Since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven, I find I need even more alone time than before.
That quiet place is where I do my most effective grief work, undisturbed by interruptions and distractions.
But I need to be careful that solitude doesn’t shift into isolation.
Read the rest here: Solitude or Isolation? Which is it?
I know that when I first stumbled onto a bereaved parent group, it was one of the things I was looking for: evidence that the overwhelming pain of child loss would not last forever.
Some days I was encouraged as those who had traveled farther down this path posted comments affirming that they could feel something other than sorrow.
Some days I was devastated to read comments from parents who buried a child decades ago asserting that “it never gets better”.
Who is right?
What’s the difference?
Do I have any control over whether or not this burden gets lighter?
Read the rest here: Will It Ever Get Better?
When I wrote this a few years ago I had fallen outside when feeding the animals.But I was reminded of the post when I fell-hard!-on sharp rocks in our creek playing with my grandson. I was holding his hand and both of us went down when my foot slipped.
I hobbled up the bank with a giant bleeding gash on my knee and I’m still living with a permanent knot on my kneecap. Poor little guy was frightened but not hurt.
He has recited that incident over and over and always ends it with, “I’m okay. Mama D okay. We’re okay.”
He can’t wait to get in again when it’s warmer.
I absolutely love, love, love that my sweet little boy has already learned the lesson of getting back up, even when it hurts.
It’s something I need to remember every. single. day.
❤ Melanie
I hate that question that every doctor’s office asks now, “Have you had any falls in the past twelve months?”
I always say, “no” even though that’s rarely true.
Because I know what they are looking for is evidence of disease that might be impacting balance and I’m perfectly free of that so I don’t want to place a red flag in my medical chart.
But I fall down pretty regularly.
Read the rest here: Falling Down and Getting Up Again
Child loss is lonely.
But you don’t have to be alone.
An isolated heart is especially vulnerable to discouragement and despair.
When I first found myself on this path, I only knew a handful of moms who were walking it too. They were kind and helpful but they weren’t close enough (by relationship or physical distance) to make sharing my daily ups and downs easy or comfortable. I had so many questions. I had so many fears.
And I really didn’t have anyone to ask.
Someone suggested I look for a grief group meeting in my area. But I live in a rural county and there were none. Someone else suggested I start one. But I was in no position to shepherd other hearts or facilitate discussion when I could barely form words around my own feelings.
So I turned to social media. I searched Facebook for bereaved parent groups.
And it’s there I learned the language of loss and experienced the blessing of community.
❤ Melanie
How do you speak of the unspeakable?
How do you constrain the earth-shattering reality of child loss to a few syllables?
How do you SAY what must be said?
Read the rest here: Vocabulary Lesson: Learning the Language of Grief and Loss
The holiday season is full of opportunities to gather with folks we don’t see all that often.
It’s also an invitation for those same friends and family to ask all the questions they’ve thought about on the other 364 days of they year but couldn’t ask.
And sometimes those questions are difficult, or insensitive or inappropriate.
What to do? What to say?
Here are some great answers from other bereaved parents.
❤ Melanie
I was utterly amazed at the questions people plied me with not long after Dominic’s accident.
They ranged from digging for details about what happened (when we ourselves were still unsure) to ridiculous requests for when I’d be returning to my previous responsibilities in a local ministry.
Since then, many of my bereaved parent friends have shared even more questions that have been lobbed at them across tables, across rooms and in the grocery store.
Recently there was a post in our group that generated so many excellent answers to these kinds of questions, I asked permission to reprint them here (without names, of course!).
So here they are, good answers to hard (or inappropriate or just plain ridiculous) questions:
Read the rest here: Good Answers to Hard (Insensitive,Inappropriate) Questions
I love candles-always have.
I especially love them as the days get shorter and we creep toward the longest night of the year.
I love them more since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.
Every time I light a candle, I remind my heart that even the smallest light can chase the darkness.
When hundreds, thousands and even millions of candles are lighted together, it does more than chases darkness, it undoes it.
Sunday, December 10, 2023 is the Worldwide Candle Lighting Memorial Service (WCL) sponsored by The Compassionate Friends (TCF).
Read the rest here: Worldwide Candle Lighting Memorial Service: Second Sunday in December
Every autumn I hear the geese overhead and I think about how all that honking serves only a single purpose: to remind the stragglers they are headed in the right direction.
It speaks courage to my own heart as I remember that not only does the leader call out to those behind, but that each bird takes a turn at the head of the line so that the others can rest a bit.
What beautiful picture of how life SHOULD be.
Read the rest here: Of Flying Geese and Calling Courage!
