We all do it from time to time-slip into playing a role instead of being real.
Sometimes it just takes too much energy to take off the mask and show my real face to the world.
Because if I do, it might raise questions or provoke judgement or even frighten folks and who wants to deal with that?
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.
It had sounded like a great idea when I signed up. So much to do and see: horses to pet and ride, crafts to be made, campfires to sit around and cook over.
But I soon found that no amount of excitement or distraction could undo the feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was not where I should be. It was all just a bit “off”. Everything was slightly skewed. I never got comfortable enough there to truly enjoy myself.
Instead, I kind of simply endured.
Since Dominic left for Heaven, more than a few days have been spent with that same feeling in the pit of my stomach. Although I am (very often) surrounded by people I know and love, I still can’t shake the sense that things aren’t quite “right”.
Of course I’m perfectly aware that part of the feeling is generated by Dominic’s absence.
But there’s more to it than that.
I know the Bible teaches that this world is not our home.
Still, I think most of us get so comfortable here that we forget.
I know I had.
As my family grew in number and years, I was able to bring “home” with me wherever I went. Together, we created a bubble of love and companionship. It seemed nearly perfect-until one of us left suddenly and unexpectedly.
Immediately, Heaven as my true home become so much dearer to me.
I know that the correct “Sunday School” answer is that I’ve always longed to see Jesus.
But if I’m honest-and I try very hard to be honest here-as long as my family was intact, Heaven could wait.
It took the life-altering, heart breaking reality of child loss for me to recognize that this world is NOT my home. No matter how beautiful, wonderful and fulfilling my life on earth may be, it’s never going to be free of hardship and heartache.
I am homesick-utterly, inconsolably homesick.
So I point my face to the east-just as Dominic and other saints whose bodies await the resurrection face east-and look forward to that Glorious Day when Jesus will return and make every thing that’s wrong. right.
I admit that my homesick heart won’t ever be satisfied in this world.
And I lean in and hold on to the hope I have in Christ-trusting Him to redeem and restore.
I began to try to define the pain I felt. Yes, it was sorrow, but it was something more, something infinitely deeper. I felt it all the time, even when I was happy. It wasn’t just sorrow. It was a longing; a pining for a better place and time … no, not just a better place and time, a perfect place and time; a different reality. It felt like longing for home, but not for a home I had ever been to. I began to see that it was something like homesickness …. Perhaps Christians are the most consistently homesick people in the world because they know this world (as it is) isn’t their true home. Yes, I was home, but I was still homesick.
~Elyse Fitzpatrick, Home
I pull out the memories like treasures from a locked strongbox.
“Handle With Care” because they are all I have left.
But they are not enough.
They will never be enough to satisfy this mama’s heart.
We are supposed to have to remember our elders, our grandparents, even, maybe our spouse at some point-but not our children.
I knew my son from before he made his entrance into the wide world. He had already danced his way into my heart before he took his first step on solid ground. He was part of me from the moment of conception.
I waited breathlessly to see his face for the first time.
I never expected that I would also see it for a last time.
We all have people we expect to outlive-our grandparents, our parents, elderly friends and neighbors-but not our child.
As our loved ones age, the wise among us begin to catalog and carefully store all those “lasts” or soon-to-be “lasts”. We ask for stories to make sure we can keep telling them. We take extra photographs, make extra phone calls and write down recipes.
I was living life forward with Dominic-just like all my kids. We were a busy, busy family and I was never very good at scrapbooking or saving up the ordinary flotsam of everyday life.
So while I have some pictures, memorabilia and tokens of his too-short life, I don’t have nearly enough. Oh, how I wish I had more! Not to create a museum or a shrine but to help my poor brain remember.
When someone says, “Just think of the good memories” it triggers all kinds of emotions and not one of them is what the person intends when giving me that advice.
I feel guilty-guilty for all the things I CAN’T remember.
Dominic is my third child and only 19 months older than his younger brother. There are so many gaps from those early years because I was overwhelmed and tired. Why can’t I conjure up images of him at 3 or 4?
That hurts.
I feel incredibly sad-sad that whatever memories I DO have are all I will ever have. I had the memories BEFORE my son wasn’t walking with me and had planned on making many more.
So focusing on memories brings little solace.
Even at 4 1/2 years into this journey, I’m torn when I pull out the memories.
I can smile now about many of them, but it’s always bittersweet.
Because this treasure trove is as large as it will ever be. ❤
In this journey of loss I have been blessed and wounded by words.
I have been encouraged and disheartened by stray comments. I’ve been thrown a lifeline and pushed under the raging waves of grief by friends, family and acquaintances who often had no clue they were doing either.
Our words matter.
Our tongues have the power of life and death.
Read the rest here: Bridle your Tongue
I went to see the movie “Christopher Robin” awhile back.
I’ll be honest-it’s pretty much stock-in-trade standard Disney fare where things turn out well in the end.
Of course, I know that things DON’T always turn out well.
In fact, they can turn out very, very badly.
Awful, in fact.
But Pooh helped Christopher remember what was really important.
And it’s not money or houses or anything else you can buy in a store or online.
It’s people.
