Laughter Lubricates Life

I’m sure retirement is an adjustment for everyone. One or both partners ending long-time work and coming home to unlimited hours of schedule-less days is HUGE.

For my husband and me it’s been perhaps even a bit more tricky.

The past eight years he’s worked out of town-WAY out of town-2000 miles from our little redneck hermit home in the woods of Alabama. So when he hauled his accumulated stuff across six states and showed up at the door it felt a little bit like an invasion.

I know, I know, my traditional friends are cringing that this Jesus-loving, (mostly!) submissive wife would say that aloud.

But let’s be honest.

I’ve been a stay-at-home wife/mother/educator for thirty-six years. These walls are my castle (such as it is) and this land is my kingdom. I’ve had to learn to do lots of things on my own because I was (pretty much) on my own. I couldn’t call hubby to come home and fix the drainpipe or chase off a fox or dog threatening the livestock.

Of course, our youngest son has always made himself available (since he lives close) but I try not to burden him too much with anything less than a true emergency.

Do the math.

Thirty-six years of marriage divided by eight years away. Yep. Nearly a full quarter of our years have been spent largely apart.

So there’s a little adjusting to do.

We’ve had some out and out fights (not going to sugar coat it ) but we’ve also had some beautiful moments when we look at one another and recognize afresh what drew us together in the first place.

Laughter has ALWAYS been the glue in our relationship.

And let me just tell you that the combination of aging minds, bodies and an aging house has provided plenty of hilarious moments.

Woke up to this the other morning…Needless to say, I didn’t lift the lid!

We’ve searched for days looking for important documents only to find them barely hidden under some random sales ad on the kitchen table. We forget why we walk from one room to the next. We repeat the same question to one another at least two or three times a day and depending on how sassy we feel either answer again or question the other’s mental status.

Laughter lubricates life.

It makes otherwise frustrating and fear-inducing moments bearable.

We lose our glasses. We lose our phones.

But we try hard not to lose our sense of humor. ❤

Your Story Matters.

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

Sip and Savor-Simplifying Holidays

I first shared this post three years ago when our family was in the midst of hard circumstances and we all had frayed nerves.

This year is a different kind of hard because some of the plans we thought were coming together are falling apart. I imagine many folks probably feel the same way with the pandemic forcing changes to longstanding traditions. So I’m sharing again.

You’d think that writing something down would ink it in my brain but I forget too. I need this reminder to take a breath, take a sip of my favorite flavored whatever and savor the beauty of this season.

❤ Melanie

Here they come round the bend like a pack of dogs chasing that rabbit on a racetrack.

No way to slow them down, no way to step to the side and ward off the relentless message that Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming soon-so, so soon.

Internet ads scream, “You’ve got to buy it NOW!  You’re running out of time!”

Read the rest here: Trying to Hold off the Holidays

Be The Difference

It’s so easy to withdraw and hide.

It’s so easy to decide that since the world isn’t what I want it to be, I’ll just ignore the greater “out there” and create my own little corner filled with people and things that suit my preferences.

But that’s not who I’m called to be.

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Jesus has called me as a conduit of His love, mercy, compassion, truth and grace to a hurting world.

I am inundated every day with comments or messages from struggling hearts. They are hungry to know that God sees, that God cares and that His people are willing to listen and minister His love to others.

So when God tells me to reach out- I DON’T resist.

I may be the only hope a hurting heart can hold onto.

If God is calling you to lend a hand, lend an ear or lend your time, DO IT.

Be the drop of His love in the ocean of another’s need.

Be the difference. ❤

Finding Me Again

There is so much work to do in grief!

So many chores that demand time, energy, effort and sheer determination.

Finding me again is one of them.

I think it’s hard for anyone whose family and close friend circle is complete to understand that I didn’t *just* lose Dominic when death claimed him, I lost the unique part of me that was reflected back from him. There is a “me” only he could draw out, make laugh a certain way, frustrate and tease over very specific issues.

Some memories were held between just the two of us. Now half the experience is buried with him. No matter how hard I try I can’t recall some of the details and even if I do they are only from my perspective.

Before child loss I was a mom who couldn’t imagine living without one of her children. Now I’m a mom who lives without one of her children. I still haven’t figured out all the ways that’s changed who I am and how I walk in the world.

Mirrors and photographs surprise me.

I know it’s my own face staring back but I barely recognize it.

