thelifeididntchoose

“He Wouldn’t Want You to be Sad” and Other Myths

If I got ten grieving parents in a room we could write down fifty things we wish people would stop saying in about five minutes.

Most of the time folks do it out of ignorance or in a desperate attempt to sound compassionate or to change the subject (death is very uncomfortable) or simply because they can’t just hush and offer silent companionship.

And most of the time, I and other bereaved parents just smile and nod and add one more encounter to a long list of unhelpful moments when we have to be the bigger person and take the blow without wincing.

But there is one common phrase that I think needs attention and here is why: It simultaneously dismisses my current reality and assumes knowledge that you simply do not have.

“He wouldn’t want you to be sad.”

Really? How do you know? Did you live with my son for nearly 24 years? Were you his confidante? His nursemaid in illness? His champion in victory?

My tears are as much an expression of the love I STILL have for my son this side of death as the hugs and kisses I gave him since he was a baby were on the other side.

My heart holds him now as surely as my arms held him then.

This is what I have left-tears that bear witness to that love.

You can’t bury love.

Love is forever.

Dominic would totally understand.

Reminder for Weary Hearts

If you are worn and weary from surviving Thanksgiving, take a few days to recover.

December isn’t here yet.

Don’t let other peoples’ expectations push you farther or faster than your heart can bear.

It is perfectly acceptable to observe a pause between one holiday and the next.

What IS and IS NOT “Impossible”

I freely and publicly admit that until Dominic ran ahead to heaven I was just as likely as the next person to declare something “impossible” when it was really simply hard, distasteful or uncomfortable.

Because before Dominic was snatched away in an instant-irretrievably lost to me this side of eternity-I lacked perspective.

I didn’t realize that as long as someone is breathing, there is hope.

As long as there are choices, you can make them.

As long as people offer to help, you can let them.

What I am facing may seem insurmountable but if money, time and/or energy can make a difference, then no circumstance is truly impossible.

So I carry an absolute yardstick in my heart: death is the only utterly impossible situation.

Anything that falls short of that holds out hope.

I can choose to grab hold or choose to let go, but I have a choice.

It may be excruciating and hard and frustrating and foolhardy, but I can still hold on.

❤

Hiding in Plain Sight

They say that if you want to hide something so it’s never found, hide it in plain sight.

I think I’m living proof.

Because every single day I hide my wounded heart.

I walk right up to people and they never know. I conduct business, entertain family and friends, sing hymns in church and do daily tasks without a hint that something’s wrong-terribly, terribly wrong.

Am I stronger now than three years ago? Absolutely! I have developed muscles I didn’t know existed. I have a go-to method to stop tears, stop screams, stop tremors, stop panic attacks and swallow words that might otherwise slip out and give me away.

I can make small talk with the best of them. I’ve learned to redirect a conversation so that it cannot venture into territory that guarantees I won’t be able to keep it together.

I look for opportunities to serve at gatherings. Kitchen duty? First in line! It’s easy and perfectly acceptable to mutter one word replies when your hands are in the sink washing dishes.

I locate bathrooms and exits everywhere I go. Ducking into the ladies’ room or out the door for a minute or two is usually all I need to regather myself and reenter the fray.

All this hiding takes a toll. So much energy is needed to shield the world from the pain I carry.

I often find that after a holiday or extended period of social interaction I need a day (or a week!) to recover. And that’s OK.

I’m learning to say “no” to invitations or expectations or intimidation.

I’m learning I have to give myself time to regroup.

Because then I can reengage, recharged and ready to keep hiding my heart.

Repost: Stronger Together

I’m not making a political statement.

Instead, it’s a very personal truth that I repeat often to myself: We are Stronger Together.

Read the rest here: Stronger Together

The Irresistable Power of Love

As you gather with loved ones today, can I tell you something oh, so important?

Don’t wait for that phone call or red-letter calendar day to reach out. Don’t let busy-ness overrun your life so that it squeezes out what and who is really important. Don’t let twelve months separate this time and the next time you talk to the people you care about.

When you think about someone-call them or get in touch in some way. We have the potential for connectivity as never before. There is really no excuse for not sending a text or an email or a Facebook message. Don’t just think about it, DO it!

Love is irresistable when it’s not just a feeling.

Love in action can break down walls, build bridges, overcome evil and speak courage to broken hearts.

There is so much we cannot control in this world-so many hard things we cannot stop from happening.

But when we choose to love-really, really love-we can create pockets of peace and places of safety.

Never underestimate the power of love.

Thanksgiving for the Broken-hearted

There is so much going on in my family this Thanksgiving in addition to the burden of missing Dominic. My mother’s health is unsure and my parents are facing some difficult choices in the next months, my husband’s sister has cancer and is struggling, my aged aunt ran home to heaven the day before her older sister turned 99.

Life is hard. But there is hope. I love this post by Marilyn.

It spoke courage to my heart. I hope it speaks courage to yours. ❤

Marilyn R. Gardner

Robynn and I were recently texting about Thanksgiving. This year both of us will fill our houses and hearts with people who are hurting. These will be the tables of the broken-hearted, chairs of the grieving, glasses of the bewildered, and dessert plates of the deserted.

What do we do when our tables are filled with the broken-hearted?When comfort feels as elusive as sunshine in winter?

We raise glasses of gratitude, because gratitude precedes the miracle. And God knows, we need miracles.

As we texted back and forth, comfort and friendship were in every word. Though miles away, we were walking beside each other.