Living souls are unique creations, singular blessings, unrepeatable gifts and they deserve my time and attention.
Because no matter how cherished or expensive, everything else can be replaced.
It’s all well and good when things are going just dandy to post a daily, “I’m thankful for [whatever]”.
It’s another thing entirely when the bottom has fallen out or your world is turned upside down or your heart is shattered and you can’t find even the tiniest spark of gratitude in your dark world.
Yet the Bible clearly states I am to “give thanks in all circumstances” (I Thessalonians 5:18)
REALLY?????
I am absolutely NOT thankful that my son is dead.
I am not thankful my family circle is broken and my living children have to carry the weight of sibling loss for a lifetime.
I am not thankful that there will always be an empty chair at every holiday gathering regardless of how many show up around the table.
But the verse doesn’t say I have to be thankful FOR all circumstances, but instead to be thankful IN them.
Even on the morning of the dreadful news, I was filled with gratitude for the knowledge that nothing can separate me from the love of God.
As I held the hands of two of my living children, I was oh, so thankful that they were there and that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that we would walk through this together as a family.
When the sun came up, my heart reminded me that the world was still turning and God was still on the throne.
And while it was a long, long time before these feelings were more than faint whispers against a background of screaming pain, I could still hear them.
Now I have learned that thankfulness and brokenness can live side by side in a heart and in a life. One does not overshadow or negate the other.
I may not be thankful for what I’m going through (frankly, I’m not) but I am thankful I’m not going through it alone.
I can come into the Presence of my God any time I choose because Jesus has made a way. I can bring my petitions before the Throne of Grace because there is no longer any veil separating me from the Father.
And I am always, always thankful for that. 
I am the proud daughter of a military veteran.
I am the beaming mother of a son who served and the aunt of a nephew currently serving.
And while others argue about why and where we send troops and fight wars, I pray that wherever they go and whatever they do, they return home safely.
It’s fitting that we set aside a day to honor those who choose to place their lives on the line to fight for love and country and freedom.
Because they do, I can rest secure in my own bed under my own roof.
Growing up surrounded by (mostly) men in military uniform, I learned early the difference between an acceptable salute and a sloppy one, between “Attention!” and “At ease!”, between a captain and a colonel.
I still stand a little taller and walk a little straighter whenever I’m on base. Habits of a lifetime are hard to undo.
I will never, ever apologize for the life of service and sacrifice my father and son lived and my nephew is living regardless of whatever politics may scroll across our newsfeeds.
I will honor the living, honor the dead and honor the families that support them.
Don’t let this day pass by without considering the cost of the freedom we enjoy every single day and the men and women who fought and still fight to secure it.
Right, left, middle of the road-your first amendment rights are safe because they are willing to serve.
We mustn’t forget.
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!
Living with child loss means I am already weighted down.
And when life adds more to THAT load, it isn’t long until I feel overwhelmed and anxious, frightened and weak.
Jesus invites me to give Him my burdens.
He wants me to let go of them and allow Him to do the heavy lifting because the truth is, He’s already doing it, I only have to realize it.
casting all your cares [all your anxieties, all your worries, and all your concerns, once and for all] on Him, for He cares about you [with deepest affection, and watches over you very carefully].
I Peter 5:7 AMP
I was just talking to another mom about this yesterday-the casting is for MY benefit.
Jesus is already carrying my burden,
When I try to take it back, all I do is create stress and heartache for myself.
Instead I need to lean into the truth that He is my burden-bearer, my ever present help in time of trouble.
He sees me,
loves me
and will never leave me. 
So what are you toting that you need to lay down?
I spent last weekend with eleven other bereaved moms.
And lest you think, “How sad!”, let me just tell you we had a beautiful time together.
Sure there were tears-how can there not be when talking about the precious children we miss-but there was fun too.
Of course we had somber moments.
Especially as we lit candles in honor of each child whose light lives on even as their physical presence is denied us.
In between Bible study sessions we ate, talked, walked outside and got to know one another.
A game of “Two Truths and a Lie” revealed all kinds of surprises that had us practically falling off our chairs with uproarious laughter.
Even though most of us had never met before, knowing we shared the heartache of child loss drew us together and opened the door to meaningful conversation.
For 72 hours we didn’t have to put our masks on or walk with one foot in the world of the spared and one foot in the world of the deeply wounded.
We were free-gloriously free-to be real and unguarded.
One of the fun things we did was have a Mary Kay consultant come and do facials and makeup. I think we kind of shocked her when she went around the circle asking, “So what are you primary make up concerns?” and over half of us said, “I don’t wear make up.”
Poor woman.
She had no idea that we had long passed the point of faking feelings or saying what someone expects just because they expect it.
I know it was a stretch for some of the moms to make their way to this place they’d never been to and walk into a room full of women they’d never met.
It was a stretch for me to facilitate discussions when I felt I had reached my limit for anything besides staying home for the rest of this year.
But it was worth it.
There is nothing as beautiful as broken hearts gathering together to love, uplift, encourage and listen to one another.
If you have the opportunity and are afraid, please step out.
Take a chance and link arms with fellow grievers.
I promise you will be glad you did.
thelifeididntchoose 