Empathy Has No Script

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.  

empathy has no script brene brown

Repost: It’s Been YEARS, When Should I Mention My Missing Child?

This came up in a bereaved parents’ support group and I thought it was a great question:  “When you meet someone for the first time, do you tell them about your missing child?”

It’s one of those practical life skills bereaved parents have to figure out.

I remember when it dawned on me a few months after Dominic left us that I would meet people who wouldn’t know he was part of my story unless I told them.

It was a devastating thought.  

I had no idea how I would face the first time it happened.  

Read the rest here:  It’s Been YEARS, When Should I Mention My Missing Child?

When People Think You Don’t Cry Anymore

I’m approaching five years since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven and I’m pretty sure that most folks think I don’t cry anymore. 

I don’t blame them really-I haven’t broken down in public in more than a year.  

But I’ve still spent plenty of nights softly sobbing myself to sleep. 

And when no one is looking, no one is listening and no one is close enough to notice, more than one tear has slid down my cheek during daylight.  

I am no more reconciled to this life I didn’t choose than I was five years ago.  

I know I cannot change it.  

I endure it.

But I hate it. 

breaks your heart in ways you can't imagine

What A Difference A Week Makes!

Last week at this time I was anxiously awaiting news that my daughter-in-law and just born grandson had made it through the night.

I was following my deployed son’s journey from half-way around the world as he tried hard to make it home.

I was planning and organizing so that the son who lives near, my daughter and I could leave early Monday morning to drive down and see all of them.

And I was praying:  “Grace and mercy and strength and life.  Please, please, please God!  We need them to be alright.”

ryker lillie touching for first time

I’m still praying.

But I’m also encouraged.

My son, the new father, made it home.  His wife, a new mama, is doing well.  Our sweet baby is holding his own and improving every day.  Uncle, aunt and Mama D were able to see, touch and make much over this new little life.

What a difference a week makes!

I wish Uncle Dominic were here too.  He would have loved that tiny baby and completed our circle of love around the incubator.

dominic at olive garden

 

It’s going to be a long and winding journey from this point forward.  I’m not naive.  I know we will have peaks and valleys, good days and more difficult ones.

But our family is united for the fight. 

We are knit together with bonds of love and steel and will do whatever it takes to support one another in this journey.

ryker and family around incubator

And we are oh, so blessed by the many, many people volunteering to come alongside!  People praying, sending cards, notes and encouraging messages.  Offers of meals, gas cards and preemie baby supplies and clothes.

encouragement is oxygen to the soulAll these help hearts hold onto hope.

Thank you!

 

what-will-survive-of-us-is-love

 

If you are interested in following our journey you may do so on Facebook:  PRAYERS FOR RYKER  ❤

 

Repost: The Prayer of the Average and Broken

I am so thankful for my children.

While I was the teacher for their early years, they are now teaching me.

fiona and cash at home (2)

From my daughter, Fiona:

It’s tempting to look at someone doing a hard thing (like foster care) or living out a hard truth (like child loss) and label them as “special”, “brave”, “extraordinary”, or “chosen by God for a big purpose”.

Read the rest here:  The Prayer of the Average and Broken

Choosing Joy

“I will choose to find joy in the journey that God has set before me.”

For my friends fresh in loss or other hard life circumstances, this statement may hurt your heart.

I get it!

It still hurts mine.

But what I’ve discovered is that while I cannot control the things that happen TO me, I can decide-by an extremely difficult and costly act of will-where to place my focus, trust and hope.

I no longer have unadulterated joy in my heart.

It’s tinged with sorrow and informed by pain.

But it’s still there-deep inside-where I know, know, know that my tears are seen and all of this will be redeemed.

you keep track of all my tears

I can choose to remind my heart that God is good, kind and loving.  He has not abandoned me nor is He punishing me.

This life is hard and I’m struggling.

But there are still beautiful people and beautiful moments along the way and I don’t want to miss them.

 

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Repost: Nagging Guilt in Child Loss

I should have known.  I should have been there.  I should have called, texted, spoken one more warning or given one more hug.

Should.  Should?  Should!

wistful woman looking out wet window

I have yet to speak to a bereaved parent who does not harbor guilt of some kind over the death of his or her child.

Not one.

