thelifeididntchoose

Lessons in Grief: What can I DO? Start by Showing Up.

This weekend another family joined the ranks of the bereaved.

A beloved son left for heaven in a car accident.

The mama’s best friend messaged to ask what she could do to help this newly broken heart.

It made me dig deep in my memories for who did what in those first hours, first days and how it made a difference in our family’s ability to hold onto hope and to stumble forward in the heavy fog of grief, pain and sorrow that enveloped our hearts.

My friend was already committed to showing up and sitting silently and lovingly with this child’s mother. I didn’t have to remind her of the power of compassionate companionship.

She was going.

She was staying as long as it was helpful and necessary.

She was coming back as many times as needed.

And that is a gift!

I remember the morning I got the news and as the sun was coming up, a truck pulled down our lane. It was Robbie-our “adopted” son. As soon as my oldest son (who was in WV at the time) got the call, he called Robbie. Because he knew I would be able to bear Robbie’s presence and accept Robbie’s help. I cannot describe the relief I felt when he came to the door-another shoulder to help carry this burden until we could gather all our family together to lift it in unison.

And after him came a couple we had known since the kids were little.

Both rushed to our doorstep to offer companionship, practical aid, listening ears and simple reassurance that though this was NOT a dream-oh, how I wanted it to be a dream!–I was not going to walk this Valley alone. They stayed until my husband, son and parents had made it here. I will never, ever, ever forget that gift of unconditional love and time offered just when I needed it most.

Others came. Some did practical things, brought necessary items, helped me begin to think through next steps. But many just sat with me and my children as we waited for my husband to fly in and my parents to drive up.

I cannot overstate how important SIMPLY BEING THERE was!

Thinking back on that time, I dug up some other very practical “first few days” things friends and family can do:

Bring disposable plates, cutlery and plenty of paper goods (toilet paper, kleenex, napkins) along with extra trash bags.
Place a notebook and pens near the spot folks might drop off meals or other things and ask that they write their names and what they brought inside. My daughter did this for me and while I was often unable to acknowledge it at the time (or unaware of the blessing) I had a record that is dear to me still.
Set up an online meal planning/scheduling group. Make sure to note allergies or special food needs because while it’s wonderful to have food provided, it’s not helpful if the family can’t eat it because of dietary restrictions.
If there are unwashed clothes belonging to the childDO NOTwash them in an attempt to help out. It may sound awful to anyone who has not buried a child, but nearly every mom I know wanted something with her child’s scent still on it. I have a few things of Dom’s that are in a sealed plastic bag. Every so often I open it and inhale what’s left of his fragrance. Smell is such a powerful memory stimulant.
Begin to collect photographs from online sources, friends and family so that there will be many to choose from if the family wants to make a video for services.
Bring disposable Lysol wipes or something similar for quick clean ups in bathrooms and the kitchen. Discreetly tidy up whenever possible or necessary.
Do NOT move papers, piles of mail, etc. without the family’s permission. It may seem like a good idea at the time to make things neat for visitors, but it will be a nightmare later! My brain is nearly empty of details for most of the first month after Dominic left us. I depended on routine and familiar spots to remember where important items might be for the first year. If something had been moved, I could not locate it, no matter how hard I tried. If somethingHAS to be moved, place it in a box-clearly labeled-and attach a prominent note on the refrigerator or someplace like that indicating where it is.
Just sit and listen. Or just sit in silence. Whatever is most helpful to the bereaved parents and their family. Loving presence kept me anchored to this world when all I wanted to do was float away somewhere the pain couldn’t find me.

Compassionate companionship makes the difference between a heart holding onto hope or letting go and falling into the abyss.

Trust me.

I know.

Lessons in Grief: Am I Normal?

Believe me, no one wonders more than I if the things I’m feeling, the things I’m doing and the rate at which I am healing is “normal”.

I belong to a couple of bereavement support groups and a recurring theme is, “Am I crazy? Is this the way it is supposed to be?”

Sometimes grieving parents wonder these things because of their own misgivings.

But often, we question our feelings and experience because of external pressure.

And that is unfortunate and unfair.

When a mom brings her new baby home from the hospital, people are quick to remind her that life “will never be the same”.

She is encouraged to seek advice and help from friends and family and given space and time to figure out this new way of being. As the years pass, she might express frustration and concern over the challenges of going back to work, sleepless nights, feeding issues, potty training, and dozens of other, everyday struggles that result from welcoming this little person into the family. And that is just the beginning.

No one thinks it strange that the ADDITION of a child is a life-long adjustment.

So, why, why, why is it strange that the SUBTRACTION of a child would also require accommodation for the rest of a mother’s life?

My heart grew larger when Dominic was born and the space that is his cannot and will not be filled by anyone or anything else.

I am learning each day to work around this empty spot. I am becoming stronger and better able to carry the weight of grief that I must bear.

I can do many of the things I used to do before the only place I could visit Dominic was at the cemetary.

But I have to do them differently. I need more help. It takes more time. And sometimes I find after I plan to go somewhere that I am just not able to go after all.

I will never “get over” burying my son.

