I absolutely understand that when people say things like, “Just think of all the wonderful memories you have” or “He brought you so much joy” they mean well.
Because it’s true-I have beautiful memories of Dominic. And he DID bring me great joy.
But I had those things BEFORE he was beyond my reach.
Read the rest here: But I Had All That BEFORE!
When I started writing, Dominic had been gone nearly 18 months.
Before I went public with my thoughts, I had filled six journals with page after page of ramblings, Scripture, quotes from books, questions and tears.
Those are some of my most precious possessions because when I look back I can see how even in the very first hours (yes, I started writing that morning) God was already bringing truth and healing to my shattered soul and broken heart.
In a couple months it will be three years since I started sharing here. And while I rarely look back on the posts in any orderly way, I can see that God has continued His faithfulness when I do.
But just like I promised when I wrote the introduction to my site, I will always be as honest as possible when I share.
So let me just tell you: It’s STILL hard.
Not in the same first, breath-robbing, soul-crushing, can’t-lift-my-head sort of way that makes a heart certain it can. not. survive.
But in a slow-leak, not-enough-air-in-my-tires sort of way that makes every road less comfortable to travel and necessitates lots of stops to make sure I can keep going.
I’ve just endured two weeks of one bad thing after another.
All of them have a solution which (on my scale) makes them hardly worth noting.
But each disrupted my life and will require significant time, energy and resources to address.
And for a heart that has learned how to make it by going slow, choosing predictable paths and incorporating lots of stops along the way, those kinds of disruptions create stress and strain on an already taxed system.
I will absolutely survive.
I’ve already survived the cruelest and most difficult days of my life.
But it’s no cake walk.
It’s still hard.
The past seven days have been anything but the lazy, hazy days of summer.
There has not been a solid 24 hours where some kind of crisis didn’t find its way to my doorstep, across my driveway or into my living room.
Seriously.
On a scale of one to ten, none actually rank high in that there’s not a solution or plan of action.
But every single one of them raised my stress and anxiety to very uncomfortable heights.
I have no idea why I keep thinking maybe-just maybe-there will be a season of rest when I can get my feet under me, get my mind settled (a bit) and get the laundry put away.
There are good days.
But then there are bad ones right on their heels.
I’m 54 years old, raised and home educated four children, helped my husband with his career and a personal business, managed a small farm and cooked, cleaned and was the all around go-fer for my family while each one pursued his or her education and dreams.
But there has been no season as stress-filled and trying as this one: the season of grief, the season of missing, the season where I have had to admit that control is an illusion.
So many days I watch the sunset in defeat.
Overcome, overwhelmed and undone.
I know the new day will bring new mercies and that is how my heart holds onto hope. 
God’s grace meets us where we are, not where we pretend to be.
~Esther Fleece, No More Faking Fine
Yes, I know, the commonly touted wisdom in church circles is not to ask, “Why?”
It’s also bad form to admit that you might actually be angry* with God.
But I can pretty much guarantee that over half of any congregation sitting in the pews on a given Sunday has had at least one moment when, with raised eyes they screamed, “Why?????” to the sky aimed at a God they didn’t understand but believed in anyway.
I know I have.
David did.
Paul did.
Job did.
So what does a heart do if it’s upset with God? Stuff it? Reason it away? Shame it to silence? Hope it fades on its own?
I think the only thing a heart can do with that anger and doubt and disappointment is take it straight to the Throne of Grace where we are promised to find help in an hour of need.
That’s what I did.
I wrote hundreds of pages of journals with my Bible beside me. When the Holy Spirit brought a scripture to mind as I was writing, I looked it up, read it and usually copied it into my journal right alongside my questions and rambling.
Sometimes I would write the letters large and decorate them or look up the meaning of words in a concordance or dictionary and write the definitions or synonyms out to help me deepen my understanding.
In the end, my heart was finally able to accept the truth of Who God is-my loving, omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent Heavenly Father-even when I do not like what He is doing.
Reaching a place of accepting His will while still acknowledging the pain it brings me (like Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane) has given me a measure of peace.
It has freed me to walk on in this life and to take the good, the bad, the painful and the wonderful in stride.
Do I still have moments (days!) when I want to scream?
Absolutely. But I am submitted to God and bow my heart to His.
It took a long time.
The more I read and studied Scripture, the more I found evidence of anguish, tears, and the messiness of human emotion. When we are in pain, the pain we are facing is temporary, even though it never feels temporary. Pain can linger, and it will always be with us, but for the believer in Jesus Christ, pain is never the final destination.