Read the rest here:  Nagging Guilt in Child Loss

In Case You Didn’t Know: Why It Hurts To Steal Someone Else’s Words

Over a year ago (maybe two now?) there was an incident in which a bereaved mom took my words and passed them off as her own.  

It was painful.  

Not because I’m pridefully invested in getting credit for the words but because I am emotionally invested in this blog as a record of my own grief journey and as a way to honor my son.  

It’s simply NOT OK to copy/paste and pass another’s words as your own.  

Just the other day a mom posted on a closed site that she had questioned another mom when the words she claimed as her own sounded too familiar.  Mom #1 googled the text and found that, sure enough, it was a direct quote from Angela Miller, a published author and fellow bereaved mother.

Mom # 1 challenged Mom # 2 but was shouted down by others because, after all, “everything is fair game on the Internet”.  

That’s untrue.    

Online publishing is subject to copyright laws as much as print publishing.  The fact that an author is willing to make the work freely available and easily shareable does not remove the obligation to give appropriate credit and use accurate citations.

sharing-economy-650x400

Grief is not a “free pass” to bad behavior.  

This blog is a record of my own grief journey and honors my son and my family.   

What grieving parent would want another person to steal (yes, steal!) his or her expression of the long, dark tunnel that is child loss?  What grieving parent would think that it’s alright to take a beautiful arrangement from the resting place of one child and put it on the resting place of another?

It’s out there, unprotected, in plain view, so what difference does it make?

The same common courtesy we expect to guide behavior in cemeteries should be the same common courtesy we can expect to guide behavior in online grief groups. 

I, and others. put our thoughts and emotions out there for parents to read in the hope that by reading them they will feel less alone.  

Most of us never make a dime from what we write.  

But we hope that whoever reads it, finds it helpful and then shares it, will honor our efforts by acknowledging the source.  We hope they will honor our child by using quotes and leaving his or her name in place.

It’s a beautiful thing to find words to express something deep in your heart.  

Just make sure to let folks know you found them and didn’t author them.  

Such a small act of gratitude for an amazing gift.  

me too sharing the path

Repost: Light Years

Since I’m spending time with my new grandson, I’ll be offering a few more reposts than usual this week.  If you haven’t seen them, I hope you enjoy them for the first time.  If you have already read them, I hope they are a blessing just the same.

Thank you for all the prayers and encouragement as our family rallies around this new life and helps him fight to gain the strength and size to come home.  ❤

Part of my Lenten observance includes reading the book of John.  

The words are not new to me, I’ve read them over and over-probably dozens of times in the past 30 years.  So I decided to use a different translation this time around in order to shake out some new insights and cause me to pay closer attention to what God might have for me right here, right now.

The very first reading did just that.

Read the rest here:  Light Years

Fear Of What You Know

Last week was a roller coaster.

My first grandchild-a boy-was born prematurely on Saturday after several days of heart stopping, breath robbing drama as his mama went back and forth to the hospital three times in as many days.

My son, his father, is deployed overseas and paddling as fast as he can to get home.

james and lillie

I am twelve hours away and leaving early this morning to go down and do whatever I can to help.  My daughter-in-law’s mother is there and I’m not offended to believe she will be better suited to help her daughter than I am.

But I’ll stay for a bit just to be an extra pair of hands.

I’m sure anyone who gets the news that mama and baby are in trouble is frightened.  It doesn’t take much for a heart to fear the worst.

But for someone who knows exactly what the worst feels like, there’s a whole other level to this terror.

Fear of what you don’t know can’t hold a candle to fear of what you know by experience.

I spent Saturday in anxious prayer, begging God for grace and mercy.  I had no idea how much it took out of me until after I heard baby and mama were doing well and the sun went down.  Exhaustion swept over me like a heavy blanket and it was all I could do to make it upstairs and crawl in bed.

I am beyond thankful that this story has a hopeful ending.  The little tyke only weighs two pounds but appears to be a fighter.  

It will be a long, hard climb for him to mature enough to leave the hospital.  There will be challenges along the way.

But his mama is on the road to recovery and his daddy is on the road (flight!) home.

I’ll spend some of the time driving down finishing the baby blanket I was making before he made his early appearance.

Every stitch is a prayer.  

I don’t know what tomorrow holds.  

But I’m thankful today is a good day.  

I’m a grandma! ❤

all wise and prehistoric