I think it’s almost always offensive when someone says, “I know just how you feel” to a grieving heart.
Even two biological parents of the same child have a slightly different relationship with him or her because their experience is filtered through the lens of distinct personalities, shared adventures, struggles, joys and secrets.
We are a family of six-four kids and two parents.
Each one of us has experienced Dominic’s death differently because he was uniquely woven into the fabric of our separate stories as well as our corporate story.
Parts of me reflected back from him are gone forever. The unique give and take we shared is my loss alone.
Sibling memories, inside jokes, sneaky “don’t tell mom” pranks and antics belong to his sister and brothers and are part of their loss I can neither understand nor access.
Yes, we share corporately the loss of a son and brother, but none of us can really say, “I know just how you feel”.
Because we don’t.
And that’s one of the things that makes grief a very lonely journey.
All these feelings wrapped inside of experiences bound up in memories stored in two hearts. Only now one of them is inaccessible and the other is trying to find a way to carry both halves of the relationship.
Part of the work grief requires is gathering up the fragments of memory and tucking them safely away.
It will be different for each heart.
Even hearts that mourn the loss of the same person.
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.
Read the rest here: https://thelifeididntchoose.com/2016/10/27/speak-your-peace/
If you follow my personal Facebook page you know that part of my family evacuated ahead of Hurricane Dorian.
We are waiting the storm out at my parents’ farm in a safe spot. It was an unexpected opportunity to see one another and a sweet blessing (the visit, not the storm!) but a houseful makes it hard to do the kind of writing I normally do.
So…you’ll see some reposts for a couple days.
Hurricanes and random shootings and awful accidents can make a heart remember that relationships are really what matters.
One hard, hard lesson I’ve learned from waking up one morning to a never-coming-home son is this: You may not have another chance to make amends, say “I love you“, kiss a face or hug a neck.
I’m here to tell you: don’t drown your important relationships in unsaid words, unshared feelings, unacknowledged wounds.
All that does is guarantee distance grows between your hearts.
If you let the distance become too vast, or the pile of unsaid truth get too high, you might just find you can’t reach that far or that high to reconnect.
It takes a bit of brave to say what’s important and uncomfortable.
Read the rest here: https://thelifeididntchoose.com/2018/09/02/speaking-truth/
“Death ends a life, not a relationship.” ~ Tuesdays with Morrie
A parent’s love doesn’t end simply because a child leaves this earth.
The relationship is not over as long as a bereaved parent’s heart beats.
So we face a challenge: How do we express love to and honor relationship with a child out of sight and out of reach.
We tell our stories and theirs. We start foundations or fund scholarships or do Random Acts of Kindness in honor of our son or daughter. We lobby legislators and city councils. We fight for changes in medical protocol. We post pictures on social media to keep their lights bright in friends’ and family’s memories.
And we say their names.
Because death can take a body, but it can’t steal a relationship.
Circumstances have made me thoughtful lately.
My grandson’s premature birth, my daughter’s wedding and our personal season of unwelcome milestones have reminded me that life is short.
And then a Facebook friend shared this meme:
My heart cried, “Yes!”
It’s so, so true.
What we will value most in our vulnerable moments and in our last moments won’t be anything we bought at a store (or online).
It will be relationships.
The people we love and who love us are the true treasure of a life well-lived.
They are priceless.
I think if we are absolutely honest, most of us would admit we have few relationships that operate without some kind of script.
We are friends with someone because we like the same hobbies or spend time together at a job or ball park or church.
We fall in love with someone because they “complete” us and offer companionship, emotional support and stability.
When the script fails (for whatever reason) we tend to pull away from those relationships.
But if I choose to enter into the suffering of another, I must do so without a script and commit to the long haul.
I must follow his or her lead, allow him or her to guide my response and refuse to impose my preferences on that hurting heart.
I’m there to hold a hand and help a heart hold onto hope.
Often a new year means taking stock of the previous twelve months and making adjustments for the next twelve.
When I comb back through my memories I try to notice where I struggled and where I soared. I want to learn from the things that worked and the things that didn’t. And I almost always find relationships top the list of where I need to make changes.
Grief is tough on friendships.
Not everyone can or will stick around while broken hearts work hard to put the pieces back together.
I miss some of the people I thought would still be here and, if I allow myself to do it, can invest too much of the precious and limited emotional energy I have left this side of child loss in being angry, bitter or just plain disappointed.
But that is unhelpful.
So instead I began to think about WHY some friends abandon grievers.
Here’s what I think: Why Friends Abandon Grievers