Robynn’s last text to me that day is the one I have posted below. May you who fellowship with the broken-hearted know that we are with you through this Thanksgiving weekend. We pray that your tables will be ones of grace and the deepest of peace.

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Ten Ways to Love a Mourning Heart at Thanksgiving

We are all on a journey through life and each carry some sort of load. Mine is child loss. Yours may be something else.

We can help one another if we try.

Love and grace grease the wheels and make the load lighter.

Here are ten ways to love a mourning heart at Thanksgiving:

1. Let them grieve. Give space and grace for any outward display of grief or emotion. It doesn’t require comment. Maybe an outstretched hand or a tissue or maybe not. Sometimes silence presence is best.

2. Begin conversation with statements that are true for you and then listen. I appreciate someone sharing their heart with me. It’s really OK to say, “Hey, I’ve wanted to reach out but I just didn’t know how.” I would rather hear that than excuses. ❤

3. Share a memory of their child or their pregnancy (if a child was born straight into heaven). Whenever I hear a story about Dominic I may not have heard before, it is a gift.

4. Speak their child’s name. It may make me cry. But I cry anyway. And if no one says his name I cry because I think they’ve forgotten.

5. Give them room to step away. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed and I just need a breath of fresh air or a moment to gather my strength. Don’t send the cavalry to “rescue” me and don’t make me feel bad by drawing attention to my absence when I return.

6. Find a way to commemorate their child in company with the living. Light a candle, place a photo, set an honorary place at the table, give a gift in his memory to a charity and display the card-there are many ways to make him part of the holidays.

7. Allow them to participate/ not participate as they are able. This will be our fourth set of holidays and I still don’t have a routine that feels “right”. I do enjoy and even crave cooking meals so I appreciate being asked to do that. Some other things are still hard so I appreciate not being forced to do those.

8. Don’t use this once or twice a year gathering to require an extended debrief of how they are feeling/coping/doing. Invite me to share and then respect the boundaries I establish in my sharing. It depends on the day whether I’m going to give you a brief response or a long one. Let me lead the dance.

9. Try not to make assumptions about what is best for their heart. Ask questions instead of making pronouncements. Like I said, I still don’t have any traditions that feel right after nearly four years. I need space to think about and make choices about what may work for THIS Thanksgiving.

10. Remember that all holidays are hard. When the whole family gathers, it highlights even more that my son is missing. Other times it’s easier to play a mental game with myself and pretend he’s just off somewhere. But when the chairs are drawn around the table and his is empty, there’s no denying that he is gone, gone, gone. Lots and lots of grace makes it easier for my heart.

Gratitude and Grieving: The Truth Will Set You Free

How much energy do we spend dancing around the truth? How many times do we gather with family or friends and cast our eyes downward so we can ignore the elephant in the room? How many shackles would fall away if just one person stood up and said what everyone else was thinking but was afraid to whisper aloud?

As family gathers around the table for Thanksgiving, we all have those subjects no one will touch. And often they are the very ones that need to be laid bare, talked about and shared. They are what keep hearts apart even while bodies sit closer than any other time of year.

Now I’m no advocate of random outbursts intended to shock and raise a ruckus but I am a firm believer in speaking truth in love.

It’s hard.

In fact, next to carrying this burden of missing, it is the hardest thing I do.

And I am often unsuccessful.

I screw up my courage, practice my speech, lay out the strategy and then crumble, last minute, under dozens of potentially awful outcomes.

What if they get mad? What if they think I’m crazy, or selfish, or wrong?

Or I DO share and it falls flat because the words I thought would communicate love are misunderstood or misdirected or misapplied.

So instead of helping, I hurt.

But the alternative is this: we all remain imprisoned behind a wall where freedom is clearly visible on the other side. We can smell it, almost taste it but not quite touch it.

And that is not how I want to live.

I want to claim the freedom that truth offers.

So this Thanksgiving I will try again: truth in love.

Lots and lots of love with truth sprinkled in. Maybe the sugar in the pie will help.

I’ll never know if I don’t give it a shot.

Gratitude and Grieving: Appreciating What I Have, Acknowledging What I Miss

Gratitude does not undo grief.

There, I said it.

Gratitude is important. It is (in my opinion) a necessary ingredient for a healthy and hope-filled and useful life. It is the key to any real happiness a heart might find on this broken road.

But it cannot fill up the empty place where Dominic used to be.

Grief does not preclude gratitude.

Although some broken hearts swear it does. They have convinced themselves that if they cannot have the one thing they really want, then nothing else matters.

That’s a lie as well.

Grief is hard. I am grieved because I no longer have the earthly companionship of one of my children. But I refuse to dishonor Dominic’s memory and the life he lived by holding onto grief so hard that I squeeze out the love and life that is still available.

I am grateful AND grief-filled.

I appreciate what I have:

Three amazing children here and one in heaven.
A husband who loves me and works hard to provide for me.
Family and friends who care about me and love me well.
Food.
Shelter.
A home where animals (wild and otherwise!) bring me great comfort and pleasure.
Strength and relatively good health.

I acknowledge what I have lost:

The earthly companionship of my son.
The family I once had-we are no longer an unbroken circle.
Secure confidence in the future.
Sense of who I am.
Unbridled joy.

These things are not mutually exclusive.

Dark and light add contrast. You need both to see the whole picture.

If you are struggling and believing either of the lies-that gratitude undoes grief OR that grief precludes gratitude-may I ask you to try something?

Make a list of BOTH.

Give your heart permission to appreciate what you have AND acknowledge what you’ve lost.

I truly believe that is the healing path.

❤