My children grew up surrounded by life and by death.
On our small farm they got to see puppies, kittens, goats, sheep and horses take their first breath. We watched turkeys and chickens hatch-struggling in that last great effort to throw off the shell.
And we also witnessed life’s end.
Every. time. it feels wrong. Every. time. it feels like defeat.
And it is–we were not made to die.
Read the rest here: We Were Not Made to Die
Yesterday I confessed that I was already exhausted and we were barely into December!
But I managed to drag the tree down from the attic and adorned it with the faith fortifying ornaments I’ve acquired since Dominic left us seven plus years ago.
I didn’t finish making things sparkle but I did make a dent in it.
Tomorrow is another day but tonight I will sit and savor the twinkling lights that remind me darkness doesn’t win.
❤ Melanie
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?
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
I’m writing this on the first of December although it won’t be published until tomorrow, the second. I’m already tired and I haven’t even taken down Thanksgiving much less put up Christmas.
This past week has been full of unexpected twists, turns and surprises. I’m just not very good at navigating those curves like I used to be. I can white knuckle through them but it takes a lot out of me.
Thankfully, none of the worst case scenarios played out and my family enjoyed some sweet times of fellowship and celebration.
But I’m pooped.
I’m often caught between what I wish I could be and what I actually am.
I want so much to be the mom that makes sparkling memories instead of the mom who muddles through. But I can’t quite bridge the gap.
I honestly don’t think it matters how long it’s been since your child has left this earth, it’s always hard and each year presents unique challenges. The one thing that remains the same is my need for grace-to extend it to others and to have them extend it to me.
I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one.
So for the next several days I’m going to repost some of what I’ve written in the past few years about surviving the holidays.
Here’s the first one: Grief and Post-Holiday Exhaustion
I want to say up front that I am no theologian.
I am, instead, a sincere follower of the Lord Jesus Christ who reads the Bible and tries hard to understand what it says and let it inform my worldview.
I know I’ve written about this before but it comes up again and again in bereaved parent groups so I’m sharing MY perspective one more time.
Here’s the question:
If God is sovereign (meaning all powerful) then why didn’t He save my child?
Here’s my answer:
Read the rest here: At The Intersection of God’s Sovereignty and Free Will: Accidents and Miracles
In the church we like to line up the “Overcomers” to give testimony of how faith in Christ has turned their life around.
And He absolutely does that.
Some are delivered from addiction, sin and abuse. Some receive healing-none the less miraculous if it comes through the hands of skilled physicians. Some enjoy restored relationships.
But not everyone gets what they long for. Not every loss can be undone.
Read the rest here: What if My Testimony is Endurance?
If I find in myself a desire for which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.
C. S. Lewis
I remember the first time I felt homesick.
I had been away from home before but never without the company of someone I knew well and loved.
This time was different-I was at a sleepover camp populated with strangers. Kind strangers, yes, but not a familiar face among the crowd.
Read the rest here: Homesick
Most parents feel a little stressed during the holidays.
We used to be able to enjoy Thanksgiving before our 24/7 supercharged and super-connected world thrust us into hyper-drive. Now we zoom past the first day of school on a highway toward Christmas at breakneck speed.
For bereaved parents, the rush toward the “Season of Joy” is doubly frightening.
Constant reminders that this is the “most wonderful time of the year” make our broken hearts just that much more out of place.
Read the rest here: Season of Joy: Blessing the Brokenhearted During the Holidays
I totally get why some folks feel the need to pull back when a friend’s life gets hard.
They may be struggling themselves and the idea of even hanging around the edges of another disaster is utterly overwhelming.
But the truest friends bring their broken to our mutual table where we can talk, cry and work on it together.
Read the rest here: Truest Friends
We’ve all been there-we ask a routine question and someone refuses to play the social game.
We say, “How are you?” and they answer honestly instead of with the obligatory, “I’m fine. You?”
Suddenly the encounter has taken an unexpected turn.
“Oh, no! I don’t know what to say,” you think.
It can end badly-both of you walking away uncomfortable and wary.
But it doesn‘t have to.
Read the rest here: How To Respond When Someone Shares Their Pain
Gratitude does not undo grief.
There, I said it.
Gratitude is important. It is (in my opinion) a necessary ingredient for a healthy and hope-filled and useful life. It is the key to any real happiness a heart might find on this broken road.
But it cannot fill up the empty place where Dominic used to be.
Grief does not preclude gratitude.
Although some broken hearts swear it does. They have convinced themselves that if they cannot have the one thing they really want, then nothing else matters.
That’s a lie as well.
Read the rest here: Gratitude and Grieving: Appreciating What I Have, Acknowledging What I Miss
thelifeididntchoose 