At first all I could feel was pain.
Pain of abandonment, of being misunderstood, of being pushed to the outside edges of groups that used to welcome me with open arms.
But as time passed, I began to understand.
My story scares you. You are utterly afraid that if child loss can happen to ME, it can happen to YOU.
You’re right.
Read the rest here: https://thelifeididntchoose.com/2019/04/25/i-know-why-my-story-scares-you/
Healing and curing are not the same thing.
Healing is a process that takes as long as it takes and may never be complete this side of eternity. It’s a folding in of the hard parts of my story, an acknowledgement of the way I am changed because of the wounds I’ve received. It involves scar tissue and sore spots and ongoing pain.
Read the rest here: https://thelifeididntchoose.com/2017/04/08/healing-curing-same-thing/
I was surprised to find that this journey is not straight ahead, one foot in front of the other onto a predetermined destination.
Instead it’s a winding path with lots of switchbacks, circles and I often get lost in territory I have passed through before.
I am, in large measure, at the mercy of my heart.
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I don’t cry nearly as much as I used to.
I’m not sure if it’s because I feel the need less often or because I’m just better at holding the tears at bay. But when I do, it’s pretty ugly.
My heart is still broken.
My soul still cries out for the child I carried in my womb and mothered for nearly 24 years.
Read the rest here: https://thelifeididntchoose.com/2017/04/06/again-and-again/
I remember the first summer after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.
The days stretched interminably before me. I woke with a sigh and not a few tears as I realized I had to wait out another cycle of the sun before sleep (if it came!) would grant respite from the memories, the feelings, the ache in my heart.
Sometimes it was nearly unbearable.
But then I had a moment when I realized no day lasts forever. No matter how hard, no matter how long it seemed, it would end.
Even the worst day of my life only lasted twenty-four hours.
I had survived THAT day. I could survive any day.
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I don’t know just when I figured it out, but somewhere in this Valley it dawned on me-NO day lasts forever.
Many feel like they do.
The day I got the news stretched impossibly long in front of me as calls were made and people came to be wtih us.
But even THAT day ended.
Read the rest here: https://thelifeididntchoose.com/2017/04/22/twenty-four-hours/
It’s kind of odd to see most of the world suddenly forced to embrace a lifestyle I’ve followed for the past six years.
While I’ve always been an introvert, I was not nearly the homebody I’ve become since my son ran ahead to heaven.
Now staying in, carefully planning social events and obligations, leaving a few days between high-energy gatherings and just generally pacing myself is the norm.
I’m truly not anti-social. I love my people. I love seeing them and talking to them.
But since there’s only so much energy to go around I AM selectively social.
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Grief changes lots of things.
I am simply not able to spend energy on frivolous and marginally meaningful social activities anymore.
I’m sure that hurts some folks feelings and I am truly sorry.
But I can’t help it.
Read the rest here: https://thelifeididntchoose.com/2018/04/22/not-anti-social-just-selectively-social/
It’s oh, so hard to know what to do when you are watching a heart break.
You want to reach out and make it better, make the pain go away, make a difference. But it seems like nothing you can do will matter much in the face of such a huge loss.
While it’s true that you cannot “fix” the brokenness in a bereaved parent’s life, there are some very important and practical ways you can support them in their grief.
Read the rest here: https://thelifeididntchoose.com/2017/04/20/five-practical-ways-to-support-grieving-parent/
I have many friends who have chosen to get up when they could have stayed down, who have chosen love when they could have become heartless and who still smile even when life isn’t easy.
I love you. 
Moms and Dads, this one’s for you.
For not giving up or giving in.
For refusing to become bitter and jaded and instead choosing to be love and light.
It would be easier, in a way, if it happened all at once.
If the vivid memories of his voice, his laugh, his body language, his sense of humor just disappeared-POOF!-now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t. Then I could make a single adjustment.
But that’s not how it is. Instead, the living proof of his existence recedes like a wave from the shoreline, only there’s no returning surge to remind me of the force that was Dominic.
Read the rest here: https://thelifeididntchoose.com/2016/04/18/slow-fade/
It may seem like the easiest way to get an inside scoop on how I’m REALLY doing-but don’t do it.
Please don’t ask my kids how I’m doing.
Respect the fact that they have their own grief burden. Respect family privacy and understand you are putting them in an impossible position.
If you want to know-to REALLY know-how I’m doing, ask me.
Read the rest here: Please Don’t Ask My Kids How I Am Doing
Child loss is not a single event.
Of course the moment when the last breath leaves a body is noted and duly recorded because the law requires such. I can pull out Dominic’s death certificate (what an ugly thing to have to say about my child!) and it reads: Time of Death: 1:10 a.m. April 12, 2014.
But I didn’t know about it until 4: 15 that morning when the deputy rang the bell.
So for me, his death came then.
Read the rest here: Child Loss is Not a Single Event
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