Tag: authenticity

Grief Work 2025: Can’t Fake It Forever

I’ll be honest-there are definitely times when “faking it” is the easier path. Chatty neighbors, standing in line, professional meetings or chance encounters lend themselves to light conversations that don’t need to include ALL my feelings or current grief experience.

But there are other times when being real, honest and authentic is not only preferable, it’s necessary.

I cannot fake it forever.

It took me awhile to figure that out.

Child loss is hard. Child loss impacts a family forever. Child loss is not “curable” or “solvable” and it’s not helpful to pretend it is.

So for the relationships that matter, I try to be transparent.

 ❤ Melanie

There’s a common bit of advice in grief circles:  Fake it until you make it.

It’s not bad as far as it goes and can be pretty useful-especially just after the initial loss and activity surrounding it.

Like when I met the acquaintance in the grocery store a month after burying Dominic and she grabbed me with a giant smile on her face, “How ARE you?!!! It’s SO good to see you out!!!”

I just smiled and stood there as if I appreciated her interest, a deer caught in headlights, silently praying she’d live up to her talkative past and soon move on to another target.

Faked it.

Boom!

BUT there comes a time when faking it is not helpful.  In fact, it’s downright dangerous.

Because if I fake it long enough and get good enough at it, I can convince myself that I have done the work grief requires.

Grief will not be ignored forever.

It bubbles up in physical symptoms and sleepless nights. It boils over in anger and impatience and anxiety and nervous habits.

There is no way through but through.  It has to be faced head on.

Life circumstances kept me distracted and busy for the first four or five months after Dominic ran ahead to heaven.

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I cried, screamed and was heartbroken-I definitely had my moments. But for the most part I functioned at a pretty high level.

It wasn’t until things slowed down that I had my come apart. And it caught me by surprise.

I was forced to sit in silence and face the feelings.  I was compelled to hear my heart shatter-over and over again.

I’ve now had over a decade of this burden of sorrow.  Years to think about, work on and pray through the pain.  

I’m learning to pay attention to my own heartbeat, to my body, to my triggers, to my joy-bringers, my joy-stealers and my limitations.  I’m beginning to accept the bellycrawl progress through this tunnel of darkness by focusing on the bright light at the end.  

I still fake it sometimes-it’s not worth it to me to get into a long conversation with that person I only see every year or so.  Too much time, too much energy and too little reward.

But I’m learning to be more genuine with the people that matter most.  I’m learning to be honest about how I feel, what I need and how much I can do.

And I refuse to allow busyness to creep up on me so that I don’t have the time and energy to continue doing the work grief requires.  

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Grief Work 2025: Developing Thicker Skin

I remember clearly walking around like a giant nerve for the first days, weeks and months after Dominic left us.

It didn’t take much for me to burst into tears.

Everywhere I went I was forced to endure words and actions that pierced my heart.

It was hard not to take it personally. It was impossible not to react. Surely people should know better, be better, do better!

But the truth is, they don’t know. And if I’m honest I have to admit that before it was ME, I didn’t know either.

So part of the work grief required was for me to develop thicker skin.

I had to learn to scroll past social media posts, overlook careless comments and not expect those outside my immediate grief circle to understand how Dominic’s death continues to impact me and my family.

 ❤ Melanie

If you’ve joined me here for more than a minute you know I am a fierce advocate for bereaved parents in particular and all grievers in general.

But you’ve probably also noticed that, at least in my own life, I recognize how traumatic and/or difficult circumstances can make it hard to see past the hurt and the shattered world a broken heart inhabits. I can judge others harshly without meaning to.

A couple of recent incidents have reminded me how easy it is to interpret every offhand comment or heartfelt opinion as targeted at ME when, in fact, they are simply a reflection of that person’s experience in the world.

I can’t insist that others see the world through MY eyes if I’m not equally prepared to try to see it through THEIRS.

