I recorded this conversation with Greg Buffkin from the Empty Chair Endeavor before my life was turned upside down by my dad’s stroke in September.
I had honestly forgotten exactly what we talked about so I was pleasantly surprised when I listened to it last week after it was published.
We covered a lot of ground-what helps, what hurts and what and Who has sustained us both on this journey no parent chooses. We talked about sibling loss and about parenting a child who has lost a sibling. We shared how trauma reshapes our emotions and our bodies.
If you’re looking for a word of encouragement as we plunge into the hectic holiday season, take a few minutes to listen.
I want to edit one thing I shared in the podcast: I’m not sure just when I’ll be able to schedule the 2026 retreats but I pray it is soon!
I especially love them as the days get shorter and we creep toward the longest night of the year.
I love them more since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.
Every time I light a candle, I remind my heart that even the smallest light can chase the darkness.
When hundreds, thousands and even millions of candles are lighted together, it does more than chases darkness, it undoes it.
Sunday, December 14, 2025 is the Worldwide Candle Lighting Memorial Service (WCL) sponsored by The Compassionate Friends (TCF)
Millions of parents and others will light a candle at 7:00 PM local time for one hour to honor sons, daughters, brothers, sisters and grandchildren gone too soon.
As the earth turns, a wave of light will sweep across the globe one time zone after another.
It’s natural for parents, grandparents, sisters and brothers to mark the light and life of one they miss.
It’s less natural for friends and extended family members to do so.
One of the greatest fears of every bereaved parent is that his or her child will cease to be remembered or that the light and life of a son or daughter will simply fade as time goes on.
Year-end holidays accentuate the place where our children should be but aren’t. Merry making and picture taking emphasize the gap between grieving hearts and those untouched by death of a close loved one.
That’s why TCF has chosen THISweek for the annual WCL.
If you want a simple way to bless someone you know who lost a child, grandchild or sibling, a single candle and a quick picture or post on social media will do it.
My heart is always encouraged and strengthened when others take time to remember Dominic.
Buy a candle.
Set an alarm on your phone.
Light up the night with us.
Together we will remember. Together we will chase the darkness. Together we will declare that our children are out of reach but not forgotten.
Every autumn I hear the geese overhead and I think about how all that honking serves only a single purpose: to remind the stragglers they are headed in the right direction.
It speaks courage to my own heart as I remember that not only does the leader call out to those behind, but that each bird takes a turn at the head of the line so that the others can rest a bit.
When grief was fresh, the pain was raw and my heart was oh, so tender, I desperately needed a safe space to talk about the nitty-gritty of child loss.
And I found it in online bereaved parents’ groups.
I’m so thankful that they exist, that they are maintained by people who give time and energy to keeping them safe and that-for the most part-participants are kind, compassionate and encouraging.
There is something I’ve noticed now that I’ve been here awhile. Many parents tend to drop out of active participation when they get a little further along in their journey.
An isolated heart is especially vulnerable to discouragement and despair.
When I first found myself on this path, I only knew a handful of moms who were walking it too. They were kind and helpful but they weren’t close enough (by relationship or physical distance) to make sharing my daily ups and downs easy or comfortable. I had so many questions. I had so many fears.
And I really didn’t have anyone to ask.
Someone suggested I look for a grief group meeting in my area. But I live in a rural county and there were none. Someone else suggested I start one. But I was in no position to shepherd other hearts or facilitate discussion when I could barely form words around my own feelings.
So I turned to social media. I searched Facebook for bereaved parent groups.
And it’s there I learned the language of loss and experienced the blessing of community.
❤ Melanie
How do you speak of the unspeakable?
How do you constrain the earth-shattering reality of child loss to a few syllables?
How do you SAY what must be said?
I remember the first hour after the news. I had to make phone calls. Had to confirm my son’s identity and let family know what had happened.
I used the only words I had at the time, “I have to tell you something terrible. Dominic is dead.”
