Something you hear early on in this grief journey is that one day you will find a “new normal”.
I hate that phrase.
Because while I have certainly developed new routines, new ways of dealing with life, new methods for quelling the tears and the longing and the sorrow and the pain-it is NOT normal.
It will never be “normal” for my son to be missing.
Read the rest here: Nothing “Normal” About It
I want to say up front that I am no theologian.
I am, instead, a sincere follower of the Lord Jesus Christ who reads the Bible and tries hard to understand what it says and let it inform my worldview.
I know I’ve written about this before but it comes up again and again in bereaved parent groups so I’m sharing MY perspective one more time.
Here’s the question:
If God is sovereign (meaning all powerful) then why didn’t He save my child?
Here’s my answer:
God is sovereign. There is no one more powerful in the universe. He can and sometimes, does, interject directly in the affairs of men. If He chose, we would be like automatons, simply doing precisely what He wanted us to do.
God has given man free will. And that means that while there is a perfect plan and will of God for my life, for your life and for every life on this planet, I can choose not to follow it. He will not force me into compliance. I will often make foolish or sinful choices and may very well suffer the consequences.
The world is tainted by sin. Our bodies are prone to sickness, disease, genetic abnormalities. People make not only foolish choices but sinful ones-acting evilly against another person-causing harm and death. Until the devil has been utterly cast out, we will continue to suffer in a world that is not at all as God originally intended it to be.
God has also set certain universal principles in place. Gravity. Physics. Biology. Each operates without His direct intervention according to the laws He created to give us a world that works in predictable fashion. We have electricity in our homes because of these laws. Internal combustion engines work a certain way, over and over and over. When I get sick, my body temperature rises in an attempt to create a hostile environment for the invading bacteria or virus. I depend on these laws every single day.
In my son’s case, he made a foolish choice to drive too fast in a curve. His motorcycle left the road (physics) and he could not maintain control nor stop it before he hit something. His body could not sustain the blow (biology) and he died.
So many times people ascribe the word “miraculous” to someone who survives a nasty accident or is healed from disease. It may be that God in His mercy DID miraculously deliver one person or another. But it may be just as likely that the same laws of physics and biology (things we do not completely understand) which doomed my son, guaranteed their survival. I cannot compare my life to theirs or my son’s accident to another.
COULD God have intervened? Absolutely! Did He? No.
But can I ask Him to step in and prevent these natural consequences when I would be very upset should He do it other times?
See, I want God to stop pain in MY life. But (if I’m honest) I’d rather He allow it in the lives of others (those who molest children, for instance). I want Him to reach down into this world He made and keep ME and MINE safe.
If He was reaching down all the time, this wouldn’t be the world I know, it would be a world where He was chess master and we were all pawns on the game board.
The God I serve invites me to follow Him.
He does not force me to make that choice.
It’s an uncomfortable mystery that I do not understand. But I am satisfied that one day it won’t even matter.
Because every question I have will melt away in the overwhelming joy of Heaven.
I pull out the memories like treasures from a locked strongbox.
“Handle With Care” because they are all I have left.
But they are not enough.
They will never be enough to satisfy this mama’s heart.
We are supposed to have to remember our elders, our grandparents, even, maybe our spouse at some point-but not our children.
I knew my son from before he made his entrance into the wide world. He had already danced his way into my heart before he took his first step on solid ground. He was part of me from the moment of conception.
I waited breathlessly to see his face for the first time.
I never expected that I would also see it for a last time.
We all have people we expect to outlive-our grandparents, our parents, elderly friends and neighbors-but not our child.
As our loved ones age, the wise among us begin to catalog and carefully store all those “lasts” or soon-to-be “lasts”. We ask for stories to make sure we can keep telling them. We take extra photographs, make extra phone calls and write down recipes.
I was living life forward with Dominic-just like all my kids. We were a busy, busy family and I was never very good at scrapbooking or saving up the ordinary flotsam of everyday life.
So while I have some pictures, memorabilia and tokens of his too-short life, I don’t have nearly enough. Oh, how I wish I had more! Not to create a museum or a shrine but to help my poor brain remember.
When someone says, “Just think of the good memories” it triggers all kinds of emotions and not one of them is what the person intends when giving me that advice.
I feel guilty-guilty for all the things I CAN’T remember.
Dominic is my third child and only 19 months older than his younger brother. There are so many gaps from those early years because I was overwhelmed and tired. Why can’t I conjure up images of him at 3 or 4?
That hurts.
I feel incredibly sad-sad that whatever memories I DO have are all I will ever have. I had the memories BEFORE my son wasn’t walking with me and had planned on making many more.
So focusing on memories brings little solace.
Even at 4 1/2 years into this journey, I’m torn when I pull out the memories.
I can smile now about many of them, but it’s always bittersweet.
Because this treasure trove is as large as it will ever be. ❤
Thanksgiving is hard on my heart.
My birthday is usually close to, and sometimes on, Thanksgiving. So we often celebrate them together. What makes that especially painful for me since Dominic ran ahead to heaven is that the last birthday before he left was a surprise party at his apartment.
It was wonderful and loud and fun and filled with laughter and love.
So all those good but achingly hard memories are wrapped up with the turkey and dressing.