Look, I know how painful it is to scroll through social media posts and feel the darts land square in the center of my heart. Parents bemoaning their children leaving home (all the while I’m thinking, “yeah-but you can call, visit and still hug your child”); folks complaining about how hard it is to manage schedules and meals or trying to figure out family vacations with teens or young adults (“gee, I wish I had the privilege of including ALL my kids for holidays“); and then there are the “miraculous deliverance from a wreck” posts (I’m wondering why Dom wasn’t delivered).

But NONE of those folks are posting or commenting with me in mind. They are simply sharing their thoughts and feelings just like I share my own.

I’ve learned to just scroll on past.

It’s neither healthy nor helpful for me to type some long (or short!) snarky comment trying to “correct” them. I’m not entirely sure they need correcting.

Before it was ME that sent a child to Heaven I had No. Idea.

They don’t either.

So save your energy for the work grief requires. Save it for the family you’ve got left. Save it for a rainy day when tears fall as fast as drops from the sky.

You’re gonna need it.

What Does Happiness Look Like For You?

It’s not uncommon for clients to be asked by their counselor, “What does happiness look like for you?”.

Because, let’s face it, few of us seek counseling unless we are unhappy or dissatisfied with our current life.

Unlike physical healing, mental, spiritual and emotional healing are rather subjective and it’s important to know what we’re aiming for when seeking help in moving our hearts toward wholeness (or at least, “less brokenness”).

So it’s not surprising that another bereaved parent was asked this question during a session recently. She brought it to the greater community because she felt that she didn’t have a good answer or, really, any answer at all.

I get it.

Child loss is devasting.

In the early days after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven, the idea of “happiness” was as foreign to me as living on Mars. Possible, maybe, but highly improbable and not something I wanted to pursue.

Before death walked through my door, I didn’t find it necessary to parse the difference between happiness, contentment and joy.

Now, I find it absolutely critical.

Happiness is a feeling that everything is going my way-sunshine and roses, no uncomfortable circumstances, no insurmountable challenges. If I’m honest, even before child loss, I wasn’t always happy. It’s easy to idolize my “before” life into somethin it was not.

Contentment, on the other hand, is a settled trust in God’s goodness, mercy and love regardless of my current circumstances. I, like Paul, can LEARN to be content when I focus on the eternal story the Lord is writing that will proclaim His glory for ever and ever. I have to remind my heart every day of truth-even when it doesn’t want to hear it.

Joy is a burst of sweetness and delight-like biting into a perfect strawberry or being greeted with a slobbery kiss from a toddler who has stood by the window, waiting for your arrival. I can choose to make much of these moments or overlook them.

Eleven years on this road, while I find happiness elusive and contentment a work-in-progress, I find looking for joy rewarding.

I live on acreage that is mostly native grasses and weeds. Sometimes when I look out at the rough, uncut vista all I see is a raggedy mess. It is so unlike the tidy, mowed, landscaped lawns I grew up with as a child.

But when I WALK through the fields and look closely, there are dozens of different wildflowers tucked amid the weeds.

That’s how I’ve come to think of life after my son ran ahead to Heaven.

Life itself isn’t what I want or how I thought it would be- not predictable or beautiful (by my earlier standards of beauty). But there are STILL beautiful moments, relationships and events that I can treasure.

I’ve learned to focus on those and hold them close.

Most days are pretty good now but this habit continues to feed my soul.

When a particularly hard day comes, it helps me from falling so far down the rabbit hole of despair that I can’t climb back out.

May the Lord help all of us find the beauty and blessing that remains even as we miss our children and look forward to seeing them again in Heaven.

Bereaved Parent Month 2025: How Do You Breathe?

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.

Read the rest here: How Do You Breathe?

Bereaved Parent Month 2025: Broken Legs, Broken Hearts, Broken Lives

Sometimes I’m envious of folks hobbling along in those plastic boots designed to support an injured leg or ankle and aid healing.

