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: bereaved parent
Confluence
Like most parents who have buried a child, a line is drawn through my life.
April 12, 2014 changed everything.
Whenever I hear a date or a memory drifts across my mind, I think, “that was so many days, months or years BEFORE or AFTER Dominic left us”. I can plot events on a calendar like I’m making a history timeline.
Put this one here and that one there. It seems so simple and straightforward
But daily life is much more complex.
I live in a world where “before” and “after” run together in a mighty torrent. And I can’t control the way they mix and churn.
These past few days I’ve been pet sitting for my eldest son, James Michael, and my daughter-in-law while both are out of town for work training.
They just moved from North Carolina to Florida and are still unpacking.
So while I’m here I’ve been helping to put things away and clear the boxes. I decided that working in the office was a good place to start-I figured I couldn’t do much damage by putting books on shelves and pens in cups.
None of these things belonged to Dominic.
But as I opened the boxes I was flooded with memories.
I found a scrapbook my daughter made for JM’s high school graduation-filled with photos of my three boys-years upon years of adventures, goofy faces, travel and achievement.
Another box held my son’s old Bible with a couple of church bulletins tucked inside. I was tossed back to the time when we all sat in the same pew, strong voices blending in worship, hands together in service-when I could not have imagined we would be one less-I only dreamed then of adding to the family, not taking away.
There was the graduation program from Auburn School of Veterinary Medicine.
Just weeks after burying Dominic we were celebrating the culmination of four years’ hard work. It was supposed to be a rip-roaring party, but it was a quiet dinner instead.
And then onto the mementos marking James Michael’s transitions since then: from single to married; from sheriff’s deputy to Air Force captain; from West Virginia to North Carolina to Florida.
All important events that were missing Dominic.
Celebrations and achievements that were a bit smaller because we are fewer.
Even as nostalgia swept over me, excitement also filled my heart because James Michael and his wife were beginning a new chapter.
I was happy to be helpful.
Encouraged that I could be of use in this season where many times I feel useless.
And I thought about rivers-rivers of time, of memories, of experience and of dreams.
Confluence: a coming or flowing together, meeting, or gathering at one point, especially of two rivers of equal strength.
This is where I find myself right now-swimming, drifting, sometimes drowning in the rivers
of “what was”
and “what is yet to be”
as they join in the “right now”.
Feelings; The Bane of my Existence — Boxx Banter
From my friend and fellow bereaved mother, Janet Boxx.
Choosing to go THROUGH grief is frightening, and hard, and takes so very much work, energy and commitment.
I, too, would often rather think about my grief experience than feel it. But it is the only hope for healing.
“How do you feel about that?”, Ruth, my grief counselor asked. Tears filled my eyes and choked my throat as I desperately tried to prevent them from falling, to prevent a sob from escaping, while my mind grappled for words to define my feelings. For such a wordy person I find it ironic how completely […]
No More “Smile and Wave”!
We live in a world of fake smiles, plastic body parts and cheap knock-offs. We’re so used to it that sometimes we can’t tell the difference anymore.
It’s part of our relationship patterns too.
We see someone we know out shopping and toss, “How are you?” at them anticipating the obligatory reply:
“I’m just FINE! How are YOU?” (Said with a deep southern accent and wide, lipsticked smile.)
But then something unexpected happens.
She says, “I’m having a hard time. I’m struggling. This week has been really stressful.“ (Spoken in a whisper, through tears.)
And I’m faced with a choice:
Do I shut her down or draw her out? Do I recognize the courage it took to be honest or do I dismiss her openness as inconvenient and inconsequential?
Me, I’ll take genuine, every time.
I will stop, find a quiet corner and allow her to share as long as it takes. I will pray or listen or hug or console until the storm passes.
Because that has been, and still is, ME sometimes.
Before Dominic left us, if you saw me in the grocery store you would have gotten the answer you expected. My eyes on my list, my head filled with the next thing I was going to do when I left with my buggy full, my heart unbroken and whole-who’s got time for chit-chat?
Smile and wave was standard practice as I moseyed on down the aisle.
Not anymore.
There is nothing, NOTHING, more important than people in this life.
If you want proof, ask a bereaved mama.
Because no one knows with more certainty, with more clarity and will tell you with more conviction that MORE TIME with someone you love is the ONE thing you would give EVERYTHING for-in a heartbeat.
So I will lay aside things and chores and to do lists.
I will give up entertainment and ignore the urge to check Facebook or Twitter.
Because the person in front of me is a gift.
And I want to unwrap that gift and be present for every moment.
Blessed Assurance
One of the ongoing challenges in my grief journey is fighting back fear.
