Speak Your Peace-You May Not Get Another Chance

Just a couple of days before Dominic left us, I and another one of my kids had a fuss.

He was frustrated and stressed and I was vulnerable and stressed and a few stray words ended up hurting my feelings.

I said, “I can’t talk anymore now”,  and hung up the phone in tears.

He was sorry and I was sorry and we immediately exchanged texts and let the feelings cool so we could resume our conversation the next day.

He sent me flowers.

flower-arrangement

They were still beautiful when he came home to bury his brother.

Our family observes a rule:  Don’t part in the heat of anger.

We may not be over our pain and the reason for the dispute may be legitimate, but NOTHING trumps relationship.

I am so very thankful for that rule.  Because one burden I don’t have to carry is that I might have left Dominic wondering if everything was OK between us.

It was.

So I say to you:

  • Speak your peace.
  • Say you’re sorry.
  • Move TOWARD the people you love and not away from them.

I pray every time I hear a siren that the person they are going to rescue will be alright.  I pray that the family that loves that person will get another chance.  I pray that the call that’s made is, “Come to the hospital to see me” and not “Come to the morgue”.

But you never know-you have NO guarantee that the last time you see or speak to someone you care about won’t be the LAST time.

And then you cannot undo the horror of regret that they might have left this world wondering if you loved them.

“I love you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to stay angry with you.  Please forgive me.”

Say it loud, say it often, say it NOW.

 

 

 

Repost: Living Between the Crucifixion and the Resurrection

A close  family member is facing a difficult, scary and extensive surgery.

It’s one more reminder that we live in a broken world.  

The victory Christ gained is real.  But we do not yet have the full benefit of all its fruit.

We still face death.

We still bear pain.  

We still long for that day when ALL will be made right. 

Until then, we Live Between the Crucifixion and the Resurrection.

Repost: How Do You Breathe?

“It was the question I asked the bereaved mother that came to my son’s funeral.

It was the question a mother asked me as we stood by her granddaughter’s casket, surrounded by family and flowers.

And it is the right question.

Because when the breath leaves the body of your child, and you look down at the shell that used to be the home of a vibrant, living soul, you simply can. not. breathe.”

Read the rest here:  How Do You Breathe?

I Don’t Know How I’m Doing

People see me, these years and months after Dominic left us and ask, “How are you doing?”

I come up with an answer because that’s the law of conversation-you ask something and I answer, then I ask something and you answer.

are-you-ok

Gotta keep that ball rolling.  

If it drops we are both forced to stand there wondering what to do with our bodies, our faces and our thoughts.

But right now, I don’t know HOW I’m doing.

I am definitely past the crying-every-single-day stage.  The deep sense of loss still strangles me but I’ve learned to pretend it’s not there and just keep on keeping on.

I can look at his photo (most times) and not feel the sucker punch as my heart realizes-once again-he is not coming back.  

Ever.

I’ve developed routines to work around the hardest part of a week-Friday night into Saturday morning-so my mind and body follow the rut like cows headed to water.

cowpath

One-foot-in-front-of-the-other.

“A thousand mile journey begins with the first step” and all that.

I try to lean into the life I have NOW.  The life I would have never imagined or chosen for myself but the one I wake up to every day.

There is no EASY way to lose a child but I almost envy parents whose child’s death has given them a cause to fight for. Sometimes the circumstances surrounding loss lend themselves to a crusade which at least gives a parent somewhere to focus his or her sorrow.

What can I say about Dominic’s leaving?

Don’t ride motorcycles?

Sure, but that was my position before they were ever purchased.  I was always only barely able to contain my anxious thoughts as my sons went from here to there on two wheels with no protective shell.

I’ve learned to push down the pain and that means I stuff every other feeling as well.

I can’t select JUST the pain to hold inside.

So that leaves me here-not knowing how I’m doing.

Am I better?  

Healing?

Or just plain numb because to feel whatever I’m really feeling is too hard to embrace?

I have no idea.

smile-question

Repost: Slow Fade

 

Each time Dominic should be here but isn’t, I lose just a little bit more.

fading-away

“It would be easier, in a way, if it happened all at once.

If the vivid memories of his voice, his laugh, his body language, his sense of humor just disappeared-POOF!-now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t. Then I could make a single adjustment.”

Read the rest here:  Slow Fade

A Peek Inside My Heart: What Grieving Parents Want You to Know

For the next few days I’m probably going to be cycling through some posts that received the most response from readers.  A family member is facing serious and complex surgery Monday, October 24th and I’m going to be focused on that.

If I get a chance, I’ll add new content-but as all of us know, there’s no telling what a day will bring.

Until then, I hope that if you missed these, they will be helpful or if you’ve forgotten about them, they will be refreshing and encouraging again.

 

“People say, “I can’t imagine.“

But then they do.