Not because of the injury–I’m thankful I’ve never broken a bone-but because it’s an outward warning to anyone who might otherwise be impatient or insensitive that they just can’t go any faster.

I think there ought to be a t-shirt, pin or banner that gives the same kind of warning for those of us walking around with broken hearts and broken lives.

But there isn’t.

Read the rest here: Broken Legs, Broken Hearts, Broken Lives

Bereaved Parent Month 2025: Surviving Grief Anniversaries

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.

The date of his death.

The date of his funeral.

His birthday.

My birthday.

The day he should have graduated from law school.

On and on and on.

How can I survive these oppressive reminders of what I thought my life would look like? How can I grab hold of something, anything that will keep my heart and mind from falling down the rabbit hole of grief into a topsy-turvy land where nothing makes sense and it’s full of unfriendly creatures that threaten to gobble me whole?

Read the rest here: Surviving Grief Anniversaries

Bereaved Parent Month 2025: I Don’t Want to Remember My Son

I don’t want to remember my son. 

I want to make memories with him.  

I want him to watch me grow old, to watch him get married and have children and to hear his voice mingled with his siblings at my table.

Read the rest here: I Don’t Want To Remember My Son

Bereaved Parent Month 2025: My Juggling Days Are Over

When I was a young mother, my brother used to love to sit back and wait to see how many things I could do at once.

I could hold a baby, iron a shirt and talk on the phone at the same time.  I could pick things up with my toes when I didn’t want to disturb the sleeping child in my lap and couldn’t reach the object with my hand.

Four children in six years, breastfeeding, homeschooling and taking care of all the household chores meant that I got pretty darn good at keeping multiple balls in the air at the same time.

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Those days are over.

Like so many things at this point in my life I don’t know how much of what I experience and feel is a function of getting older (definitely middle aged here!) and how much is attributable to grief following the death of Dominic.

But this I do know:  I am only able to focus on a single task, thought, desire or problem at a time. If I try to multi-task, I might as well cry, “Uncle!” from the start.

It’s a little discouraging.  

Often I feel like I’ve wasted an hour or a day or even a week. What exactly did I get done?

But it’s also a kind of freedom.  

My household isn’t nearly as busy as it once was so there’s really no need to rush from here to there or stack task on top of task.

I’m learning that taking time, talking to people for as long as they need me, doing something well even if I don’t do it quickly are all perfectly acceptable ways to spend a day.

And while I miss so much of who I was before Dominic ran ahead to heaven, I don’t miss the frantic craziness of trying to do too much in too little time.

I will receive THIS change as a gift.  

if you are always racing to the next moment

Bereaved Parent Month 2025: What Grieving Parents Want Others to Know

I wrote this post December, 2015.  It hadn’t been long since I joined an online community of bereaved parents and began to see that I wasn’t the only one who had friends and family that misunderstood child loss.

I was spending a lot of time in my life trying to help others comprehend, just a little, what it felt like to bury a child.

Trying to give them a tiny taste of how this pain is so, so different than any other I had experienced.  Begging them to toss the popular ideas bandied around that grief followed “stages” and was “predictable”.

I re-share every so often because it seems to help, a little.  I’m re-sharing today in  honor of Bereaved Parents Month. 

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 here: What Grieving Parents Want Others to Know

Bereaved Parent Month 2025: Practice the Pause

Can I be honest here?

A tender broken heart can make all kinds of excuses for less-than-gracious behavior or words.

I know that often we grievers bear the brunt of others’ well-meaning but misplaced and sometimes downright painful advice, remarks, looks and gossip and that makes it easy to rationalize returning like for like.

But I’m not responsible for THEM, I’m responsible for ME.

❤ Melanie

Oh, how I need to learn to practice the pause!

I’m getting better, but still react when I should reflect.

I need to do this EVERY time.

practice the pause toby mack

Lord, help my stubborn heart slow down and give me grace to yield and allow You to melt it, mold it and make it more like Your own!

~ ❤

heart stone