Read the rest here: Holidays and Grief: Thanksgiving Plan
When faced with the upcoming holidays and already rapid heartbeat and fading strength, the last thing a bereaved parent wants to hear is , “Make a plan”.
But the truth is, if you don’t it will be so. much. worse.
No one can tell YOU what the plan should be. Each family is unique. Each year brings different challenges-declining health, moves, children or grandchildren born and a dozen other variables that must be accounted forTHIS year versus years past.
Read the rest here: Holidays and Grief: You Need a Plan
Some of us only felt tiny hands and feet pressing against the inside of our body.
Some of us saw first steps or first grade.
Some of us watched our child drive away to college certain it was the beginning of an adventure, not the beginning of the end.
Some of us have grandchildren reflecting back a smile or gesture or tone of voice that it so much like the one we miss.
All of us know what it is to lose more than any heart can bear-and yet we DO bear it-every. single. day.
None of us would give up whatever time we had even knowing how hard it is to go on without them. ❤
Dominic’s death has made me angry at times.
And I really don’t have anyone on whom to focus that anger.
I can blame Dom, but what will that do for my heart?
I can be angry at God, but the truth is, I have too long a history with Him to think that He is punishing me or that He isn’t the loving Father I know Him to be.
So often I end up casting blame on those who don’t live up to my standards of how they SHOULD be walking alongside me in this Valley.
Because all that anger has to go somewhere, right?
Sad thing is, right when I need friends most, if I’m spending my time picking them apart because they aren’t approaching me in the most helpful ways or, worse-avoiding me altogether-then I am guaranteeing I’ll be alone and lonely.
It does hurt when folks say the wrong thing, don’t say anything or let mention of my missing son fall like a lead ball between us.
But most often it isn’t because they MEAN to hurt me, it’s because they don’t know what to say or how to act.
Child loss and its lifelong aftermath is largely a secret in Western society.
Even many mental health professionals don’t recognize its ongoing impact on a heart and life.
I’m beginning to suspect that most of the people I know have been and are doing the best they can to walk alongside me in this Valley. And, well, if it looks a little awkward or is kind of an on again/off again thing-I’ll give grace.
Blaming is easy.
But it pushes hearts apart.
Right when I need them to come closer.
Even though I purpose to be authentic and open about how Dominic’s absence impacts my life, I find that I may go days or weeks without realizing I’m stuffing things again.
Most of the time I figure it out because the grief has found the path of least resistance and leaked onto other people or has made me sick, tired or both.
When I catch myself overreacting to the less than attentive store clerk or avoiding phone calls or snapping at family members I need to take a moment and search for what’s behind that.
When I dread another day, sit for too long in my chair instead of getting up and getting going, procrastinate over simple and easy tasks, have trouble sleeping or am achy all over I need to reexamine my week and see what grief triggers I overlooked or tried to ignore.
At first I was very aware of carrying the load of grief and sorrow-tears made it obvious and impossible to ignore.
But as time has progressed (now 4 1/2 years) I find I can seem to breeze right past things that would have stopped me in my tracks during the first twelve months.
Still, they DO pluck at my heart even if I think they don’t.
And if I refuse to drag those feelings out into the light, they will find their own path.
Grief will not be denied forever.
It leaks out somewhere.
Better for me to face up, own it and choose how it comes out.
A friend who is now battling a new challenge in addition to child loss posted this on her Facebook timeline:
You’re not going to master the rest of your life in one day. Just relax.
Master the day.
Then just keep doing that every day.
I LOVE it! And it reminded me of this quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson that has been on my refrigerator for years:
Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.
Truth is, no matter how much we may TRY to live life in weeks or months or years, we really are only able to live it one day at a time.
And as Jesus said over 2000 years ago: “Don’t worry at all then about tomorrow. Tomorrow can take care of itself! One day’s trouble is enough for one day.” (Matthew 6:34)
If I never knew it before, I know it now.
I am good for a single 24 hour period-one revolution of the earth.
That’s it.
Sure I put stuff on my calendar. I have to. But I never take it for granted. I never assume that what I think is going to happen next week really will happen next week.
I know better.
And I’ve also learned there is absolutely NO use in worrying about what MIGHT happen. Because worrying does not rob tomorrow of its problems, it only robs today of its joys.
So I work each day to do THAT day. I make it the most productive, most love-filled and life-giving day I can.
I go to bed satisfied that I’ve done my best.
Get up the next sunrise and do it again.
One day at a time.
This was what I wrote after last February’s retreat.
For an introvert who prefers writing to chatting it was a real stretch.
But it was so worth it!!!
If you are close enough to join us in November, please pray diligently about whether God would have you go. I promise that you will not regret it-even if it’s a stretch for you too.
“I spent last weekend with eleven other bereaved mamas in a small Christian camp in Mississippi*
I’ll be honest-what sounded like a great idea a few months ago had begun to sound like an awful and intimidating idea about three days before I was supposed to go.
Even though I felt more prepared for this event than the Through This Valley Conference in October, I was still filled with trepidation at facilitating five sessions over three days with women I had only “met” online.”
Read the rest here: Heartache, Healing and Hope
thelifeididntchoose 