. And I need to be able to speak that aloud for others to hear.
Some mamas will be drawing or painting hearts on their hands and writing their missing child’s name inside as a beautiful outward testimony to an inward reality. Every day we carry our missing child in our hearts.
So if you know a bereaved mama, give her a hug tomorrow.
Make time and give space for her to share.
And then listen, love and lift her up.