There will always be another mountain to climb, another loss to mourn, another hurdle to clear in this grief journey.

Dominic is part of me. That didn’t change when he went home to be with Jesus.

The absence of his presence is EVERYWHERE.

And just for the record–missing the child I love for the rest of my life is perfectly normal.

Lessons in Grief: Displaying Our Scars

What if, instead of hiding my pain, I allowed others to see it and offer it as a testimony of the power and grace of God in my life?

What if, instead of pretending that “everything is alright”, I admit that it’s not, but that God is still on the throne?

What if, instead of creating a gulf between myself and others by walling off parts of my life that I deem too messy, I throw open the door and invite folks inside-mess and all?

My scars make me who I am. My struggles are part of who I am becoming. And my messy life is the only one I’m likely to have this side of Heaven.

As I’ve written before:

If the people I meet think that I have it all together all the time, they are going to be much less likely to admit that they don’t. And let’s be real, none of us have it all together.

We all have at least one place in our lives that hurts and that needs healing.

Everyone has scars.

Authenticity is the key to opening doors and creating communities where one person can reach out to another and where genuine healing can begin.

You can read more here: Dropping the Mask

Family Trees and Broken Branches

A cousin whom I haven’t seen in decades contacted my dad in order to complete a family tree he is working to compile.

It’s a noble task and one I fully support.

But when my dad forwarded the request to me (because I had details on my own son’s wedding and his wife’s birth date) it was an unexpected trigger.

Typing away I added mine and my husband’s birth dates and the place and date of our marriage.

Then down the line of my children.

Fiona.

James Michael and his bride. Their wedding date.

Dominic. I have another date for him-one I never, ever thought I would live to record-the day he left this earth for his heavenly home. My breath catches in my throat.

Julian.

My youngest son who is now older than his brother ever got to be.

My second son has no descendants. Every molecule that was Dominic is now in the grave. No representation of his humor, his talent, his face.

His unique light has been extinguished from this world forever.

I realize that these dates will be filed away, made part of a record for those that come after without any understanding of the person they represent.

Just facts on a page.

History.

Lessons in Grief: Dwelling or Remembering? Who Gets to Decide?

Why is it “dwelling” in one instance and “remembering” in another?

Who gets to decide whether I’m taking out a cherished memory, holding it, stroking it and reliving it because it’s all I have left or I’m clutching the past, refusing to let go?

I will be the first to admit that mulling over past offenses is probably the last thing I need to do. Especially if I’m trying to forgive them. That’s not helpful nor is it healthy.

But there’s a difference between THAT kind of thinking and the kind of thinking every bereaved parent does about his or her missing child.

When Dominic ran ahead to heaven, there was a sudden, horrible and unchangeable end to new experiences, to making any more memories, to another conversation, picture or text.

All I have of my son is whatever I had saved up to the moment of his accident.

And it is not enough.

It will never be enough to fill up the spaces of what my heart wishes I had.

He lived for nearly 24 years. But I can’t withdraw those memories like cash and “spend” them, day for day, for the next 24 years.

It doesn’t work that way.

So I have favorite moments, like we all do, that I pull out over and over. I cherish them like precious stones or rare coins. I hold them, stroke them, tell the stories behind them and hug them close.

Not because I can’t “move forward”.

Goodness!

Here I am eleven years later living, breathing and fully connected to the people and events in my present!

I do it because memories are a way to remain connected to Dominic.

He is as much a part of my life-unseen by others, unheard by others, often forgotten by others-as the living, breathing children that are still here with me.

So I am not DWELLING on these memories.

I am hanging on with both hands because I refuse to let one-quarter of my heart be relegated to darkness and silence because of other people’s discomfort.

I will remember.

As long as I have breath I will speak my remembrance.

I will never, ever, ever let go.

Compassion is Something We CHOOSE To Practice

Some people are natural servants.

Not the kind in Downtown Abbey but the kind who see something that needs doing and just do it.

They open doors, return shopping carts, wash dishes, pick up trash and bend down or stretch high to help children or senior citizens reach what otherwise would be unreachable.

Some of us aren’t naturals but we can learn.

Because when we open our eyes to those around us and choose to be helpful we make a change to our hearts and theirs. We build bridges of grace and kindness that help to connect individuals and communities.

When a person feels seen, heard and cared for, they are much more likely to drop the drawbridge to their heart.

It’s no good saying, “Well, he didn’t ask for help” or “She didn’t let me know she was struggling”.

If we are paying as much attention to our friends and family as we are to social media memes and funny TikTok videos, we can’t miss the signs of desperation and hopelessness.

If we take time to ask important questions there’s no way we won’t hear sadness or loneliness in the reply.

So let’s stop acting like doing good is something only a few select individuals can or should do. It’s a myth that bringing meals and checking in on those who are no longer able to make it to our fellowships or church services or bingo halls is a special skill.

Compassion isn’t a calling or a gift or a virtue.

Compassion is something we choose to practice.

And for those of us who call Christ “Lord” it is a command.

Grief Journey: Lord, Renew My Strength!

