For a moment–
Between wake and sleep-
All things are as I wish them to be.
Unchanged by time,
by terror,
by tears.
Warm and lovely.
Cocooned in my heart.
For a moment–
Between wake and sleep-
All things are as I wish them to be.
Unchanged by time,
by terror,
by tears.
Warm and lovely.
Cocooned in my heart.
A fellow “waiting” mom wrote this and gave me permission to share:
“I coached my oldest daughter through natural labor and childbirth on Wednesday night. She stayed at 9cm for 3.5 hours.
Towards the end she looked at me and said ‘I can’t do this, I’m not strong enough!’
I looked at her and said, ‘You can because you have your husband and me right here with you to give you our strength.’
We held her up while she rocked back and forth moving her little guy down into position.
While I was holding my daughter through such physical trauma I thought about how God held me up after the loss of her sister.
I didn’t have the strength to stand. I felt like I couldn’t do it.
But He held me.
He didn’t take the pain away but He held me up when my strength failed me.”
Her words brought light to my heart.
Here was a mama who has faced life and death and learned something she was willing to share.
Her experience reminded me of this Brene Brown quote I had read months ago:
Faith isn’t an epidural. It’s a midwife who stands next to me saying, “Push, It’s supposed to hurt.” ~Brene Brown
As I reflected on my friend’s words and this quote, I realized there were some lessons here-for birth, for death and for grief.
A midwife does not deny the pain.
It hurts!
It hurts to give birth. It hurts to say good-bye. It hurts to carry grief everywhere I go.
When someone comes alongside and denies the truth of my pain, I shut down and stop listening.
But when they enter in and acknowledge my pain, I receive courage to continue pushing.
A midwife does not offer false hope.
She knows that there is no way through but through. A midwife bears witness and lends strength but she doesn’t pretend it will be easy.
There are no shortcuts to birth and no detours for grief. I can only face the sorrow, missing and hurt and keep going.
But the journey is easier when someone is willing to travel with me, to listen and to help bear the burden.
A midwife understands that though the pain is great and the process long, it will end.
It hurts. But it won’t hurt forever.
She doesn’t throw that truth in the hurting mama’s face. She whispers prayers for mercy.
For the profound wounds of life, there are no quick fixes. There is no easy healing.
We endure because God through His Spirit lends us strength.
We make it through because Jesus promises to redeem and restore.
And because friends remind us with their presence that God is near.

What a gift are those friends who stay near when life is hard,
who choose to stick it out when pain makes us both uncomfortable
and continue to love and lend their strength when mine is gone!

There’s a lot of truth packed into this little verse:
Suffering is hard but it won’t last forever.
“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
Revelation 21:4 NIV
The grace of God that called me and carries me will restore me.
“Even to your old age and gray hairs
I am he, I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
I will sustain you and I will rescue you.”
Isaiah 46:4 NIV
He will confirm me-my faith will be made sight.
He will strengthen me.
“I can do all things through Christ[a] who strengthens me.”
Philippians 4:14 NKJV
He will establish me.
“You will be established in righteousness. You will be far from oppression, so you will not be afraid. You will be far from destruction, so it won’t come near you.”
Isaiah 54:14 GWT
And what God has done, no power can undo.

At this stage in my grief journey I have learned to exercise the “just ignore it” muscle that allows me to scroll through Facebook without taking comments personally.
Most of the time.
But yesterday a grieving mama posted a tribute to her missing daughter complete with a beautiful photo collage and a sweet message that included sharing her feelings.
This mama revealed that her heart was broken, that she missed her daughter and that she was oh, so proud of her and thankful for the years they had together.
Many comments were simply, “Praying for you” or “Love you”.
But one comment stuck out. This person said, “She wouldn’t want you to be sad. She’s at peace in heaven with Jesus.”
Really??!!
How is that helpful?
In a single line you have dismissed this mama’s honest and appropriate feelings and implied you know her daughter better than she does.
Of course she’s in heaven with Jesus. As believers in Christ we know that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.
But knowing that, trusting that truth makes grief easier to bear, it does not erase it.
Paul wrote to the Thessalonians, “We do not grieve as those without hope.” (I Thess. 4:13)
NOT “We do not grieve.”
Here’s something you need to know: hurting with hope still hurts. The sting of death might have been removed, but it still stings. No, we might not sorrow as those who have no hope, but that doesn’t mean we won’t be sad.
Levi Lusko, Through the Eyes of a Lion
Grief is the price we pay for love.
Grief is an appropriate and proportionate response to the death (the end of earthly companionship) of someone we love.
If grief is small, what does that say about love?
It can’t be both ways.
We cannot celebrate a mother’s love and then dismiss her grief.
