thelifeididntchoose

Why You Might Have to “Forgive” God

I love this quote.

It’s honest and exactly how I felt after Dominic was killed.

Like any healthy human relationship, forgiveness is a key component in allowing us to grow closer to those we care about. Intellectually, I believed that God is perfect, and could do no wrong. I could agree with all the scriptures I had read since I was a child that told me God cares for us with an everlasting love. But what my heart felt was that God had done Cathy and my whole family an injustice. As long as I held onto those feelings, I knew I could never move forward.

So one evening alone at home, I simply said these words out loud: ‘God, I forgive you.’

When I was finally able to let go of my ‘justifications’ for feeling angry at God, something inside of me shifted. There were no heavenly rays of light breaking through the clouds, but I could tell that much of the mental turmoil I had been struggling with was being replaced with a quiet peace.

The thing is, I knew deep down that God did not need to be forgiven. The forgiveness was meant for my sake. It opened my heart to begin to listen and allowed me to receive more of what God wanted to teach me about who He really is.

~Warren Ludwig, Jewels in the Junkyard

It may be an affront to our religious sensibilities to even suggest that we “forgive” God.

But it is a bold rendering of the betrayal my heart felt. Why MY son? Why ME?

It’s true-as long as I held onto the reasons God had “done me wrong”, I was unable to lean in and trust Him again.

Like Job, I thought I had Him figured out and could hold my own in a debate with the Almighty One.

But also like Job, when confronted with His holiness, perfection and majesty, found all I could do was cover my mouth.

And when I shut up long enough to hear Him, His voice brought comfort.

He [Christ] said not, ‘Thou shalt not be tempested, thou shalt not be trevailed, thou shalt not be dis-eased,’ but He said, ‘Thou shalt not be overcome.’

~Julian of Norwich

I no longer feel betrayed.

I still don’t like this life.

I would never have chosen this life.

But I will trust the One Who made me to carry me through it.

i made you and i will carry you

Shifting The Weight, Bearing the Burden

I told the two children with me that morning that we were going to survive this awful blow.

And we have.

It has been hard and ugly and more painful than anything else we’ve ever had to do.

But we’re still standing.

And I want to encourage the hearts that are just starting down this broken road: You really CAN make it.

Some of you reading this are saying, “But I don’t want to make it. I want to lie down and give up and be out of this pain.”

I don’t blame you.

That’s precisely how my heart felt for months and months. The only thing that kept me holding onto hope was a strong desire that my precious family not have to bury another person they loved. It was enough to force my lungs to draw one more breath, and then another, and then another.

The breaths turned into minutes turned into hours turned into days-then weeks, months and finally, years.

Here I am, six plus years into this Valley and I can tell you this:

Sorrow is no longer all I feel and my son’s absence no longer all I see.

Yes, every single minute grief runs like background noise in my brain. I can go from OK to devastated in a heartbeat.

Yes, I miss Dominic like crazy.

I miss the family we used to have.

I miss the me I used to be.

But I am also living, loving and even laughing my way through many days.

I can go from tearful to joyful in a heartbeat too. I am even more grateful for the children that walk the earth with me. I try harder to be present, to listen, to lean in and love more fully.

The broken me is a more compassionate woman who knows the value of a minute spent with someone you love.

I’ve learned to shift the weight of grief to one hip and make room for other things.

It’s hard.

It’s going to stay hard.

But with God’s help, I’m strong enough to make it.

Repost: Grace Gifts in Grief

It was a long time before I wanted to believe that I received any gifts worth keeping from this life I didn’t choose.

I knew I had tears, pain, agonizing sorrow, loss, heartache, dashed hopes, empty arms.

If I could give those back and regain my son, I would do it in less than a heartbeat.

I can’t, so I’m left here to ponder what else I’ve received from burying a child.

Read the rest here: Grace Gifts of Grief

Only A Horizon

We enter this world when we leave our mother’s womb.

That is the beginning.

But our lives never end. We are eternal beings, created in the image of God, destined to spend forever with Him-IF we receive the gift of redemption made possible by the blood of Christ Jesus.

Love is immortal-it stretches like a golden cord between those that remain and those that go before.

God Himself has guaranteed its supremacy.

Love wins.

Death is awful for those of us left to remember and miss and sorrow over the absence of a loved one.

But it is not the end.

Hallelujah.

Amen.

*Graphic by fellow Waiting Mom Jennifer Coleman*

Speak Up, They Can’t Read Your Mind

I’ll admit it.

I tend to be an emotional stuffer.

It never seemed like it was worth the drama to expose my feelings to others. It rarely resulted in changed behavior and often resulted in confrontation, retribution or worse.

So I learned to swallow tears, stuff pain and slink off into another room and lick my wounds.

But that’s hardly healthy.

And it cannot be sustained when a heart shatters into a million pieces.

Because trying to hide THAT pain is impossible.

It slips out eventually-usually in a way that is awful and untimely and creates more hurt and more drama than if I had simply owned up to it in the first place.

It may be frustrating, not to mention exhausting, that you have to take the time to help others understand what you need. But this is part of living with grief. It’s part of the healing, coping process. Plus, if you don’t, you’re setting yourself up for more awkward, painful moments. Therefore, communicating with your comforters — be it through a spoken conversation, a letter, or an email — is wise. You won’t have a great deal of energy to reach out to others, but find a way that works for you. Let your comforters know:

* what helps
* what doesn’t help
* the truth about how you are feeling
* how thankful you are for their friendship.”