I’m still searching for me.

For My Fellow Grievers: Being Honest Is Not Always Being Rude

Honesty is not inherently rude. Even when what’s spoken doesn’t sit well with the person listening to it.

It took awhile for me to figure that out on this journey.

Tone matters, facial expression matters, words matter. But I don’t have to stuff truth in service to the comfort of others.

❤ Melanie

I never ask anyone to adjust the thermostat in a car or at home unless I’m suffocating or shivering.

It’s a point of personal pride that I can tolerate a wider range of temperatures than most people.

And for awhile, I carried that same prideful disdain for “weaker folks” into my grief journey.

I was determined to endure whatever blows might come my way via comments, behavior, subtle and not-so-subtle attempts by others to circumscribe, dictate or otherwise influence my loss experience. I didn’t want to abandon pride in my own strength by admitting I wasn’t as strong as I wished I could be.

Then one day I realized that being honest was not the same as being rude. Telling the truth was not the same as acting selfishly.

Read the rest here: Hey Fellow Griever-Being Honest Is NOT Being Rude

Crazy Busy

Life has been crazy busy lately. Mostly in a good way.

But any way that shakes up my routine is hard for me to take.

Some folks live for the next adventure, the next exciting social opportunity or the next chance to get out of the house and do something different.

Not me.

I’m a rut lover. Like cows walking to water I’ll follow that same trail morning til night and never feel like I’m deprived of a single thing.

Life is changing on my little piece of ground. And some of the changes are here to stay. My husband is retired now and home all day.

Quiet space I used to command from morning until night is no longer mine alone. I rarely turn on the TV or listen to music. He loves background noise. I take phone calls the old-fashioned way. He always uses the speaker phone.

It’s an adjustment I haven’t yet figured out how to deal with. But I will.

And there are some good things too!

We don’t have to schedule visits with our children around his work schedule.

We can come and go when we want and stay as long as they will tolerate us.

I have help with heavy lifting.

When I want or need to talk, he’s available and willing to listen.

But writing requires a certain amount of solitude and a huge amount of free headspace to allow ideas to float around, merge, solidify and ultimately flow out onto the page.

All the busy-ness of the past weeks and months have robbed me of the daily rituals of quiet hours to read, to walk and simply think.

And as my faithful readers have noticed, I’ve been sharing old posts more frequently these past weeks. I could simply stop posting each day but I don’t want to do that. As long as I maintain the habit (even by the seat of my pants!) of queuing up something I am fighting to keep my creative juices flowing.

I’m sure that eventually all these new ways of being will work themselves into a routine that allows me time for writing again.

Until then, I appreciate your patience my friends.

Thanks for showing up.

❤ Melanie

Please! Think Before You Speak, Post or Comment.

I wrote this post four years ago when we were in the midst of a divisive political cycle.

I was both saddened and wearied by all the rancor and hateful speech on social media platforms. I was horrified that people who had been spared the awful pain of losing a close loved one to death were willing to sacrifice that same relationship over differing political positions.

I really didn’t think it could get worse but it has. So I’m sharing again.

Please, please, please people!!! There is only one thing sadder than suddenly and unexpectedly losing someone and that is losing them while you are estranged. Death is not kind. It comes for us all.

You cannot reconcile with someone who’s no longer here.

❤ Melanie

Do not hurt people in your life because you’ve hitched your wagon to a particular cause or candidate or party.

Don’t play politics with your personal relationships.

Don’t call people names that can’t be taken back, hurt feelings that may never heal or draw lines that make division permanent.

Read the rest here: Think Before You Speak, or Post, or Comment…

Grief Triggers Still Surprise Me

It’s funny what can make my heart race and my eyes fill with tears.

Sometimes it’s obvious- I hear of another son killed in a motorcycle accident.

But sometimes it’s obscure- like when I see someone using a legal pad to take notes.

Either way, triggers take me back to ground zero. They rivet my mind’s attention and my heart’s focus to the very moment I first learned Dominic had left us.

Read the rest here: Grief Triggers

Please Let Me Know You Remember

As families gather around tables and in backyards to celebrate fall birthdays, Thanksgiving and (soon!) Christmas, my heart longs even harder to hear Dominic’s name.  

Of course I remember him-he’s my son-and of course others do too. 

But it is especially helpful this time of year to have friends and family speak of him aloud. 

Read the rest here: Let Me Know You Remember