So my answer to that comment was this:
It’s perfectly OK to be sad. Death is awful. And missing is hard. Praying that the Lord will bring a special memory-one that has been tucked away in your hearts but mostly forgotten-to mind today and that it will bring a smile to your lips. May you feel the Lord’s Presence today and may He sing a song of love, grace and mercy over your shattered heart
God’s grief over a world of people doomed to eternal separation from Himself was to send His only Son as a sacrifice.
Why was the grief so great? Why was He willing to pay that price?
Because His love is infinitely greater.
See, here’s the thing: to the outside world, my son’s death happened at a single point in time.
But to me, his death is a continuous event.
I must lift the cup of sorrow every day to parched lips. I must choose to take it to the One Who can help me lift it.
Jesus knows this cup.
He knows my pain: My Cup Overflows
This is the fourth in a series on making plans for the holidays after loss.
Yes, it’s early and no, you might not want to think about them-it’s really hard to imagine Thanksgiving and Christmas without the child you love. BUT, the days will come whether we want them to or not. Here’s some help to navigate them.
If you missed the first three posts you can find them here:
Grief and Holiday Plans: Working Out the Details
Grief, Holidays and Hard Conversations
Grief and Holidays:What the Bereaved Need From Friends and Family.
It cannot be overstated: holidays are extremely hard after loss. Every family gathering highlights the hole where my son SHOULD be, but ISN’T.
There is no “right way” or “wrong way” to handle the holidays after losing a child.
For many, there is only survival-especially the very first year.
These days also stir great internal conflict: I want to enjoy and celebrate my living children and my family still here while missing my son that isn’t. Emotions run high and are, oh so difficult to manage.
So I’m including some ideas from other bereaved parents on how they’ve handled the holidays. Many of these suggestions could be adapted for any “special” day of the year.
Not all will appeal to everyone nor will they be appropriate for every family. But they are a place to start.
If you have decided to make a Holiday Journal, consider printing these ideas to put inside or copying out the ones that might be helpful for you.
Skip it.
Consider traveling for the holidays.
Change how you do meals.
Let others do the planning/cooking/communicating.
Make new traditions.
Commemorate your child:
Keep the same traditions:
Whatever you choose to do or not do, know that there’s no wrong way or right way.
Be gentle with yourself-this is a hard road. And a long one.
Photo credit: State Farm via Visual hunt
I know it is hard. I know you don’t truly understand how I feel. You can’t. It wasn’t your child.
I know I may look and act like I’m “better”. I know that you would love for things to be like they were: BEFORE. But they aren’t.
I know my grief interferes with your plans. I know it is uncomfortable to make changes in traditions we have observed for years. But I can’t help it. I didn’t ask for this to be my life.
I know that every year I seem to need something different. I know that’s confusing and may be frustrating. But I’m working this out as I go. I didn’t get a “how to” manual when I buried my son. It’s new for me every year too.
So I’m trying to make it easier on all of us.
I’m trying to be brave and think ahead and offer up what I can to help you understand.
I’m not asking you to stuff your feelings. But I am asking you to weigh your disappointment in things being different against my unfathomable sorrow in burying my child.
And this is what I need from YOU:
Acknowledge my loss. It doesn’t matter if it has been a few months, a few years or even decades-every single time the whole family gets together, the hole where my child SHOULD be is highlighted. Other people may have moved on, and I am stronger now than I was, but the missing is as hard today as it was the day he left. I need you to acknowledge that even if you don’t understand it.
Be flexible. Every day is different for me. And even if we did a certain thing last year, it may not be something I want to repeat. Life circumstances continue to evolve-living children grow and marry, grandchildren make their appearance, health issues may emerge and change physical capabilities-life keeps on regardless of loss. So this year is DIFFERENT than last year. For everyone. If we all embrace flexibility, there’s less opportunity for breakage. Rubber bounces. Glass shatters. I don’t want my loss to be the central focus, but it’s a huge part of my experience and I can’t ignore it. Help me, please.
Give me space. Grant space in the larger picture-don’t make showing up to every family event a “mandatory option”. Understand that even with planning and the best intentions, I may wake up and realize that I. just. can’t. do. it. Or I may come, but leave early. And grant space in the details-if I walk out of a room, let me go. It may be helpful for one person to check on me after a few minutes but don’t send the calvary to drag me back. I don’t always want to detract from a gathering and I may need to cry, or gather myself, or just sit silently remembering my son.
Give me time. Time by itself does not heal anything. But time is a critical component of healing. If this is the first holiday season after loss, don’t pressure me with artificial deadlines about what I want to do or whether or not I’m going to participate in this or that. And even if it’s not the first season, I still need time. It will be the third set of holidays after my son’s departure and I’m still feeling my way in the dark. Don’t force me to decide if I can’t. Just go on with your plans. If I can join in, I will. If I can’t, then I won’t. That’s the best I can do. It’s how I have to live every single day right now.
