thelifeididntchoose

Help! My Family Won’t Talk About My Missing Child.

At first everyone talked about him.

It’s what people do just after a person leaves this world and leaves behind only memories.

It comes natural before the unnatural fact of child loss settles in and begins to make everyone uncomfortable.

But at some point after the funeral and way before the tears dried up, people stopped feeling easy mentioning his name.

And when I mentioned him, they weren’t sure whether they should just let those words fall with a “thud!” between us or pick up the conversational ball and run with it.

It’s a bit easier to understand when friends do it.

But so, so many bereaved parents lament the fact that even family members stop saying their missing child’s name aloud.

They stop sharing memories and stop acknowledging the place he or she holds in a parent’s heart regardless of their permanent address.

It hurts. A LOT.

I realized after the first six months or so that most people (including my family) didn’t know HOW to talk about my missing son.

So I began modeling it for them: I spoke of memories in past tense as I would for anyone, I spoke of character traits in present tense– because he is still all that plus some in Heaven-and I refused to ignore the elephant in the room.

I told them it was impossible to make me sadder by mentioning Dominic but it was very possible to make my burden heavier by NOT mentioning him. They were not reminding me that he was gone, I breathe his absence in and out like oxygen all day long.

I know it seems unfair that we must simultaneously learn by (awful and heartbreaking!) experience and also educate those around us, but it is what it is.

If I’m honest, though, before Dominic ran ahead to heaven I didn’t really know how to talk about a young person who died. It’s natural to reminisce about Grandmama’s favorite recipe or the old-fashioned way she did her hair. It’s positively Unnatural to speak in past tense about a young, vibrant human being that you never expected to outlive.

There are always going to be some folks-even family-who cannot or will not speak about my child in Heaven.

I can’t force them to do it.

But I can encourage the ones who do by telling them what a beautiful gift it is to hear his name on their lips.

Repost: Anger or Sadness? Or Both?

We live in an angry society.

Social media is full of rants about this and that. Television blares raised voices shouting over one another in what passes for news coverage. T-shirts are emblazoned with one-liners intended to provoke others.

We tolerate and even embrace anger as a legitimate emotion.

Yet we rarely make room for mourning. We hide our tears. We shame those who don’t hide theirs as “weak” and “soft” and “cowardly” or worse.

Read the rest here: Anger or Sadness? Or Both?

The Art of Listening

We’ve all experienced it and probably been guilty of it as well: listening with one ear while anxiously waiting to reply or to make a getaway.

I hate that.

What I LOVE is people who really listen.

I knew a woman once who made me feel as if whatever I was telling her at that moment was the most important thing in the world. She would look me in the eye, often take my hand, and never made even the slightest body movement to suggest she had things to do or people to see or anywhere else to go.

Even when we were talking about the most ordinary things.

I want to be like THAT.

I want to make every single heart that shares feel honored, loved, heard and safe.

Stick Around: Help Another Heart Hold Onto Hope

When grief was fresh, the pain was raw and my heart was oh, so tender, I desperately needed a safe space to talk about the nitty-gritty of child loss.

And I found it in online bereaved parents’ groups.

I’m so thankful that they exist, that they are maintained by people who give time and energy to keeping them safe and that-for the most part-participants are kind, compassionate and encouraging.

There is something I’ve noticed now that I’ve been here awhile. Many parents tend to drop out of active participation when they get a little further along in their journey.

I understand completely that time, plus the work grief requires, often means a heart has less need for these groups. It’s not that grief dissipates, it’s simply that we get stronger and learn to carry it a little better.

I also know that grief groups can become Echo Chambers and wear on a heart after a time.

We all need a break.

But can I take a moment to encourage those among us who have learned a little, lived a little and walked longer in the path of child loss to stick around?

Newly bereaved parents need to know that they CAN survive.

Your presence-even if you don’t have wonderful words of wisdom-speaks volumes.

When someone comments and shares that her loss was 5, 7, 10 years ago, it helps my heart hold onto hope.

Because if YOU can make it, maybe I can too.

Life Happens

I confess.

When I used to drive by an unkempt yard, a run down house or bumped into an untidy person, I would think, “Goodness! Don’t they care about their yard, home or appearance? They need to do better! I would NEVER let my (fill in the blank) look like that.”

I don’t do that anymore.

Because I’ve learned that there are all kinds of reasons a body may not be busy mowing a lawn, painting a porch or even putting on matching socks.

Life happens.

And when it does, it demands all my energy, effort and attention. I don’t have the time or luxury of worrying about things that aren’t absolutely necessary for survival.

When Dominic left for Heaven, my priorities were immediately shaken out, sifted and re-ordered. Not only the big ones-like spending more time with the people I loved-but also the smaller ones-like whether or not I swept the front porch before someone visited.