Fear of what COULD happen, now that I know by experience what it feels like when it does.
So I try to remind myself on a regular basis that my life and the lives of those I love have never been in my own hands:
Do Good, Be Light, Extend Hope
Dear friends, do you think you’ll get anywhere in this if you learn all the right words but never do anything? Does merely talking about faith indicate that a person really has it? For instance, you come upon an old friend dressed in rags and half-starved and say, “Good morning, friend! Be clothed in Christ! Be filled with the Holy Spirit!” and walk off without providing so much as a coat or a cup of soup—where does that get you? Isn’t it obvious that God-talk without God-acts is outrageous nonsense?
James 2:14-17 MSG
James doesn’t mess around.
He says what a lot of people are thinking but are too timid to speak aloud.
I like that.
We could use a good dose of his brand of preaching in the church today. Let’s stop pretending that following Jesus is just about getting our theology right. Let’s stop acting like going to church, serving on committees or teaching Sunday School is the best indicator of where my heart is relative to my Savior.
Let’s face facts: if my life does not look different than the lives of those who do not know Jesus, then either I don’t know Him or I’m not paying attention to what He’s telling me to do.
I have been blessed on this grief journey by a few dedicated friends who go out of their way to do good, be light and extend hope to my heart when I’m barely holding on. They have chosen, often sacrificially, to be the hands and feet of Jesus in my life.
And they make a difference!
Sometimes it’s a card in the mail, sometimes a text or message and sometimes a visit-but they DO something. They might not understand why God is putting me on their heart, but they obey the prompting.
So if the Spirit is nudging you to reach out to someone, don’t ignore Him or put it off. Sure, praying is important. We are commanded to do that.
But we are also commanded to be physically present and to extend practical help to hurting hearts. We are supposed to BE the hands and feet of Jesus.
Who knows, I might be the answer to my own prayer that God send encouragement to someone else.
I can choose to do good.
I can choose to shine light.
I can choose to share hope.
And my small gesture be the very thread that holds a broken heart together.
If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them.
James 4:17 NIV
Celebrating the Small Victories
This journey is a marathon, not a sprint.
If I keep my eyes focused on the miles I’ve yet to trod, I can be discouraged and tempted to give up.
But if I think about the miles I’ve covered and the progress toward healing that has occurred, I can gain strength to keep on going.
It’s hard.
That’s not going to change.
I have mountains yet to climb. I won’t always be victorious-I’ll suffer setbacks.
But today, I’m celebrating several small victories:
I spent two hours laughing hysterically with a friend over lunch.
We were so loud and having so much fun that the wait staff was undoubtedly convinced we had enjoyed a liquid lunch although we didn’t drink anything stronger than water. And it felt GOOD.
I am teaching again.
Since I was a little girl lining my dolls up for pretend school, my heart has been inclined toward teaching. Through the years I’ve taught Sunday School, seminars, parenting classes, speech classes and my own children from kindergarten through high school. But it’s been awhile-a long while since I’ve had the energy to be the focus of a room full of people. It’s just a small class on Sunday nights, but it’s a start.
I cut my hair.
Now, you are wondering how is that a victory? But in the throes of despair after Dominic left us, I vowed that I would never cut it. Because (this is the biology nerd in me) my hair contained the only cells in my body that would not be shed and renewed. I wanted this physical part of me that existed when he was still here as a reminder of just how long it had been since I hugged him or heard his voice. But the other day I knew it was time. So before I could lose my nerve I did it. And I’m glad. He would definitely approve!
I baked shortbread for my mother’s birthday.
Family celebrations are still very hard. When we are together, the hole where Dominic should be is that much more apparent. And shortbread was one of the only things that could tempt my fitness fanatic son to break training and indulge his sweet tooth. So I haven’t made it since before he left us. But it’s Mama’s favorite too. And I’m learning to experience these memories wrapped up in doing things we did BEFORE as a blessing instead of only as a painful reminder that Dominic is gone.
You may be very fresh in your grief. You may despair of ever making headway toward healing. You may FEEL like you will ALWAYS be held under the tidal wave of sorrow.
It does seem that way for a very long time-longer for some people than others and definitely longer than we would hope.
But please be encouraged!
Your victories will look different than mine, but they will come. If you face the pain and do the work grief requires, you can begin to heal.
No, you will never be the same.
I’m not.
I don’t want to be.
Burying a child has taught me many things for which I am grateful and the pain I carry is a testimony to the love I have for my son.
But I am learning to live again.
One small victory at at time.
I Will Not Be Moved
I’m not brave by nature.
If I have a choice, I will run every time. But there are just some things worth fighting for.
My family is one of them.