Seven (!) years ago today I shared my first post in this space.
It was a timid foray into the wider world just a year and a half after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.
I was truly frightened that once I began sharing my intimate thoughts, good (and not-so-good) experiences and things I was learning in this Valley of the Shadow of Death I would either: (1) find out no one really cared and/or; (2) offend friends and family.
But what motivated me to overcome that fear was a sense that for all the information out there on grief in general, I couldn’t find nearly enough first-person experience written in bite-sized chunks on child loss in particular.
After Dom ran ahead, it was difficult for me to sit down and read a whole book. I needed bits I could read on a single computer screen.
I also needed someone to be upfront and honest about what it meant to continue to cling to faith even when it was hard and even when it meant acknowledging doubts and living with unanswered questions.
It’s difficult to believe now with the plethora of popular books (both secular and religious) on “open broken” but seven years ago, there weren’t many around.
So I decided I’d just say what I had to say and let it fall on the ears that might need to hear it regardless of who didn’t like it or chose to ignore it.
And here we are seven years later.
I don’t know how long I’ll keep writing-probably as long as I feel like I have something to say, people are listening and my fingers can still tap-tap-tap the keyboard.
For now, writing is what I do.
Even when life interrupts almost everything else I will find a few moments to jot down thoughts and hit “publish”.
I know some posts are much thinner than others-maybe just a meme or two and an encouraging word. Some are just reworked posts from years gone by.
But I want to show up in case THIS morning someone’s having an especially rotten one.
I want you to know that there IS life after child loss.
A very different life.
A harder life.
A life you didn’t want and wouldn’t ever choose, but life nonetheless.
And I appreciate every. single. heart. who joins me here and cheers me (and others!) along.
It cannot be overstated: holidays are extremely hard after loss. Every family gathering highlights the hole where my son SHOULD be, but ISN’T.
There is no “right way” or “wrong way” to handle the holidays after losing a child.
For many, there is only survival-especially the very first year.
These days also stir great internal conflict: I want to enjoy and celebrate my living children and my family still here while missing my son that isn’t. Emotions run high and are, oh so difficult to manage.
So I’m including some ideas from other bereaved parents on how they’ve handled the holidays. Many of these suggestions could be adapted for any “special” day of the year.
Not all will appeal to everyone nor will they be appropriate for every family. But they are a place to start.
Read the rest here: Practical Ideas for Dealing with the Holidays after Child Loss
Funerals.
Sigh…
I just came home from my uncle’s funeral. He met Jesus face-to-face the end of June but we didn’t have his service until July 29th for lots of reasons.
Then I opened my computer after a long day of travel and unloading a car full of memories to the news a precious friend-in-loss and indefatigable encourager of grievers had laid down for a nap and woke in the arms of her Shepherd King.
Joy Hart Young was famous for saying, “The BEST is yet to come!” and I believe she is experiencing it at this very moment. She’s in the Presence of the One who saved her, sustained her and loves her. She is reunited with her son, Matt, and tears will never again be her food.
No more night. No more death. No more sadness or sickness or disappointment or sin.
Hallelujah! Amen.
My uncle was old and full of years. Joy wasn’t exactly a spring chicken (she’d approve of my saying that) but she wasn’t the age one might expect to leave this world. Her son and my son were so, so young when their earthly lives ended and their heavenly ones began.
Death comes to us all. No one gets out alive.
Death is a line in the sand that cannot be crossed. What hasn’t been said or done can never be said or done. That’s one of the reasons it’s so very hard.
My uncle made some choices that were burdensome for his family to live with after he left. They will continue to mold his legacy in the hearts and minds of those who loved him.
Joy chose to take the pain of child loss and allow it to shape her into a vessel of hope, grace and encouragement for other parents suffering the same devastating sorrow.
So I’m reminded again that our time here is short. How short (or long) only the Lord knows.
What I do in that time matters.
I won’t get a second chance to live my life. I can’t recoup lost moments or lost years.
There are some practical things I can do like create an end-of-life file or notebook to make it easier on those left behind.
But there are more important things I NEED to do if I’m going to leave a legacy of love.
I have to keep short accounts, make amends, ask for and grant forgiveness.
I need to hug necks, speak aloud the beauty I see in others, shake off shame and emotional baggage.
One day (please Lord let it be!) I’ll lie down and not wake up.
I hope the only sorrow I leave behind is the sorrow of missing my presence, not the sorrow of unsaid words or unhealed wounds.
I’m human.
I’ll miss someone or someplace I need to address.
But (Hallelujah! Amen.) in Heaven it will all be made whole.
The best is yet to come!
Joy Hart Young
thelifeididntchoose 