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.
And in the telling, I am giving away a little bit of him for another heart to carry.
His light is passed to another soul that can pass it to another and another.
Read the rest here: Why We Have to Tell Our Stories & Why We Need Someone to Listen
Today I want to take a moment to provide a public forum for anyone who wishes to take advantage of it.
Your child matters.
His or her story matters.
Your pain matters.
If you are so inclined, please “speak” your child(ren)’s name in the comments section.
Read the rest here: Your Child Matters
We talk about a lot of things as if they didn’t reflect a real person and a real life.
Addiction is one of them. And let me just tell you, every single number is a life and behind every single life is a family.
Statistics are easy to toss around until one of those numbers represents YOUR child.
My son was not an addict. He was a health nut. But he liked his motorcycle and never saw the contradiction between spending hours at the gym then putting that beautiful body on a fast moving, unprotected engine-on-wheels. A helmet was not enough to save him that night.
Addicts don’t start out wanting the life so many of them end up living.
Read the rest here: Child Loss by Addiction
We all have a story.
So often we try to hold it in lest someone think less of us for sharing. But that’s not helpful-for us or for them.
Everyone needs validation. Everyone needs to know they are not the only person on the planet that hurts in this particular way or thinks this specific thought.
Whenever I choose openness I nearly always find that another heart comes alongside to say, “me too”.
And isn’t that really what we all hope for? Compassionate companionship?
❤
We CAN hold some of it in.
For awhile.
In certain circumstances.
Read the rest here: You Can’t Hold It In, So Let It Out
I admit it: I’m a fixer.
But there are some things you just can’t fix.
I knew that before Dominic ran ahead to Heaven but I mostly ignored it.
I can’t do that anymore.
So I’m learning to listen better. Learning to let others express the hard things that can’t be fixed so that their burden is a bit lighter for the sharing.
Read the rest here: Lessons in Grief: Learning to Listen
I admit I’m full of words. When my mama came to pick me up when her best friend was babysitting for awhile, she said, “You can’t have her yet, she’s telling me all kinds of things!”
More than once my mouth got me in trouble.
It’s still the source of most of my problems.
But for a time after Dominic left I found that the only words I could muster beyond what was absolutely necessary were written in my journal. Because the words I wanted to say were bitter and harsh and tasted bad as they came up my throat and threatened to roll off my tongue.
Read the rest here: Why I Have To Talk It Out
We all have one you know.
A story.
Many of us think ours isn’t important because it feels so small. We can’t imagine our truth blazoned across a headline.
Your story matters.
Read the rest here: Tell Your Story
I hid this post in my draft folder for months before I published it the first time.
It seemed too raw, too full of all the pain inside my mama heart to put out in the wide world for everyone to see.
And then it was time (like now) to change the flowers on the place where my son’s body rests and I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, “THIS IS NOT ALL THERE IS OF MY BOY!” I wanted to stop people on the street and make them listen to his story, to give away a piece of him for others to carry in their hearts.
My son is not a number or a statistic or only a memory.
He is integral to my story, blood of my blood and flesh of my flesh–part of my life.
I rest assured he lives in heaven with Jesus but I miss him here with me. That’s selfish, I know. But I can’t seem to help it.
Read the rest here: You Existed, You Exist
I spent long hours with Mama in the last years of her life.
That gave me plenty of time to mine her memory for details of stories I’d heard for years but never took time to really listen to closely.
I knew (although I had no idea how soon it might happen!) that I wouldn’t have her forever. I wanted to gather all the bits and pieces I could hold that would remind me who she was, who she loved and what made her unique so I could always, always remember.
When she left us last September I felt like I had a treasure chest of tales and precious mementos.
It wasn’t that way with Dominic.
I never imagined I’d need such a thing.
I never thought I would be the one left behind with questions about what motivated him to this or that, go here or there, what brought him particular delight or made him stay awake at night.
Time was on my side.
He was young and vibrant.
No need to dig for bits to tuck away in case he wasn’t here to ask.
I was wrong.
Hey-I get it.
Who wants to air the good, the bad and the ugly for everyone else to see?
When I began writing here I decided to share what I was learning, what I was wondering, what I was feeling and what I was struggling with in hopes it might help another heart.
Even then I was uncertain how authentic and vulnerable I could afford to be as I spilled my words across the Internet for all to see.
But nearly five years later I’ve discovered that telling the full tale, publishing the ugly, hard, unsavory bits as well as the shining moments and victories is the only real way to be of help to anyone else walking this path.
My story can be someone else’s survival guide. Yours can too.
Read the rest here: https://thelifeididntchoose.com/2019/09/09/your-story-someone-elses-survival-guide/