I will not let the enemy have them.
I will not allow despair to overtake us, fear to bind us, hopelessness to sap our strength.
I will not let death win.
And though he stalks me like a hungry lion, knocks persistently demanding attention, follows me as close as my own shadow-I will not let the evil one overtake me or find a home in my heart.
I refuse despair.
This night of loss will be longer than I can bear in my own strength, but I am convinced the Lord will restore my joy.
I am committed to cling to Christ even through my eyes are worn out with tears.
I fight fear.
There is no guarantee that my cup of suffering is full. It may yet hold more sorrow, but I will not worry about what tomorrow may bring.
God is there
I won’t give in to hopelessness.
I hold onto hope because hope is a Person. He is faithful and He is able. What I have given to His hands is safe and secure.
And though death is awful-it is not the end of the story.
When trapped between the Egyptians and the Red Sea, the nation of Israel was understandably frightened.
There WAS no escape-turn back and be slaughtered or move forward and drown.
They despaired of help and begged God to save them.
…Moses told the people, “Don’t be afraid. Just stand where you are and watch, and you will see the wonderful way the Lord will rescue you today. The Egyptians you are looking at—you will never see them again.
Exodus 14;13
They could never have imagined the miraculous answer to their desperate plea for rescue.
I realize that the answer to my cry for help is not going to be restoration of my son in this life. I know that I will have to wait for redemption of my pain.
But I am convinced that what the world regards as a final chapter is only the beginning of the story.
I serve the same God Who parted the Red Sea.
He is still on the throne.
He is not sleeping and He is not silent.
I can stand my ground between today and eternity confident that He is at work in all things.
He is an ever present Help in time of trouble.
I will not be moved.
Willful Obedience
How many times have we seen it or experienced it ourselves?
That moment when a young child cries, “WHY do I have to do it?!!!”
In reply an exasperated mama says, “Because I TOLD you to!!!”
Then the moment of truth: either the child complies (reluctantly perhaps) or chooses willful disobedience.
When my children were little, we lived on a fairly busy road with our driveway a short distance from the edge of the pavement. I was shepherding four young ones and could not possibly keep an eye on each one every second of every day.
So early on we established a rule: You never step on blacktop pavement without holding the hand of an adult.
I explained that the road was dangerous. But let’s face it, the ability of a two year old to understand “dangerous” is limited.
Because of the faithful love they experienced in our home, my children trusted me even though they did not fully comprehend the need to obey.
And this rule was never broken as long as we lived there.
It kept them safe.
These last months I have felt like an angry, willful child-I’ve asked God, “Why do I have to affirm Your goodness? Why do I have to believe You are in control? Why do I have to keep on keeping on when all I want to do is lie down and give up?”
And, honestly, the only answer I’ve gotten is, “Because I told you to.”
He has not given me special revelation nor has He whispered unique comfort to my heart.
No answer as to why MY son wasn’t saved.
No insight into how these circumstances play into His greater plan and purpose for my life or for anyone else’s life.
So I face a moment of truth: will I choose obedience? Will I choose to continue to follow my Savior and trust my Heavenly Father?.
Will I rest in the faithful love He has showered on me all my days and hold tighter to the hope I have in Christ?
Or will I walk away because I don’t get what I want and I don’t understand?
The apostles faced a similar test many times. One which speaks to my heart occurred just after Jesus miraculously fed the five thousand.
When Jesus taught that He was the Bread of Life, many turned away because they found the words offensive and hard to believe.
The crowd had readily accepted physical blessing from His hand, but hesitated when the blessing wasn’t something they could touch or comprehend.
They were unprepared to follow Him if they didn’t understand.
Therefore, when many of His disciples heard this, they said, “This teaching is hard! Who can accept it?”
Jesus, knowing in Himself that His disciples were complaining about this, asked them, “Does this offend you?”
From that moment many of His disciples turned back and no longer accompanied Him. Therefore Jesus said to the Twelve, “You don’t want to go away too, do you?”
Simon Peter answered, “Lord, who will we go to? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that You are the Holy One of God!”
John 6: 60-61, 66-69
Simon Peter chose to follow because he believed and accepted a core truth: Jesus IS the Holy One of God. He IS the Bread of Heaven. He IS the Way, the Truth and the Life.
Like the crowd, I cry out, “This teaching (of Your sovereignty, of Your goodness, of Your love for me) is hard! Who can accept it (in light of my experience)?”
But as an act of will, even in the midst of so many unanswered questions, I will choose to follow and obey because only Jesus has the words of eternal life.
I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face questions die away. What other answer would suffice?
― C.S. Lewis
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.
thelifeididntchoose 