Grant mercy. I will mess up. I will say things in the passion of loss that I regret. Overlook it. Don’t lash out or hit back. My emotional tank is so empty sometimes that it’s a wonder I can still feel anything. I am truly trying. Grant mercy.
Extend grace. Grace is lavishing love on the unlovely. Forgiving when someone doesn’t ask for it. Doing something for someone and not expecting anything in return. Step up and step out in faith that loving me will help me heal. Even when you can’t see that it makes a difference. Don’t stop. Don’t withdraw.
Know that this is not what I would have chosen.
Child loss happened TO me.
It is out of my control.
And the calendar pages keep turning. Every holiday season means another year gone without the companionship of the child I miss.
I want to continue to embrace life, to enjoy my loved ones, to make new memories. But I need your help to make it happen.
Don’t abandon me now.

For those using these posts as a guide for navigating the holidays after loss, I would recommend you view them all before having those hard conversations. I may not be giving the information in the best possible order. The last posts will contain ideas from other grieving parents and grandparents that might be very helpful in deciding what’s best for you and your family. You can share these posts to your own Facebook page or follow the blog via email to have access to them for easy future reference.
You don’t have to bury a child to know that changing long-standing family traditions around holidays is a hard, hard thing.
Just ask a parent trying to work out Thanksgiving and Christmas for the first time after an adult child marries. Suddenly the way things have “always been” are no longer the way things are.
Holidays typically involve so many more people and family members than everyday get-togethers and each person brings expectations, emotions and personal history to the table.
So, that is why I decided to run this series of posts NOW. Because one of the things I have learned over the years is that giving people time to adjust to change is a good thing.
If you have made a Holiday Journal like I suggested, then use a page to list all the people that are typically part of your family’s holiday plans-you might want to make subheadings by holiday (and there may be other special get-togethers your family observes, so include those).
That list is a starting point for the people you may need to communicate with about the upcoming holidays.
Don’t feel like you have to include each individual in a unique communication-you can focus on those who are “in charge” of the gatherings/traditions and request that they pass it along.
Here are some specific tips for reaching out:
Understand that they DO NOT understand.
Don’t wait.
Decide how you will communicate your message.
Acknowledge their loss.
Use “I” statements.
Expect resistance.
If you can, offer an alternative.
Extend grace.
I know that all these suggestions require additional emotional energy when we feel we are already tapped out. We are already carrying a load that can crush a spirit-it seems unfair that we have to initiate the conversation, offer alternatives and give grace.
But they do not understand.
And they may not know where to start.
We have to remain focused on the goal: Surviving the holidays.
If your family includes young children, how you approach this season is even more important. You are building memories for them, shaping their childhood experiences and helping them learn to cope with what will be a life-long challenge-living with grief.
Consider printing this post and slipping it in your journal if you are making one. That way you can refer back to it easily.
Tomorrow: What the bereaved need from family and friends…
I live in Alabama where we are still sweating buckets under the late summer sun, so I understand if thinking about the holidays is the furthest thing from your mind.
School just starting, new routines in place-am I crazy?
Well, yes (you can find plenty of folks to back you up on that) and no-the days keep coming, one after the other, and these big days will be here sooner than we think.
And for grieving parents, it takes some thinking, some planning and some preparation to meet both extended family’s expectations and extra responsibilities at Thanksgiving and Christmas while carrying a load of sorrow and pain.
One thing I am learning in this journey is that even though I wish someone else would blaze the trail for me, I’m going to have to do it myself. And because every major milestone is overflowing with emotional booby-traps, I have to plan ahead.
I wrote this post Practical Ways to Love Grieving Parents at Christmas last year and it has some thoughts that many found helpful.
But I didn’t have it out there until right around Thanksgiving which might be too late for some folks to make adjustments in plans already made by others.
So even though it’s early, and even though I am and have always been one of those people that resents the “holiday creep” that blends everything after the Fourth of July into a hodge-podge of orange, brown, green and red (UGH!)-I’m going to spend the next couple posts on practical ways to plan ahead and relieve some of the stress of this time of year on bereaved parents.
Here’s a few things to get you started:
Then take a breath-you. are. not. alone.
We’ll work together to establish a survival plan for the holidays.
Tomorrow: Dealing with extended family and how to have those hard conversations.
In my neck of the woods, if you look close you can see tell-tale signs of old home places as you ride down country roads.
A few daffodils in rows emerge each spring to show where some housewife marked her path from front porch to mailbox. A crepe myrtle looks out of place in the woods but often has a twin if you know where to direct your gaze.
People always leave a trace…
Overgrown
The ground disturbed deep down
Grains of sand and clumps of clay long buried brought to the surface.
Topsy-turvy.
Bottom-side-up.
Days,
months,
years go by-
Rain and wind and sun and patient Nature smooth it out
Until only the most observant see the damage done.
Barely noticeable-the penetrating wound.
A mother’s heart.
Time does not erase the place.
How can it when it hides her child?
