I hate mirrors. Not because I’m ashamed of my wrinkles or my fat hips. But because the face staring back at me now is not one I recognize.
I see someone who’s supposed to be me and can’t quite place her.
There’s a vague resemblance to the person that used to look me in the eye while I was brushing my teeth or fixing my hair.
But now, she is “other”, unfamiliar, strange in a “slightly off” kind of way.
Read the rest here: No Mirrors, Please!
I had a tearful day last week.
At more than ten years into this journey they don’t happen very often and when they do, it takes me by surprise-though it shouldn’t.
I finally had to simply go to bed, choose to call it a day, close my eyes and let sleep claim the sadness and grant blessed peace.❤
You’d think I’d know how valuable tears are by now.
But sometimes I forget.
Read the rest here: I Would Not Cease Your Weeping
You know that scene in Forrest Gump where he starts running and just can’t stop?
I thought that was a funny way to deal with grief when I first saw the movie.
But now I understand it perfectly.
If I could have started running, walking or even crawling away from the heartache in those first days and weeks I would have.
Truth is, though, you can’t.
Read the rest here: Can’t Run Away
Every time I tell the story of Dominic, it helps to keep him real.
It reminds my heart that he lived, that he mattered, that he matters still.
And in the telling, I am giving away a little bit of him for another heart to carry.
His light is passed to another soul that can pass it to another and another.
Read the rest here: Why We Have to Tell Our Stories & Why We Need Someone to Listen
This time of year is especially challenging for those of us who miss a child who has run ahead to Heaven.
Across social media parents are lamenting the changes (they feel like they are “losing” their child) a new school year brings.
It takes a LOT of self-control to refrain from commenting on their so sad posts and pointing out that while it may be more difficult to see/talk to/visit with their child, it’s not impossible.
Read the rest here:It Ain’t Over Til It’s Over
Busyness has become a national idol-we rush from commitment to commitment, signing up to fill every single minute with something, anything that makes us feel important, valuable, irreplaceable.
Of course we have job and family obligations-as we should-but we don’t feel fully accomplished until we have colored in the edges of our calendar until no white space remains.
Because we think that if we don’t show up, people will miss us. We think that if WE don’t do this or that, it won’t get done. We are absolutely certain that our input is critical to the success of every mission, every committee, every project.
Can I let you in on a little secret? It’s not.
One of the inconvenient and difficult truths that has been burned in my brain since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven is this: his absence didn’t make a bit of difference to the world at large.
Read the rest here: Who’s Gonna Miss You Baby?
I’ve often been the person who refused to go along with some group’s plan to ignore a real issue and try to talk around it.
I usually begin like this, “I know it’s hard to talk about, but let’s be honest and…”
I’m even more inclined in that direction now. If my son’s instant and untimely death has taught me anything, it’s taught me that there’s no use pretending.
So I’m not going to pretend: Western society doesn’t do grief well.
Read the rest here: The Elephant in the Room
I write a lot about what bereaved parents (me!) wish others knew or understood about child loss and this Valley we are walking. And I am thankful for every person outside the child loss community who chooses to read and heed what I write.
But I want to take a minute to tell those of you who are not part of this awful “club” that I get it-I really do get it–when you need to put distance between yourself and me or other people walking a broken road.
Read the rest here: I Get It-I Really DO Get It.
It must be something about this time of year that prompts me to clean out corners and long neglected spaces in our home of more than a quarter century.
The extreme heat makes even the unsavory certainty I’ll run across painful memories more tolerable.So here I am again-digging through boxes, papers and bits and pieces of “before”. Reminded that life requires work and grief makes it both more unavoidable and more difficult.
❤
I’ve spent the last two days rearranging our family room.
Since my husband has retired, we no longer use it as we once did and I realized a few weeks ago that it was ridiculous to have it set up the way it’s been for decades when our needs have drastically changed.
So we decided to tackle the job of sorting/moving/dismantling books, videos (yes, we still have a few!), DVDs, CDs and random other bits and pieces of a life long lived in the same place.
Read the rest here: Dismantling The Past
Can we talk about my missing son and quit pretending that just because he’s no longer present in the body, he’s not still part of my life?
Can we say his name without also looking down or away like his death is a shameful secret?
Can we share stories and memories and laughter and tears just as naturally about HIM as we do about anyone else?
Read the rest here: Can We Talk?
thelifeididntchoose 