More than nine years later and I look around sometimes wishing I was better at keeping up with things, better able to tidy up, decorate for the seasons, mend the fences, stay on top of clutter, or put together decent outfits.

But then I pause, breathe and realize that while the outside looks messy and unorganized and not at all like I’d prefer, my inside is focused on the things that really matter.

I am spending most of my time caring (one way or another) for other hearts.

Now when I see someone’s home that needs attention or someone who isn’t put together, I think, “What battle are they facing? What life circumstance has swallowed up their time, energy, and emotional reserves?”

Because life happens.

Whether we are ready for it or not.

Repost: The Loudest Silence

No matter how busy or how noisy or how frantic, in the middle of my chest there is a quiet place that holds space for my missing child.

It was true last year in the craziness of my mother’s health crisis and it’s been so very, very true this past eight weeks full of anxiety, discomfort, challenge and unbelievable stress.

Read the rest here: The Loudest Silence

We’ve Got To Do Better: Making Ministry the Heart of Church

I am not among those who have given up on the local church.

But I AM critical of the way we in the U.S. –and especially the Southern U.S. -do church.

Let’s be honest.

Many of us go to church because it makes us feel good, refuels our spirits for the week ahead and is a safe spot to park our kids for a few hours respite from the demands of parenthood.

An added bonus is that sometimes we get to contribute to a cause, a mission or a personal need without having to get TOO involved.

So we come away feeling pretty good about who we are, what we believe and how much we “sacrifice” for others and the Kingdom.

But this is not what Christ came for folks.

He didn’t come so that we can have a weekly club meeting, soothe our souls and shut out the world. He came so that desperate hearts on the fringe could draw near.

He rent the veil so that no one who trusts His finished work is excluded.

Not even the messy and imperfect.

Not even the poor or unlovely or slightly crazy.

We have got to do better.

We have got to make church a place where people who have no hope feel like they are welcome. We have got to reach out and reach down and reach across and pull those hurting hearts inside.

I know (believe, me, I know!) that it takes more energy than you want to exert. It takes more flexibility than a crammed-full schedule can allow. It takes more time and more emotional investment than any of us really want to spend.

But this is what Christ came for.

He came to expose the barriers religious people had erected between God and man.

He came to make a way where there was no way.

How welcome are the truly broken to our house of worship? Do we want to see their pain, entertain their questions and offer hope that includes walking the road alongside them and giving support for the long haul?

Jesus came to heal the broken.

Healing takes time and resources. It requires personal commitment to those God brings into our lives. It is messy and can’t be boiled down to a formula or pamphlet.

Jesus has invited is to be His hands and feet.

Will we accept the invitation?

christ has no body but yours teresa of avila

Sound and Silence: We Need Them Both

This is one of my favorite photos of Dominic even though you have to look hard to see him sitting back there on the drums.

For awhile there was an almost-monthly gathering of local musicians not far from where we live. They would sing old favorites, cover popular tunes and try out some of their own compositions.

Both Dominic and Fiona participated.

This night, in particular, is a beautiful memory because while band members changed out nearly every song, Dominic simply moved from one position to another, one instrument to a different one.

He loved music.

But he also understood the important role pauses played in making music beautiful and establishing rhythm-he didn’t insist on every space being filled with sound.

When I’m tempted to stack my day so full I can’t think straight (often because I’m trying to chase away grief or sorrow) I try to remember that I need both sound and silence for a balanced and beautiful life.

Music is pleasing not only because of the sound but because of the silence that is in it: without the alternation of sound and silence there would be no rhythm. If we strive to be happy by filling all the silences of life with sound, productive by turning all of life’s leisure into work, and real by turning all our being into doing, we will only succeed in producing a hell on earth.

If we have no silence, God is not heard in our music. If we have no rest, God does not bless our work. If we twist our lives out of shape in order to fill every corner of them with action and experience, God will silently withdraw from our hearts and leave us empty.

Source: Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island

Let it Rain

In a hurry, in a hurry.

That describes most of us these days, doesn’t it?

Always looking for the fastest way around the clogged intersection, the highway construction or the long line waiting to get a coffee at Starbucks.

But there are some things we can’t rush along.

Grief is one of them.

There are no shortcuts, no detours in this Valley of the Shadow of Death.

We long for a way to hasten past the deep, dark nights of sorrow and pain.

We beg God and anyone who will listen to show us the quickest route out of the miry pit of misery and missing.

It doesn’t exist.

Grief, like love, takes time.

Repost: Today’s Gift

I wrote this less than six months after Dominic ran ahead to heaven.

My heart had not yet fully grasped his absence and there was a lovely moment each morning when my sleepy eyes opened to a world where he was still in it.

Read the rest here: Today’s Gift