Over, and over, and over.
Until others could pick up the chant and spread it to the ends of the earth.
And then silence.
Such a deep wound requires silence.Because there are no words for the ache inside a mother’s heart, the pain that burrows into her bones, the sorrow that sucks the breath from her body.
It was some months before I found a community of bereaved parents who began to give me a vocabulary for my experience.
And it was more than helpful, it was liberating!
As I began to speak aloud what was hidden inside, it broke chains I didn’t realize held me hostage.
As long as my feelings are secret, they trap my heart and mind in an endless cycle of regret, fear, sorrow, pain and anxiety. When I speak them aloud, I can recognize them and fight them and overpower them. And when I share them, I find that I am not alone.
Others come alongside and say, “Me too!” Validation makes me stronger. Understanding makes me brave.
I hate the fact that my son is dead.
I hate the pain that his death has inflicted on me and on my family.
There are days I wish I could run away and hide, that I could pretend this never happened, that I could undo the broken that permeates my life.
But I can’t.
There’s no way through but through. I have to face the awful truth, I have to consider the ways it is changing me and remaking who I am.
I need words to process the pain because that’s how I can disarm its power over me.
It’s tempting to try to ignore the hard parts of our stories thinking that we are getting away from them.
But we aren’t.
The harder the season, the more profound the wound or bitter the struggle the more time it takes to process.
The firststep is learning the words and finding community in which to speak them.
Here are links to two online communities for bereaved parents:
If you have lost a child and are looking for a place to learn the language of grief and loss, a safe space to share your pain with others who understand it, see if one of these groups might be the place 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.
What I think misery longs for is compassionate companionship.
I think broken hearts need to know they are not alone, that they are not an aberration and that deep sorrow is an appropriate response to profound loss.
What I think folks sitting in darkness need is someone to light a candle and remind them that the night won’t last forever.
That’s why I founded Heartache and Hope, the ministry.
If you visit the website, you’ll see one of my very favorite quotes:
People who have come to know the joy of God do not deny the darkness, but they choose not to live in it. They claim that the light that shines in the darkness can be trusted more than the darkness itself and that a little bit of light can dispel a lot of darkness. They point each other to flashes of light here and there, and remind each other that they reveal the hidden but real presence of God.
― Henri J.M. Nouwen, quote from The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming
And that is why I am offering four retreats for bereaved moms in 2025.
These are small, intimate gatherings of six to eight moms at my family’s property in the panhandle of Florida offered free of charge to those who come.
Bereaved moms can join me in a quiet, rural setting for a weekend of rest, renewal and restoration through fellowship, study of God’s Word and unfettered sharing of our hearts, our stories and our children.
The theme is “Broken Into Beautiful: Inviting Hope to Heal Our Hearts”.
I’ve had a decade to think about and design the kind of gathering I would have benefited from early on in this journey. We begin on Thursday evening (instead of the traditional Friday evening) to give us additional space and time to get to know one another, to develop relationship and to grow toward trust which promotes profound and breakthrough sharing which leads to healing growth. I have no illusions.
One weekend is not going to put the pieces back together but one weekend can provide the inspiration and confidence that the pieces can be put back together.
We will never be unblemished or unbroken but we can be beautiful again.
Our stories are part of THE story-the story that God is writing not only for us but for all eternity.
Jesus is our Shepherd King who longs to bind up our wounds.
Mercy and goodness don’t just follow us-they chase us down, overtake us and weave the broken bits into a beautiful testimony of love and faithfulness-if we let them.
Are you ready to bring your heart to the table of grace where hope can begin to heal it?
Then join me for one of these retreats.
I’m praying already for the moms God will invite and for the work Holy Spirit will do.
Be brave.
Available dates are: February 6-9, 2025; May 1-4, 2025; August 7-10, 2025; October 9-12, 2025.
But it can feel oh, so lonely amidst the lights and the laughter when the one name you want most to be spoken aloud just isn’t.
