This life I didn’t choose requires that I walk with one foot in the here-and-now and one foot in forever.
It also forces me to forge a narrow path between what my mama heart longs for (my son’s physical presence) and what my faith in Jesus says I SHOULD long for (Heaven).
Some days I do a good job balancing it all and some days not so much.
These posts are a peek inside both kinds of days.
2016: Unnatural
All the fears I thought I knew
All the what-ifs I pondered during inky nights-
None of them-none. of. them. prepared me for this reality.
The longer I care for my sheep and goats, the more I understand why God put His leaders through this school of discipleship.
Many days it’s a thankless job-my charges often do foolish things that place them in peril, they work hard to tear down the fences I’ve erected for their safety and they wander away forcing me to chase after them and bring them home.
But I never give up on them.
A shepherd’s heart is revealed in how she (or he) takes care of the weakest animals.
I’ve often written that grief doesn’t only change the way I think about the past but it also changes the way I experience the present.
And while I’ve gotten oh, so much better, at pacing myself, granting myself grace for milestone days and simply saying “no” to extra demands, I still find that having a hole in my heart shapes how I approach even the most mundane tasks.
This week has been full of lots of those.
Even nine years later it is a struggle to feel like I’ve spent a day as well as I might once have done.
2016: Encouraging My Heart
It’s easy to be discouraged.
Look around.
If I listen to the news, the world is falling apart. When I look in the mirror-I’m falling apart.
And not a minute goes by that I don’t miss my son in heaven.
We’ve all done it-pretended to be looking somewhere else when we pass a needy soul.
Who has time to get involved?
They might be an addict or have a contagious disease or mental illness. They might be too lazy to work, too unpredictable to trust, too likely to be here next week and need something again. It might cost more than the five dollars we’re willing to hand out.
So we walk on by and hope they don’t force the issue by standing in our way.
When Dominic first ran ahead to Heaven I resisted having any kind of calendar visible. I didn’t want to mark time passing without him to pass it with me.
I’ve since resumed my yearly ritual of hanging the big blank picture calendar in my kitchen-the only way I really know how to keep up with doctor appointments, family visits, birthdays and other important dates in spite of technology.
I don’t know about you, but days turn into weeks turn into months almost faster than I can count them. Even during this pandemic pause or craziness or whatever you want to call it, life goes on.
I suspect that if Dominic had not left suddenly, unexpectedly and oh, so early, for Heaven I might have enjoyed a life with much less introspection.
My faith may have remained relatively unchallenged and my heart may have grown too used to American middle-class comfort.
That’s not my story though.
I’m forced to confront the complexities of fairness, God’s sovereignty and what it means to love someone beyond the grave.
Here are some of my ponderings…
2016: Love, The Reason I Grieve
How long has it been? A year, two, eighteen or twenty-five?
When. are. you. going. to. move on?
Aren’t you over talking about their birth story, their childhood, their school years, their spouse, children, moves and career? How many funny stories or sad recollections do I have to listen to?????
I mean, really-it’s been soooooooooo00 long since they were BORN!
Sound’s ridiculous, doesn’t it? ItIS ridiculous.
We don’t expect parents to “move on” or “get over” their living children.
Why, why, why do we expect parents to move on or get over the ones they’ve had to bury?
My love for each of my children, on earth or in heaven, is life-long.
I remember a particularly good but also frustrating encounter with Dominic when he was about 12 or 13. As a middle child (third of four) and middle son (second of three), something happened where he felt overlooked, underrepresented and left out or cheated.
So he challenged me regarding whether or not his treatment was “fair”.
And while I was on the side of accepting that things/life/situations are inherently unfair when arguing with Dominic, I now find myself on the side of lamenting the very thing I was willing to accept then.
Because one of the things I’m learning this side of burying my precious child is that there is no upper limit to the sorrow and pain I may have to carry in this life.
And it’s no use comparing my burden to that of another-begging God to consider the differing weights and to make adjustments to lighten my load because it is heavier than that of another.
I have to admit that when I read the book of Job NOW, it’s no longer an intellectual exercise or detached theological foray into suffering and the sovereignty of God.
