Certain seasons and topics come around every year.
I try hard to offer something fresh each time.
But I reread the post I’ve used to kick off Bereaved Parents Month in the past and really can’t add anything new. So here it is again.
If you’ve read it before, consider glancing over it again.
If you have never seen it, please give it a quick read.
Don’t miss this opportunity to raise awareness of child loss and its impact on parents and families. ❤
Shame is a shackle as sure as any chains forged from iron.
And it often finds its home in the hearts of those who bury a child.
Bereaved parents may feel shame for lots of reasons…Shake Off the Shame
I wrote this post in response to the deaths of Debbie Reynolds and Carrie Fisher in December, 2016. Debbie died of a broken heart within a day of hearing of her daughter’s death.
It was an opportunity to educate others about the reality of child loss and a parent’s broken heart while the world’s attention was focused on the subject.
Like so many other things competing for headlines and social media hits, it was only a hot topic for a brief while.
But for those of us living with the daily reality of a missing child and a broken heart this still rings true.
I think Bereaved Parents Month is an appropriate time to revisit it. ❤
“The world is stunned by the deaths of Carrie Fisher at 60 and her mother Debbie Reynolds just one day later.
And it should be.”
Read the rest here: A Broken Heart
It’s an old standby-before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
But we rarely take time to do that.
Instead we look at another heart and assume that if they are struggling, it’s because they aren’t trying as hard as we might in the same circumstances.
Or we pick apart whatever tiny efforts they are making toward progress because it isn’t fast enough or far enough to suit us.
Then our own path becomes so rock strewn and broken we realize no matter how much energy and positive thinking a body puts forth, there are some roads where an inch a day is a downright miracle.
One thing burying my child is teaching me is this: Every single person I meet is carrying a burden I know nothing about.
And most are doing the very best they can to bear that load and still do life.
So I give grace.
I speak courage
I extend a helping hand whenever I can.
This life is short and hard and it’s hardly worth adding to another heart’s load.
❤
I’m taking the opportunity during July to re-post some articles that have been popular and helpful in the past.
One of the most trying seasons for grieving parents extends from November through the first week of January.
The holidays are hard for so many people, but especially for parents trying to navigate these family focused holidays without the presence of a child that they love.
I know it’s still several months away, but once school starts it seems the weeks roll past faster and faster until suddenly there’s no time to plan and the day is upon us.
I highly recommend speaking to family and friends NOW. Make plans NOW. When folks have plenty of time to make adjustments, it is much more likely they will accommodate a grieving heart’s need for change.
I know it is hard. I know you don’t truly understand how I feel. You can’t. It wasn’t your child.
I know I may look and act like I’m “better”. I know that you would love for things to be like they were: BEFORE. But they aren’t.
I know my grief interferes with your plans. I know it is uncomfortable to make changes in traditions we have observed for years. But I can’t help it. I didn’t ask for this to be my life.
I know that every year I seem to need something different. I know that’s confusing and may be frustrating. But I’m working this out as I go. I didn’t get a “how to” manual when I buried my son. It’s new for me every year too.
So I’m trying to make it easier on all of us.
Read the rest here: Holidays and Grief: What the Bereaved Need From Friends and Family
“Stuck in grief”-it’s a theme of blog posts, psychology papers and magazine articles. The author usually lists either a variety of “symptoms” or relates anecdotes of people who do truly odd things after a loved one dies. “Complicated grief” is a legitimate psychiatric diagnosis.
But who gets to decide?
What objective criteria can be applied to every situation, every person, every death to determine whether someone is truly stuck in grief? How do you take into account the circumstances of a death, the relationship of the bereaved to the deceased, trauma surrounding the event or any of a dozen other things that influence how long and how deeply one grieves a loss?
Read the rest here: Stuck or Unstuck in Grief? Who Gets to Decide?
I’m pretty sure that every single grieving parent I know has gotten at least one private message, text or phone call that starts like this, “I know that I haven’t lost a child, but…” and ends with some sort of advice that seeks to correct a perceived flaw in how the parent is grieving (in public) his or her missing child.
I know I did. It was the genesis of this post.
But before you hit “send” on that well-meaning missive, you need to know this:
You have NO CLUE.
None.
Truly.
No matter if you lost a spouse, parent, close friend or favorite pet-it’s not the same thing.
It isn’t even the same thing if you have faced a season when your own child was near death due to accident or disease.
If your home has been demolished due to wind, fire or flood and all its contents lost forever-that is awful and tragic-but not comparable to watching the body of your child lowered beneath the ground.
Just like everyone else who uses social media, what you see in public does not reflect but a tiny corner of the whole picture.
I write every day about loss. But loss is not all I experience 24/7. I laugh, I love, I live.
And while I may post my yearning for Dominic, I speak my heart to my living children every. single. day.
My faith has been tried and tested. I will not be false and pretend that just because I trust the finished work of Christ my heart has had it easy.
But I’m still holding onto hope with both hands.
My body has borne the brunt of anxiety and stress and grief. You can see it in my eyes and in my hips.
But I’m still standing.
My marriage has been stretched and strained.
But we are still clinging to one another.
So before you suggest ways I might need to trim my sails,
just remember you aren’t sailing the same sea nor facing the same storms.
❤
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.
Even at four years into this journey, I can surprise myself when, for no apparent reason, grief explodes from someplace deep within me.
I’m keyed into triggers-sights, smells, places and people that remind me of Dominic.
But sometimes I can’t figure out what causes the tears to fall or my stomach to be tied in knots.
It seems to happen most often when I’m in social situations. I feel surrounded, trapped and anxiety mounts.
I’m no geologist, but from what I understand, earthquakes are nearly always “about to happen”. Fault lines guarantee it. Pressure is building underneath the surface of the earth and when it reaches a level that can no longer be contained, it spews.
Can I just let you in on a secret?
Bereaved parents are full of fault lines.
Many of us are nearly ready to blow almost every single minute, yet hold it in and hold it together. If you could put a meter to our temple and measure how close we are to a come apart, you would be amazed that it happens so rarely!
Read the rest here: Fault Lines: Bereaved Parents and Social Anxiety
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