So what are some practical ways to include our missing child in holiday celebrations?
I, and three other bereaved moms, together with Our Hearts are Home, shared thoughts and ideas on how to remember -in a tangible, physical way-our child during the holidays.
Two common themes tie them all together: (1)represent your child in a meaningful way that is authentic to who they are; and (2) help lead others into the knowledge that it is not only OK to talk about your child but downright joyful to hear it (even if it makes you cry).
Not every idea will suit every family but there is probably one (or more!) that you might find suit yours.
So here they are.
THANKSGIVING
Light a candle (real or battery powered) and put it in a prominent place or as part of a centerpiece. You can attach a lovely tag or put a picture next to it or somehow otherwise indicate that it is in honor of your child.
Memory candles of all sorts are available to order and ideas for making them are easily found online. They often have names and (if you want them) dates etched directly onto the candle or on a container designed to hold a candle.
Photographs are always wonderful. Some families set a place for their missing child or have a separate chair set aside to note their absence. Pictures can be placed on the table, on a side table next to a child’s favorite dish or in some other spot. It’s a Jewish tradition to include photos of all close family members gone before during Sukkot (a biblical holiday many feel is the precursor to our Thanksgiving) as a way to remember and honor ongoing ties and love
Cook your child’s favorite dish and put a note next to it that says so. Perhaps bring copies of the recipe or, if something that lends itself to this, prepare take home boxes with a serving or two for family members to relish and remember later. Mention to others sharing the meal that this is your child’s favorite and why. It’s a great way to encourage natural conversation.
Share why you are thankful for your missing child. This can be done in the context of offering thanks for other family members who have joined you and for those who are no longer present if you feel awkward or expect pushback from family members.
Provide a ceramic plate with your child’s name in the center and acrylic paint markers. Have family and friends write one word that they think of when they think of your child. Directions for curing the paint and making it permanent can be found online.
Donate a holiday meal in their honor through a local food bank or charity.
Watch a favorite movie or show and share memories of why it’s a favorite.
Create a memory table by asking guests to bring something that reminds them of your child. During your time together, ask the guest to share why they chose that item.
Create a Thanksgiving memory journal. Ask others to write a memory in it. You can add to it each year.
Do an act of kindness in their honor.
Share stories. One of the things I’ve learned is that if I don’t bring Dominic up and “give permission” to others, they often won’t either. Share about your child in Heaven just as you would one that is here on earth. Every family has a story about that “one Thanksgiving, so and so did…” .
Provide a family photo album of Thanksgivings past. These will naturally spark conversation about memories, about the lives and love of those no longer present and give bereaved parents a great opening to speak about their child.
Leave an empty chair or place setting.
Participate in a Thanksgiving walk or run in their honor. There are lots of 5Ks around this time of year and almost anyone can participate. Get a group, dress up honoring your child and (turkey) trot on!
You might just want to visit their grave or a special place that is meaningful to you.
Send thank you notes to those who were special to them or played a part in their lives. The first Thanksgiving after Dominic left for Heaven, I wrote notes to everyone I could think of who had shown up or helped our family in some way during those early days.
CHRISTMAS
Hang ornaments that represent your child. Some parents do a separate tree for their missing child (and some keep it up all year).
Hang your child’s stocking along with the others. You can write letters to your child and encourage other family members to add their own. You can ask family members to fill the stocking with gift cards that can be donated in your child’s name to a charity that represents his or her heart.
Volunteer to serve at one of the many organizations that need extra help this time of year.
Listen to favorite songs. It’s easy to make an entire dedicated playlist of songs that remind you of your child or are your child’s favorites.
Buy a gift they’d like and give it away. Many parents purchase gifts for a child who would be the same age as their child this year. You can get names from your local DHR or from churches or other organizations.
One family who draws names for Christmas asked family members to purchase a present that began with their daughter in Heaven’s first initial.