I was always appalled at what Job and his wife (remember her?) suffered. I was always a bit confused by God’s question to Satan, “Have you considered My servant, Job?” I was both comforted and confounded that God set boundaries but set them at the bare minimum to spare Job’s life.
Just being honest here.
Pastors and teachers love to talk about the sweeping arc of the story. They love to pull out lessons about how to comfort others in suffering, how to endure suffering ourselves and how, in the end, God restored to Job the things that had been robbed from him.
But my heart walks slowly through those pages. My soul weeps with every new blow struck against a man who, by God’s own account, was a righteous servant of the Most High.
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.
Yeah, NOT impossible.
2016: It Ain’t Over Until It’s Over
Here they come.
It’s time for the First Day of School photo contests on social media. Shot after shot of little ones and not-so-little ones posing with new book bags and new clothes holding a chalkboard sign that indicates their grade.
And then the pictures of college freshmen toting boxes into dorm rooms, waving good-bye to mom and dad, beginning their adult lives unfettered by curfews and parental oversight.
Then the laments, “I can’t believe they are growing up!”
I hear you, mama.It IS a challenge to watch them grow up. But you aren’t really saying, “good-bye”.
And it sounds just like what it is-mixed up, disoriented and confused. Like a kid spun around with a blindfold playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey at his five-year-old birthday party.
That’s me.
I depend on routine, habit, regular workflow patterns to help me remember what I need to do and when. So if something (or a bunch of somethings!) interrupt my tired old footpath through the day, it confuses me.
There was a lovely tradition practiced in Jewish communities when Jesus walked the earth.
After a betrothal and before the final vows, a groom returned to his family home and built an addition to his father’s house in preparation for his bride.
The bride made herself ready and then waited because she didn’t know when her groom would return. What began as hopeful anticipation might sometimes have turned to fear if the groom tarried too long in coming.
I had forgotten that in 2022 I took a couple of weeks off.
I was exhausted. Flat out unable to manage anything other than minimal day-to-day responsibilities.
I truly thought (prayed!) 2023 would be different. But I’ve found myself in precisely the same place THIS year after 7+ months of hard and busy and overwhelmed.
So that’s one reason I’m doing this compendium of past posts.
I need to tap into the energy and enthusiasm I expressed in thousands of words from years gone by.
I hope it helps others as much as it’s helping me.
Months ago, in my first post about prayer, I spoke to the difficulty of praying while experiencing great pain. In Praying Through the Pain I wrote:
I am thankful that before Dominic died I had a habit of praying and reading Scripture. I am thankful for the many verses that are so ingrained in my thoughts that they come, unbidden to my mind.
So I have continued to pray each morning, opening my journal and my Bible.
Even when I cannot feel the connection, I know God is there.
Today’s post is the final in a short series where I am sharing the prayers I still find easy to pray even after burying a child.
For it is by grace [God’s remarkable compassion and favor drawing you to Christ] that you have been saved [actually delivered from judgment and given eternal life] through faith. And this [salvation] is not of yourselves [not through your own effort], but it is the [undeserved, gracious] gift of God;
Ephesians 2:8 AMP
This is one of my favorite verses because it summarizes the Gospel-God calls, God saves, God keeps.
If you’ve joined me here for very long, you know I have a particular dislike for what I call “Sunshine Christianity”.
It’s not because I’m opposed to smiling faces and feel-good Bible verses plastered across doors, hallways, t-shirts and social media.
It’s because it doesn’t tell the whole story and sets up hearts for disappointment (at best) and walking away from Jesus (at worst) when their personal experience falls short of this hap, hap, happy picture portrayed by so many.
I know I’m not the only one who carries a calendar in my head that threatens to explode like a ticking timebomb.Days that mean nothing to anyone else loom large as they approach.
I had forgotten that in 2022 I took a couple of weeks off.
I was exhausted. Flat out unable to manage anything other than minimal day-to-day responsibilities.
I truly thought (prayed!) 2023 would be different. But I’ve found myself in precisely the same place THIS year after 7+ months of hard and busy and overwhelmed.
So that’s one reason I’m doing this compendium of past posts.
