Category: Night

Navigating Grief: At Night, It Can Still Feel Fresh

It happens most often as I am drifting off to sleep. 

There is this one spot on the bedroom bookshelf where my eyes landed that first night-one paperback spine that instantly transports me to the moment I had to close my eyes on the day I found out my son would never come home again.

And it is fresh.  

Absolutely, positively fresh.  

Like “just happened” fresh.  

missing-someone

You’d think that nearly twelve years of intervening experience, nearly twelve years of grief work, nearly twelve years of trying so darn hard to learn to tuck that feeling away deep down so it can’t escape would have worked whatever magic time is supposed to work.  

it has been said that time heals all wounds rose kennedy clock

But it hasn’t.  

Oh, most days I can lock that lid down tight.  I can distract my mind, busy my hands and keep my heart from wandering too close to despair.

Darkness though. 

Shadows and silence and stillness give room for the memory to rise to the surface.  

And it does.  

My son is never coming home again.  

Fresh.  

Absolutely, positively fresh.

“Just happened” fresh.  

sometimes cant believe you are gone

When Afraid to Fall Asleep, I Speak Peace to My Heart

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.

go to sleep in peace

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

Reminders That Life is Fleeting

When children are young and growing every birthday is a celebration. And it absolutely should be!

But when you’ve walked a few (0r more than a few!) years on this old world, birthdays begin to morph into something else.

They remind a heart that life is short, that not all of the people we love will enjoy fullness of years and even those that do seem to leave us way too soon.

Birthdays-after precious people have run ahead to Heaven-mark one more year without them.

Instead of cake and balloons, flowers and presents, we sit with silence and absence, memories and wishes for more time…❤

Today my heart hurts more than usual.

It’s my mama’s birthday-the fourth one we will celebrate without her here to blow out the candles.

It’s also the fourth anniversary (do you call it that?) of the day Papa had to call an ambulance to rush her to the hospital.

She never came home.

Read the rest here: Birthdays and Wakeful Nights

Afraid to Fall Asleep: Speaking Peace to My Fear

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.

go to sleep in peace

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

Birthdays and Other Reminders That Life is Fleeting

When children are young and growing every birthday is a celebration. And it absolutely should be!

But when you’ve walked a few (0r more than a few!) years on this old world, birthdays begin to morph into something else.

They remind a heart that life is short, that not all of the people we love will enjoy fullness of years and even those that do seem to leave us way too soon.

Birthdays-after precious people have run ahead to Heaven-mark one more year without them.

Instead of cake and balloons, flowers and presents, we sit with silence and absence, memories and wishes for more time…

❤

Today my heart hurts more than usual.

It’s my mama’s birthday-the third one we will celebrate without her here to blow out the candles.

It’s also the third anniversary (do you call it that?) of the day Papa had to call an ambulance to rush her to the hospital.

She never came home.

Read the rest here: Birthdays and Wakeful Nights

Grieving in My Dreams

I first shared this years ago-a few months after my mother joined Dominic in Heaven.

There had been difficult dreams after Dom left but it had been a long while since one had interrupted my sleep…and then they began anew.

Night after night I woke in the dark with disturbing images lingering at the edge of consciousness.

They receded once again within about a year.

Now they are back.

I think that whenever anything particularly stressful or frightening or sad or just plain hard presses in, the grief I’ve learned to hide so well is squeezed out.

❤

Lately I’ve been having unsettling dreams.

Even when I can’t recall the exact sequence of events, they all have a similar theme: Someone I love is in peril and I can’t save them or something I hold dear is lost and I can’t find it.

And that awful feeling of helplessness follows me when I open my eyes.

It doesn’t take a PhD to interpret these dreams.

Grief is leaking out in my sleep.

Read the rest here: Unsettling Dreams: Grieving In My Sleep

Christmas 2020: Why I Still Put Up a Christmas Tree

It’s a question every hurting heart has to answer if you celebrate a traditional western Christmas:  Will I put up a tree this year?

christmas-tree-melanie-edited

I had a few months of lonely travel through the Valley of the Shadow of Death before I had to answer that one.

Dominic left us at Easter, so by December I had learned that wishing didn’t make anything better nor did it make decisions disappear.

As Christmas drew near, I just could not bring down the usual decorations from the attic.

So I didn’t.

Read the rest here: Why I Still Put Up a Christmas Tree

Struggling With Sleepless Nights

I first shared this post about a year ago.

I was planning my daughter’s wedding and juggling a number of other pressing responsibilities. I managed to keep my composure most days when talking with caterers, family members and vendors but all that pent up stress kept me from falling asleep when I finally put my head down at night.

I had just begun to settle back into a decent sleep pattern when my mother suffered a stroke and died a few days later in September.

That threw me right back into the sleepless cycle that plagued me for years after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven in 2014. I couldn’t fall asleep or when I fell asleep I couldn’t stay asleep. What sleep I managed to get was filled with terrible and terribly vivid dreams.

I’m not sure I will ever enjoy the blissfully ignorant and pleasant slumber I knew as a young girl.

My heart won’t let me.

❤

For the first couple of weeks after Dominic left us, I couldn’t fall asleep.  

It was impossible to close my eyes without a dozen awful scenes flashing behind the lids. 

Silent darkness was not my friend. 

Read the rest here: https://thelifeididntchoose.com/2019/05/02/sleepless-nights/

Through The Fog And Dark

Through the fog and dark and limits of my sight

I hear birds singing

as they welcome the day

I still can’t see.

Are they better than me at knowing the edges of inky night?

Or do they simply have more faith?

Either way their hearts are boldly trusting in the sun they can’t yet prove is real.

Oh, that my own heart would always rest!

Assured.

Unmoved.

Confident.

Certain.

Even in the dark,

even in the fog,

even under the smothering blanket of sorrow,

in the Son.

The One who burst forth from the grave to prove He IS the One.

The One who promises night has limits,

that death is not the end,

that resurrection is sure.

Then I could sing for those still in the fog

and in the dark,

those whose sight is dimmed by tears.

And remind them that

morning is coming!

As sure as the sunrise.

As sure as the Son rose.

Surprised By Sunshine

The chair I sit in to write faces east and I can see the sky lighten every early morning through my big picture window.

I love greeting a new day, watching the world wake up, hearing the birds twitter around my home scooping up random bits of grain and cat food left behind by the outside animals.

And for a period of about two weeks, twice a year, I love something else-the rising sun is positioned in the perfect spot to cast it’s first golden glow above the trees squarely in my face as I sit here pecking away at the keyboard.

I could move out of the glaring light and continue my work.

But I don’t.

Instead I pause and turn my face toward the sun, soaking up every bit of warmth and light and feeling the energy flow from it to me for as long as it lasts.

And then it moves on.

Doing the work sun does for the whole earth-providing warmth and light for every living thing.

Grief can feel like one long dark night. It can wrap itself so tightly around a heart that no light penetrates the heavy cloak of sadness.

Then one day, one moment, one tiny heartbeat, the sun of gladness or laughter or sweet memory or act of kindness will be positioned just so and make it through.

Don’t move out of the glaring light of hope.

Turn your face and heart toward the gift and bask in its warmth. Let the energy of an extended hand, a thoughtful word, a precious bit of joy energize you.

It will move on and sadness will once again be your close companion.

But if you let it, the hope planted by the light will grow.

It will strengthen you for the journey.

It will sing courage over your heart and remind you in those darkest moments that night doesn’t last forever.

The sun will shine again.