They think that missing a dead child is like missing your kid at college or on the mission field but harder and longer.

That’s not it at all.”

Read the rest: What Grieving Parents Want Others to Know

Repost: It’s Complicated

 

just fine

Child loss makes so many things more complex.

I wrote this awhile back in an attempt to help those outside this community understand that every. single. day. we who have buried a child face an emotional minefield of choices.

“One of the things I’ve been forced to embrace in the wake of child loss is that there are very few questions, experiences or feelings that are simple anymore.” 

Read the rest here:  It’s Complicated

Waiting With Hope

Oh, we mamas are experts at waiting.

We wait for nine months to hold that little person growing inside us.  We wait for them to learn to crawl, walk, talk and read.  And then we wait to pick them up at school, for piano and dance lessons to be over and ball practice to end.

As long as our children are with us, we are always waiting for something.

We never expect to be waiting to join them in heaven.  

But some of us are. 

And this waiting is real hard-not like the other times when I knew about when the waiting would end.  Even though it was sometimes tiresome, lessons and practice wouldn’t last much longer than the appointed time.

I guess I believe there is an appointed time for this waiting to end as well.

I do believe that God has my life in His hands.  When my work here is through, He will call me home, just as He called Dominic.

Trouble is, I can’t find a clock that tells that time.  I can’t look at a calendar and know for certain THIS will be the day.

calendar

And not knowing how LONG I have to hold on is a huge part of what makes it

so.

very.

hard.

Sometimes I want to give up.  Sometimes I want to let go of hope and dive into despair.  

Some days I am afraid I can’t keep on keeping on.  

Not. one. more. step.

But God has promised to meet me even here.  

His Word tells me that there is a reward for those who wait with hope, who trust even when it seems foolish and who lean in even when they would rather run away.  

But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him,
    on those whose hope is in his unfailing love,
     to deliver them from death
    and keep them alive in famine.

    We wait in hope for the Lord;
    he is our help and our shield.
     In him our hearts rejoice,
    for we trust in his holy name.
    May your unfailing love be with us, Lord,
    even as we put our hope in you.

Psalm 33:18-22 NIV

The Amplified Bible renders that last verse like this:  “Let Your mercy and loving-kindness, O Lord, be upon us, in proportion to our waiting and hoping for You.”

In proportion to my waiting and hoping, God will fill my hurting heart with HIS mercy and loving-kindness.  

He will strengthen me regardless of how many days I must walk in this waiting.

If I hold onto the hope I have in Christ, He promises not to let go of the other end.  

hope holds a breaking heart together

Shake Off the Shame

shame

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:

  • Circumstances surrounding the death of their child-suicide, alcohol, drug abuse;
  • Inability to provide the funeral or burial they want due to financial constraints;
  • Missing signs or symptoms of an illness that may have led to death;
  • Family dynamics that pushed a child away from home or relationship.

The list could be endless-on the other side of child loss our brains pick apart every interaction, every choice, every moment that could have gone one way but went another.

Grief is WORK.

But it is impossible to make my way through the pile of emotions if I’m shackled by shame.  I can’t move freely and effectively if I’m bound hand and foot by things I can’t control and can’t change.

In the midst of all this work, some bereaved parents find they are immobilized by depression and/or anxiety and need medication to help them through.

woman looking through rainiy window.jpg

And they feel ashamed.  

Can I just say this? 

There is NO shame in seeking help.

There is nothing shameful about using whatever tools are available to make this awful journey more manageable.

A wise and kind doctor friend said, “Medication does not make the sorrow and pain go away, but it can calm the mind and create space so you can do the work grief requires.”

You are not a failure if you need medical help to quiet your mind.  You are not weak if you take a pill to keep from feeling like you’re going to come out of your skin.  You have done nothing wrong if you can’t sleep and require a sleep aid to allow your body the rest it needs to carry on.

Don’t compare your journey to anyone else’s.

You are unique.  Your path through this heartache is your own.

Do what you need to- for YOU.  

Shake off the shame.  

grief-is-not-linear

 

 

It’s Personal! — Boxx Banter

From my friend and fellow bereaved mother, Janet Boxx:

“Talk to me when your world has collapsed around you. Talk to me when you are afraid. Talk to me when you can name your fears and when they are a vague Specter looming threateningly over your shoulder, unnamed but real nonetheless. Talk to me when you are afraid to take your Savior’s hand and when you are equally afraid not to. Talk to me when the ability to project a positive outlook has been striped from your arsenal of weapons. Talk to me when it becomes desperately and intimately personal. Then I will think you understand. . .”

“God is good all the time”, is not a flip statement you rattle off to project confidence in your Savior. It’s not a mantra you repeat hoping to convince yourself of its truth. Those six words are a sacrifice of praise that are torn from the depths of despair and lifted in defiance from the ashes of a life burned down around you.

via It’s Personal! — Boxx Banter