I need to tap into the energy and enthusiasm I expressed in thousands of words from years gone by.
I hope it helps others as much as it’s helping me.
I’m doing this as much forMEas for anyone else-going through seven plus years of blog posts to take stock of how my grief journey has changed over time.
I thought it would be helpful to some newcomers (both to the site and to the path) and to those who’ve been around since the beginning to look back and take stock.
For those who are fresh on this road, I pray they are encouraged to know they are not alone. For those who’ve traveled far, I pray they recognize the many ways they have grown stronger and better able to carry this burden.
So here are the blog posts for this date, in order, from 2016 through 2022. When there were duplicates (because I had reposted a previous entry) I am leaving it out.
2016: Prayers I Still Pray
As I mentioned yesterday, prayer after loss is complicated for me. I wrote a post months ago The Problem of [Un]Answered Prayer that addressed this.
But I AM able to pray Scripture-especially the prayers of Paul, which are centered on asking God to strengthen others and to expand their understanding of His love, compassion, power and grace.
Obviously, this particular post is dated. But I’m including it because it was the first time I’d been asked to speak instead of WRITE about my loss. It was a great step of faith and I am thankful I did it.
My mother was gravely ill (she lived 2 more years but we weren’t certain at the time) and it was a long and arduous journey to Arkansas (not by miles but by emotional endurance).
I was able to hug the necks-for the first time- of so many fellow loss parents who had encouraged and strengthened me.
2018: Trusting God After Loss-Why It’s Hard, Why It’s Necessary
One of the greatest challenges I faced this side of child loss was finding a space where I could speak honestly and openly about my feelings toward God and about my faith.
So many times I was shut down at the point of transparency by someone shooting off a Bible verse or hymn chorus or just a chipper, “God’s in control!”
They had NO IDEA how believing that (and I do!) God is in control was both comforting and utterly devastating at the very same time.
It took me awhile to revisit the basic tenets of my faith and tease out what was truly scriptural and what was simply churchy folklore.
When I was a little girl my family made a yearly pilgrimage to the white sand and clear water beaches in Florida.
We were allowed to wade out on our own as high as our waist while the adults talked and sunbathed on shore. If we wanted to go deeper, even for those of us who were good swimmers, we had to wait for the grown ups to join us.
I have a vivid memory of one sunny day when the waves were rolling in and my six-foot-tall dad was standing neck deep in the Gulf. I was a little closer to shore and decided to join him.
My young mind didn’t do the math between my short self and his taller one and stepped off an underwater ledge into water way over my head. I panicked when I realized there was no way for me to save myself.
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.
We all love to think that life is a never-ending ascent toward bigger, better and more enjoyable moments.
Our children are born and we think only of their future,not their future deaths.
But I think it’s important to document my own self-doubt and my weariness.
Maybe it’s something about the heat of August or maybe it’s just the too-early appearance of holiday decorations reminding my heart another frenetic season is just around the corner.
Whatever the reason, this month seems to always be one of reflection.
❤ Melanie
It will soon be seven years since I started writing in this space and I have to say, it’s been such a blessing to share the good, the bad, the ugly and the desperate with hearts that choose to come alongside and encourage me!
But I’m tired.
I’m just not certain I can keep pumping out (even recycled) posts every single day.
It’s an old standby-before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
But we rarely take time to do that.
Instead we look at another heart and assume that if they are struggling, it’s because they aren’t trying as hard as we might in the same circumstances.
I’m ending Bereaved Parents Month by sharing this post because I still have moments when I marvel that I’ve survived.
❤
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.
I’m not at all fond of the saying, “Don’t let your grief define you”.
I understand that I shouldn’t let my griefCONSTRAINme, shouldn’t let it circumscribe my life, making it smaller and smaller until all I think about, speak about or experience is sadness, sorrow and missing.
And I don’t.
But I cannot ignore that losing a child DOES define me. It defines me in exactly the same way other momentous events-good and bad-shape, mold and make me into who I am.
![Bereaved Parents Month 2023: I AM Defined [In Part] By Grief](https://thelifeididntchoose.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/sadgirlbeach.jpg?w=1200)
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