I was talking to my husband the other day about how hard it is to describe the ongoing difficulty of living with child loss.
And this song popped into my head….
Tag: authenticity
Subtitles
My husband is the child of immigrants. And even thirty years after coming to America, my in-laws preferred their native Italian to English.
So when we would be in a crowded room, comments flying, I struggled to keep up with what was being said because I didn’t speak the same language.
As the years went by and our relationship deepened, I realized they had the same struggle when I would try to communicate complex truth in English. It wasn’t their heart language and some things just didn’t translate well.
Sometimes feelings got hurt because what one of us thought we were saying was not what the other person heard.
Subtitles would have been useful.
The other day in an attempt to keep my unwell body in a chair, I pulled up Amazon and picked a movie. It was in French with subtitles.
I thought, “I’ll try it.”
But as the movie went on, I realized that I was unable to give full attention to either the action of the movie or the subtitles that interpreted the dialogue.
It took way more effort than I was willing to commit to what was supposed to be a relaxing couple of hours.
So I turned it off.
Today someone in a bereaved parents group to which I belong asked if anyone else found holidays exhausting.
The comments were a resounding “yes”!
The more I thought about it the more I realized that a big part of what makes it so exhausting is a communication gap.
I am not the same as I was before burying a child.
My family is not the same.
Nothing is the same.
Some of the “not the same” is the gap between my understanding of how I have changed and the lack of understanding by others about how I have changed.
Many friends, extended family members and acquaintances continue to relate to me as if I’m the “old” me. That creates tension and requires energy to deal with-I either have to overlook it, try to help them understand or figure out how to deal with it some other way.
We’re just not speaking the same language anymore.
Sometimes I think subtitles would be helpful.
But even then it would still be exhausting.
Courage is a Heart Word
Courage is a heart word. The root of the word courage is cor – the Latin word for heart. In one of its earliest forms, the word courage meant “To speak one’s mind by telling all one’s heart.” Over time, this definition has changed, and today, we typically associate courage with heroic and brave deeds. But in my opinion, this definition fails to recognize the inner strength and level of commitment required for us to actually speak honestly and openly about who we are and about our experiences — good and bad.
~Brene Brown
I grew up in the Deep South where ladies were supposed to keep silent about anything “unmentionable”.
Problem is, that included many things that SHOULD be spoken aloud.
Because a conspiracy of silence forces those who are suffering to hide. It creates huge gaps between what goes on behind closed doors and public image.
And it causes those who are wounded to question the authenticity of their own experience.
In recent years we have dragged many topics into the light. We’ve made space in the public square for discussion of things we used to pretend didn’t exist.
But life after child loss is still a hushed topic.
The long road to healing after burying a child is rarely acknowledged outside the community of bereaved parents.
The FACT that as long as I live, my son’s absence will be a shadow trailing me, the burden of sorrow will slow my steps, the heartache of missing will shape my world is glossed over and set aside.
I understand why.
It is scary to speak aloud what you hope will never happen to you. It’s unbelievably frightening to admit that we really have no control over whether, or when, we or the ones we love might leave this world.
But I am not going to keep silent.
Not because I want pity or special treatment, but because I want that parent who just buried his or her child to know that you. are. not. alone.
I want you to know that what you are experiencing is not unusual.
I want you to understand that the horrible pain you feel is absolutely normal.
And I want you to be assured that you are NOT Crazy!
I will tell my story because even though it is hard, it matters. And even though it hurts, it can help heal another. And even though it isn’t finished, it can blaze a trail for others to follow.
Join me, be BRAVE, tell yours.
It Takes a Lifetime
I was reminded once again this week how the events surrounding death and burial are inadequate indicators of the profound change that has taken place in the lives of those left behind.
Standing at the graveside of a precious friend’s father, I remembered watching Dominic’s earthly shell lowered beneath the ground.
I was wholly unprepared for the days and weeks and months that followed.
No one had told me it was only a beginning…Loving Well: Transitioning From “Good-bye” to Grief
Move Over, Make Room for the Broken
I used to position myself at the end of the pew, just in case someone I’m not too comfortable with might come along and try to sit down.
It saved us both that awkward conversation where they ask if they can join me and I say “yes” with my mouth but “no” with my body language.
Frankly, I was at church to be lifted up so I could face the coming week with power and strength. I didn’t want to be dragged down by their reality of brokenness and sometimes bitter tears.
I don’t do that anymore.
I realize that most of what made me uncomfortable was other people’s pain.
Now I’m the one who’s broken. I’m the one who can’t get through “Amazing Grace” without blubbering.
And I’m the one that others hope won’t ask to join THEM.
But here’s the deal: God loves the broken. Christ came for the broken. It’s the broken and breathless who long for the Spirit to blow life across their wounded hearts.
It’s the hopeless and fearful that run faster to the safety of their Shepherd.
It’s the worried and weary who are thankful for a Burden-bearer.