~Esther Fleece, No More Faking Fine, p. 134
*I am lumping a lot of strong (often considered “negative”) emotions in with the one word “angry”-for me, it was actually disappointment-God did not live up to my expectations (which is not to say He should or that my expectations were accurate). For others it might be distrust and for some it might be doubt (does God love me?). I’m most certainly NOT suggesting that Jesus was angry with God in the garden but it is plainly stated in Scripture that He begged God for another, less painful way that would still accomplish the Father’s plan.
Pale. Flat. Tasteless.
Yes.
They’d crossed over to that continent where grieving parents lived. It looked the same as the rest of the world, but wasn’t. Colors bled pale. Music was just notes. Books no longer transported or comforted, not fully. Never again. Food was nutrition, little more. Breaths were sighs. And they knew something the rest didn’t. They knew how lucky the rest of the world was.
― Louise Penny
It was absolutely this way for more than the first three years.
No matter how hard I WILLED it, I could not make my world any different than it was.
But thankfully, slowly, the color has returned-dimmer still-but no longer only shades of gray.
Music again touches my heart and the right words do bring comfort.
Sighing remains my second language.
And I still think how very blessed are those who have been spared this awful knowledge.
❤
I wasn’t born with an “I don’t give a hoot” gene.
When I commit to a person, a project or a problem, I’m all in-no holding back.
That’s why this side of Dominic’s leaving I’ve been very cautious about making commitments. But in the past year I’ve begun branching out and joining in again.
In many ways it has been a positive experience.
In other ways, not so much.
Read the rest here: Emotional Bankruptcy: I Can’t Spend the Same Energy Twice
I thought I had at least a passing understanding of what grief is, what it feels like, how it impacts a heart before my son died.
But I was wrong.
Until you live with it day in and day out for weeks, months, years you really just. don’t. know.
There are so many feelings wrapped up in what we call grief. So many surprises along this path.
Who knew that the same heart that would do nearly ANYTHING to spare another parent the awful burden of child loss could also be wildly jealous of that same parent’s intact family?
I confess, mine has been.
I have scrolled through social media posts about fun family vacations, beautiful weddings, newborn grandchildren, happy graduations, first jobs, Christmas photos, and family reunions where the number of people present fill the frame to the edges of the picture and been angry instead of happy for them.
It takes every ounce of self-control not to covet what I will never have.
Jealousy is a green-eyed monster and I want no part of it.
But I have to fight to keep it at bay.
I have to recall the years I was given with all my children happy around my table. I have to remember the laughter, the shared experiences, the love and fun.
I have to focus on the gift and not the loss.
Sometimes I can. Sometimes I can’t.
It’s getting a little easier now to “rejoice with those who rejoice” and not also feel jealousy lurking in the shadows.
I pray one day I won’t feel that green-eyed monster breathing down my neck at all.
Often bereaved parents dread the major holiday season that starts in November and lasts through January. We brace ourselves for THOSE days because they loom large on the calendar and give fair warning.
But the year is chock full of minor holidays and other celebrations that require just as much emotional energy as the “big” ones.
If I’m not careful, they will slip up on me and drain me dry.
So here’s how I try to approach them.
It helps my heart.
Maybe it will help yours too. ❤
One of the most challenging things that faced me immediately after Dominic’s funeral was that we had two college graduations, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, his birthday, a wedding and my own thirtieth wedding anniversary within two months.
Thankfully we had some amazing friends and family that stepped up and filled in the gaps.
Read the rest here: Be Free to Celebrate [or Not!]
Yesterday’s post was a mess for those of you who receive it through email.
I’m sorry.
What had been a previous draft was tacked onto the bottom of what I wanted to send out so the whole thing was not really how I meant it to be.
But maybe it was how it should have been.
Because that’s where I find myself so often this side of child loss-all the careful editing of words and careful managing of appearances is impossible. I just don’t have the resources or the energy. So too often (for my own comfort and probably the comfort of others) the words just tumble out.
A fire hose instead of the gentle trickle I’d rather them be.
That’s why I rely on writing whenever possible. It gives me a chance to start, stop and revisit what I want to say and how I want to say it.
But yesterday, well, you got the fire hose version.
There was so much I wanted to say-I wanted to thank Brenda for the portrait and share how having a new picture was truly a balm for my soul-and also to express how I am still unbelievably sad that my son will never grow older.
I intended to blend the two into a seamless post but couldn’t do it so I left it alone for a few hours. Grief brain kicked in, I forgot about the second bit and just hit “publish”.
So you got the messy version. The version that lives inside my heart and mind most days. It’s not pretty and there is a constant battle between hope and helplessness.
I work hard to hold onto hope.
I keep fighting.
But it’s messy.
![Repost: Be Free to Celebrate [Or Not!]](https://thelifeididntchoose.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/family-reunion.jpg?w=600)
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