Adopt a family and provide Christmas for them in your child’s honor.
Make a memory chain for the tree. One mom said her daughter had family and friends write a memory on the strips and then put them together in a chain. It could be lengthened each year.
Purchase a poinsettia at church remembering your child.
Give an item that belonged to them to someone who would treasure it. This one can be hard because it’s difficult to release those physical objects our child last touched. But if/when you are ready, it can be a truly beautiful and special act of remembrance.
Make cookies for caregivers or others who helped during a prolonged illness or hospital stay. Make cookies for first responders in your own community.
Memory table runners are easy to purchase or make. Have guests write a favorite memory using permanent markers.
Make a story book of their life and display it where others can see it and enjoy it.
Make or purchase an ornament with their handwriting imprinted to give to family. Because Dominic left for Heaven when my other children were also leaving home, I have made or bought ornaments every year that represent our family and include names. Dominic’s is always included.
(Of course, you could do most of the things listed for Thanksgiving as well.)
I’ve written a lot about surviving the holidays after child loss and will be sharing many of those posts in the coming weeks.
But there are a few thoughts I want to leave you with that I pray provide some hope for any heart dreading the next seven weeks.
Soon after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven I realized all the trappings I associated with Thanksgiving and Christmas were not essential to the primary ideas embodied in both holidays.
Thanksgiving is about setting aside time to express gratitude to God for what He has done, is doing and will continue to do.
I can still manage that.
Christmas is a celebration of the Light coming into a dark world.
This broken heart can definitely get behind that any day.
So, in the end, if your heart cannot bear the thought of one more holly jolly song, one more hap-hap-happy get together, one more frenzied rush to the store for a forgotten present or pantry item—just choose to sit this one out.
Today, five other bereaved moms will join me for a weekend retreat where we will share our stories, our children, laughter and tears.
Each of us brings something unique to the experience and each of us will walk away with something different to ponder in our hearts.
But one of the things I’ve discovered over and over when bereaved parents get together is this: we ALL still (even after years, decades) need affirmation that what we are feeling, thinking and struggling with is absolutely, positively normal.
❤ Melanie
Do you want to know one of the most repeated questions in grief support groups?
It is, “Am I normal?”
In the midst of great loss,
in the middle of reconstructing a life that includes a giant hole,
while struggling to place one foot in front of the other,
parents who have buried a child are often worried about whether what they feel and how they act is “normal”.
Grieving a child is a complex and life-long process as I wrote about here:Am I Normal?
In April I was privileged to share on the topic “Grief Work” with bereaved parents at the Our Hearts are Home Conference in Lynchburg, Virginia.
I’ll be honest, while I’m not generally anxious about speaking in public, the weightiness of the topic and the responsibility I felt to “get it right” led to many long hours agonizing over content and a few sleepless nights worrying about delivery.
It was recorded and is available on YouTube but I’ve been reticent to share it because:
I hate to see myself on camera even at a settled 60+ years of age (Oh, Vanity! Thy name is Woman!); and
it’s pretty long and I was afraid that it would overwhelm parents who, like me, now suffer from shorter attention spans.
But I recently posted it on my Facebook page and there has been positive response so here it is for anyone who would like to view it:
I plan to publish a series of posts based on my notes for this presentation which might be easier for some folks to access and use over the next few days so if you are interested in a deeper dive, look for those.
Our Hearts are Home has a number of videos available on their YouTube channel produced by and for bereaved parents on a variety of pertinent topics so if this one isn’t for you, there may well be another that speaks to your heart.
I’d also encourage you to think about registering for the upcoming October conference. There are in-person and online options available.
It’s always my hope and prayer that those hearts who gather here are encouraged and equipped to take the next breath, do the next thing and to cling to hope.
Surviving after my son ran ahead to Heaven is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I’m living proof that the God who made us, loves us and longs to come alongside to help us carry this heavy, heavy burden.
Melanie
thelifeididntchoose 