When I refuse to move over and make room for the broken, I’m barring the way for the very ones who most desperately need the blessing. When I want my worship experience to exclude those who haven’t the strength to bring their own hearts before the throne of grace, I’m being selfish.
And that is sin.
Jesus went out of His way to heal the hurting,
to bless the broken and
to speak strength to the weary.
So now I sit in the middle of the pew and leave room for whoever God brings my way.
I want to be an open door, not a gatekeeper.
“Come to me, all of you who are weary and over-burdened, and I will give you rest! Put on my yoke and learn from me. For I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” ~Jesus
(Matthew 11:28-30 PHILLIPS)
When Routine Wears You Down: Encouragement for the Worn Out Heart
It may not be this way around the country or around the world, but here in Alabama school has been in session for several weeks and the hot weather along with added commitments makes life a little harder.
After the excitement of posting “first day” photos wears off, routine sets in.
Carpools, music lessons, homework, getting everyone ready to rush out the door...it’s enough to wear anyone down.
That’s when it’s easy to lose sight of what’s important. That’s when the enemy whispers, “You don’t make a difference.”
He’s wrong.
You are shepherding eternal souls.
Don’t give up!
The tyranny of the urgent can push what’s important past the fringes of our attention.
Our vision can be so consumed with the day-to-day until there’s no space for long-term goals or ambitions.
But God has ordained that our children, eternal beings, be set in families.
Read the rest:
This is NOT Forever…
One breath
One glance
A single tiny detail transports me from here to there.
Takes me from doing alright to devastation
Changes daylight to dark and grips my soul with terrifying pain.
If I didn’t have hope to cling to
If I didn’t know that every promise of God in Christ is yes and amen
If I didn’t trust that my tears are recorded in His book,
my name written on His hands
and my life secure within His own I’d let the darkness take me under.
Breathe in
Breathe out
It will pass
THIS is not forever.
Forever is waiting for me
Dominic is already there-
Tomorrows without end.
No tears
No fears
No goodbyes
Open arms.
Spent
This actually happened one day last week and I was too ashamed to post it. I’m better now. But it took three days to recover from that emotional, physical, psychological and spiritual low point.
It required that I extend the grace to myself I would extend to another.
That’s actually harder than it sounds for someone who prefers to think of herself as the “good girl” and the “strong one”.
There’s only so much a body can take in a day. And I’ve reached the limit.
Started out pretty good-up with the chickens and settled into my rocking chair with a cup of coffee and my journal.
But it didn’t last. First one thing and then another-unexpected, unwelcome, uncomfortable-life just comes flying and all I can do is hang on.
Emotions run wild. Frustration reigns.
Why can’t things go like they are supposed to???
I am just so. very. tired. So very tired of dragging my heart through another day.
I’m trying to find the happy in this mess.
It’s hard.
I’m trying to look on the bright side.
I can’t.
I think I’ve reached my quota for today.
I don’t care if it is only noon.
I‘m going to bed.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Surrender
“Follow Me,” Jesus said to the twelve.
“Follow Me,” Jesus said to me when I was just a child.
“Yes,” I replied-not knowing or counting the cost.
If it was a single commitment without opportunity for turning back then it would be easy.
But it’s not.
Every day I have to face the question, “Did God REALLY say?” Boy that serpent knew just where to aim the spear of doubt so it would cause the greatest damage.
Can I believe that God is in control? Can I believe that He is good? Can I believe that He loves me?
Can I believe all those things when my circumstances scream, “NO!”
But I HAVE to believe.
Because if I can’t trust God, then I am without hope. If I can’t rely on His Word then there’s no foundation and no future. If He is not Who He says He is, then I should just quit now.
So I find myself at the foot of the cross, again. Facing my fears and having to choose: Who shall I serve?
Surrender is hard. Daily surrender is harder.
I cannot remake my heart. I cannot breathe life into my own breathless soul.
I can only place myself on the altar and allow God’s Spirit to do it for me.
So here I am.
Again.
Brothers and sisters, God has shown you his mercy. So I am asking you to offer up your bodies to him while you are still alive. Your bodies are a holy sacrifice that is pleasing to God. When you offer your bodies to God, you are worshiping him in the right way.
Romans 12: 1 NIRV
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.
I have thought many times of my own death. Anyone past twenty-five has to consider that the farther you get from high school the closer you get to the grave.
So I put foolish and risky behavior behind me. Eat fiber. Exercise.
Wise choices, that’s the ticket.
But what about random? What about unexpected? What about lightning strikes and sudden curves?
How do you plan for that?
I know I’ll end some day. That’s the way of things. And I’m OK with that.
My children.
They are my legacy. They are the keepers of my light.
They are the part of me that will live beyond me.
Except one of them.
I am his legacy-the unanticipated keeper of HIS light.
It’s not supposed to be this way.
Yet here I am.
Unnatural. Unacceptable.
Unthinkable.
Inescapably real.
thelifeididntchoose 