~Samuel J. Hodges and Kathy Leonard, Grieving With Hope

It IS frustrating AND exhausting.

But I am learning (slowly, very slowly!) that it is oh, so much better!

Instead of energy spent on being wounded and trying to hide it, I’m learning to speak up, own the wounds and suggest ways to prevent them in the future.

I’ll be honest, not everyone around me appreciates it. I am sometimes met with exactly what I hate: confrontation, opposition, accusations of selfishness and no more understanding than I had before I risked transparency.

But at least I’ve unburdened myself of what I could. I’ve given them tools to use (if they want to) in helping my heart heal.

There is so little I can control in this journey.

This is one place I can give it a shot.

Bereaved Parents Month Post: There Is NO Shame In Getting Help

Shame is a shackle as sure as any chains forged from iron.

And it often finds its home in the hearts of those who bury a child.

Bereaved parents may feel shame for lots of reasons…Shake Off the Shame

When Self-Control Is In Short Supply

Have you ever tried to squeeze into too-small jeans, managed to get them over your hips, sucked in and zipped up only to realize that all that extra “you” is now spilling out over the top of the waistband?

Sometimes that’s how life after loss feels.

Too much emotion, too much baggage, too much EVERYTHING that has to fit inside a very narrow set of other people’s expectations and tolerance for self-expression.

I find that I CAN squeeze my words and actions into that skinny space-for awhile.

But then sure as anything, the real me pops out the top and there I am-exposed to the world- warts and all.

I’ve discovered that self-control is not a limitless commodity.

Now before my Bible believing friends remind me that it is part of the fruit of the Spirit, I want to say this: it sure is! And because the Spirit of Jesus lives inside me I can promise you I am more self-controlled than I would otherwise be.

BUT…

When every single word, action, thought and feeling has to be reined in every waking moment, there is not enough self-control this side of heaven to do THAT!

So I find that some days I just need to stay away from people. Because if I don’t, I’m going to be ugly.

And other days I can do people but I can’t control my eating.

Still other days I can do people and count calories but memories leak out of my eyes and I blubber my way through until darkness brings sleep and relief.

There is just so much inside me now.

So much that really can’t be laid bare or it would scare everyone else half to death.

So I keep trying to squeeze myself into the constraints that make me fit for company.

But beware- I might pop out any minute. ❤

I Need A Little Help From My Friends

I’ve been asked to speak to a group of healthcare professionals and social workers employed by the hospice industry.

I plan to share a talk entitled “Lifting the Veil on Grief: the Ongoing Impact of Loss on Individuals, Families and Society”

But I need your help.

Because Dominic left for heaven suddenly, in a motorcycle accident, I did not have any interaction with the healthcare system specific to his death. And while I can speak about the grief that comes AFTER, I’d like to also speak a bit on what parents, siblings and other close family members need from these folks when a child goes to heaven in a hospital or hospice care facility.

So I have a few questions:

What did a nurse, hospice worker, social worker or other professional do that blessed you around the time of your child’s death?
What did they do that was unhelpful or even detrimental?
Did any professional present offer grief counseling or recommend a grief support group? If they did, did you take advantage of that resource? Why or why not?
What do you want these folks to know about your family’s experience?
What would you say if you could speak to them today, in light of your experience?

Please note that comments left on the blog site are PUBLIC. But you are welcome to comment in the closed Facebook groups where I post the blog everyday and those comments are PRIVATE.

You can also use the “Contact” link to email me comments that will only be seen by me.

I will not use any identifying information when compiling your comments so please share freely and in complete confidence.

I want to represent the bereaved parent community honestly, bravely and gracefully.

Your participation will help me do that.

Thanks in advance.

I knew I could count on you!

Bereaved Parents Month Post: A Broken Heart

I wrote this post in response to the deaths of Debbie Reynolds and Carrie Fisher in December, 2016. Debbie died of a broken heart within a day of hearing of her daughter’s death.

It was an opportunity to educate others about the reality of child loss and a parent’s broken heart while the world’s attention was focused on the subject.

Like so many other things competing for headlines and social media hits, it was only a hot topic for a brief while.

But for those of us living with the daily reality of a missing child and a broken heart this still rings true.

I think Bereaved Parents Month is an appropriate time to revisit it. ❤

“The world is stunned by the deaths of Carrie Fisher at 60 and her mother Debbie Reynolds just one day later.

And it should be.”

Read the rest here: A Broken Heart

Obliterated

You think because you have “imagined” it, you have an inkling.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it. We anticipate (we know) that someone close to us could die, but we do not look beyond the few days or weeks that immediately follow such an imagined death. We misconstrue the nature of even those few days or weeks. We might expect if the death is sudden to feel shock. We do not expect this shock to be obliterative, dislocating to both body and mind.
~Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

This was one of the most surprising things to me-that in spite of all the books I’d read, movies I’d seen, people I’d known (who had grieved a loss in my company)- I knew absolutely nothing of grief.

I did not know it would totally destroy who I was-leaving bits so small that I had no idea how to put them back together.

I did not know it would so completely block the light of the sun that I wouldn’t be able to tell day from night.

I didn’t know that it would change the taste of food, the smell of flowers, the sound of the wind so that everything I tasted, smelled and heard was death.

Thankfully, slowly, the bits have come back together and formed a semblance of the me that was before.

Before grief.

But not really the same. A hollowed out husk of who I was. Familiar shape without the substance.

I’m learning to live with the me that’s left.

Holding on to hope.

Leaning into love.

Original artist : Albert György
Bronze Statue located at Lake Geneva, Switzerland