I was pregnant or nursing for nearly a decade.

With four children under six, I have no idea how I managed to get anything done, much less EVERYTHING done.

dominic and siblings little children at nannys

Some days I didn’t. But most days I muddled through.

But I was so. so. tired.

Every morning started with a prayer, “God, give me what I need for today. Give me strength for today. I won’t ask for tomorrow. Just for today.”

As life accelerated to that frenzy only parents of teens can understand-one here, another there, cars everywhere-my body was rebelling. My joints screamed, “No! Let’s just stay right here for a day (or a week!).”

That wasn’t an option, so I leaned in and prayed again, “God, renew my energy. Give me strength. If You aren’t going to cure me, help me learn to live well with my limitations.”

I thought my middle-aged years would give me a bit of rest. A time to catch my breath.

I was wrong.

Dominic’s death plunged me into emotional, physical, mental and spiritual exhaustion I could never have imagined. I did not know you could be so tired and still breathe.

I found myself begging God once again for strength.

Now it is my daily prayer.

And He is faithful to do as He has promised.

Eleven years and I have gotten out of bed every. single. morning.

I do what needs to be done.

I’m still standing. ❤

Don’t you know? Haven’t you heard?
    The Eternal, the Everlasting God,
The Creator of the whole world, never gets tired or weary.
    His wisdom is beyond understanding.
God strengthens the weary
    and gives vitality to those worn down by age and care.
Young people will get tired;
    strapping young men will stumble and fall.
But those who trust in the Eternal One will regain their strength.
    They will soar on wings as eagles.
They will run—never winded, never weary.
    They will walk—never tired, never faint.

Isaiah 40:28-31 VOICE

Lessons in Grief: Don’t Let the Outside Fool You

Whether the burden is child loss, abuse, chronic illness or some other ongoing and unchangeable hard circumstance, it’s easy to get so good at acting “OK” you can almost fool yourself.

But all that stress and struggle exacts a cost.

Pretending that it doesn’t is not helpful at all.

So it’s wonderful when people ask about it.

It’s a gift when they let us share.

Awhile back another loss mom wrote this and gave me permission to use it:

In case you ever wonder, please know that it is always, always OK to ask me about [Dominic].

I love to talk about him.

No, I’m not OK. I’ll probably cry, but it’s just because it’s under the surface always, not because you asked.

And I don’t really know what people mean when they say “she’s doing well,” because if you knew what all goes on in my mind and body from grief-well, frankly you couldn’t handle it.

But it’s OK to bring it up.

Talking helps. ❤

Lessons In Grief: Trying To Be a Better Listener

I admit it: I’m a fixer.

It’s probably genetic (won’t mention any names!) but it has been reinforced by training and life experience.

When faced with a difficult or messy situation, my mind instantly rolls through an inventory of available resources and possible solutions.

And I tended to cut people off mid-sentence with my brilliant (?) plan to save the day.

But there are 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. I’m learning that silent hand holding or hugging or just looking someone in the eye instead of dodging their gaze is a great gift.

I’m learning that lending courage is possible. One heart can actually beat in synchrony with another and the duet is musical and magical strength.

I’m learning that there are too many voices shouting “solution!” and too few ears listening to the full expression of a problem.

I’m learning that often my rush to remedy is hurtful, not helpful.

I’m learning that time does not heal all wounds-there are many among us bearing injuries that may be decades old but have never been spoken aloud because no one would listen.

we all need people who will listen to our stories

I’m learning that even the spoken stories need to be repeated often and with just as much emotion each time because the telling has a way of releasing pain all it’s own.

I’m convinced that if we were a society of listeners who slowed down just long enough to really HEAR other people’s stories we’d be a society with much less pent up anger, bitterness and other dark emotions.

sometimes you can hurt yourself more by keeping feelings hidden

I’m embracing the old saying, “God gave us two ears and one mouth so we should listen twice as much as we talk”.

Sometimes that means literally biting my tongue or placing my hand over my mouth.

But I’m trying not to waste this hard-bought lesson.

Need an ear?

I’m here. ❤

Eleven Years Ago Today-A Moment for Others, A Lifetime for Me

Eleven years ago today I woke up knowing that at some point I’d close the lid on my son’s casket and never again see his face this side of Heaven.

For friends and family it was the moment when Dominic’s death was “over”. His story complete. His life appropriately marked and celebrated. It was the end.

For me, it was a beginning.

A beginning I did not want to embrace. But there was no going back, only forward, ever forward.

❤ Melanie

I used to look at tombstones in cemeteries and do the math between the dates.

I was most focused on how long this person or that person walked the earth.

I still do that sometimes. But now I do something else as well.

I look to the left and the right to see if the person who ran ahead left parents behind. My eye is drawn to the solitary stones with the same last name next to a double monument clearly honoring a married pair.

And then I do a different kind of math.

I count the years between the last breath of the child and the last breath of his or her mama.

Because while that first date marked an end for everyone else, for the mama, it marked the beginning of the rest of her life- a life she never imagined nor would have chosen.

Read the rest here: For You, a Moment; For Me, a Lifetime

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