Sometimes I schedule a post the night before and wake up to a day that contradicts everything I just wrote.
Grief is like that.
Good day. Bad day. Better day. Worse day.
Read the rest here: Baby Steps and Falling Forward
Tag: child loss
Night Time is So. Much. Harder.
I’m pretty good at pushing away uncomfortable or sad or downright horrifying thoughts in the daytime.
Sunlight means there’s plenty to do and plenty to keep my mind from dwelling too long on anything that will make be cry or bring me to my knees.
But there is a dangerous space just between wake and sleep, when the house is quiet and my mind is free to explore random corners that guarantees unpleasant thoughts will pour in and overwhelm me.
I can’t tell you how many times the last moment before sleep claims my consciousness is filled with thoughts of Dominic.
Not sweet memories of his smiling face.
Oh, no.
Instead they are graphic images of what he looked like, crumpled on the ground, perhaps gasping one last time trying to fill his lungs before his soul flew to Jesus, leaving his body behind.
It’s impossible to describe the electric current that shoots through my midsection like a lightning bolt. I cannot help a heart that doesn’t carry this awful burden understand how such flashes disrupt any hope of peaceful sleep.
I used to be afraid of ghosts in the dark.
I never slept without aid of a nightlight until well into my adult years.
I’m not afraid of specters anymore.
They are small potatoes next to a mother’s own heart screaming, “Where WERE you????” when your baby breathed his last.
Nights are just plain hard.
No distractions.
Only sorrow and a broken heart in bed together.
❤
It’s a New Chapter, NOT the End of the Book
Here they come.
It’s time for the First Day of School photo contests on social media. Shot after shot of little ones and not-so-little ones posing with new book bags and new clothes holding a chalkboard sign that indicates their grade.
And then the pictures of college freshmen toting boxes into dorm rooms, waving good-bye to mom and dad, beginning their adult lives unfettered by curfews and parental oversight.
Then the laments, “I can’t believe they are growing up!”
I hear you, mama. It IS a challenge to watch them grow up. But you aren’t really saying, “good-bye”.
I see it from an entirely different perspective.
Read the rest here: It Ain’t Over Til It’s Over
Discombobulated
Yep. It’s a real word.
And it sounds just like what it is-mixed up, disoriented and confused. Like a kid spun around with a blindfold playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey at his five-year-old birthday party.
That’s me.
I depend on routine, habit, regular workflow patterns to help me remember what I need to do and when. So if something (or a bunch of somethings!) interrupt my tired old footpath through the day, it confuses me.
I’m confused.
This summer has been full of random life events that guaranteed I couldn’t lean into my dependable routines for support and comfort.
So I’m winging it-more or less.
Actually more of the time it IS less but who’s checking?
Anyway, it’s been a good reminder that I’m not in control and that what absolutely MUST be done always manages to get done. And if the other stuff falls by the wayside, then it wasn’t nearly as important as I once thought it was.
I need to be reminded.
Because it’s easy to be frustrated over things that aren’t worth the effort, to get my priorities mixed up and let myself fall prey to the tyranny of the urgent and ignore the supremacy of the important.
Speaking of which, I think I’ll take a break, go outside and get some fresh air.
The vacuuming can wait.
And the laundry,
and the dusting,
and the….
Let’s Stop Hiding, Shall We?
You want to know a secret?
Everyone, EVERYONE, wonders if they are “normal”.
And we all try on different masks trying to hide the real us just in case we aren’t.
But none of them fit, none of them are comfortable and none of them really hide everything we wish they did.
So we go through life pretending to be someone we’re not, hoping the performance is adequate, making friends with people who are also wearing a mask and wondering why in the world it feels so false and unfulfilling.
I love, love, love this little poem by Shel Silverstein. He had a way of distilling truth to a few memorable words:
One of the gifts grief has given me is that I just do not have the energy to keep my mask on straight.
So I’ve decided to take it off.
And I find that when I do, people aren’t horrified, they are relieved.
Because that means they can take theirs off too.
❤
Trusting God After Loss: Why It’s Hard, Why It’s Necessary
One of the greatest challenges I faced this side of child loss was finding a space where I could speak honestly and openly about my feelings toward God and about my faith.
So many times I was shut down at the point of transparency by someone shooting off a Bible verse or hymn chorus or just a chipper, “God’s in control!”
They had NO IDEA how believing that (and I do!) God is in control was both comforting and utterly devastating at the very same time.
It took me awhile to revisit the basic tenets of my faith and tease out what was truly scriptural and what was simply churchy folklore.
It was worth it.
Because while my faith looks different today than it did the day before the deputy knocked on my door, it is still faith. And it is rock-solid, founded squarely on the truth of the Bible, the words of Jesus and the unalterable promises of God Almighty.
I spoke on this topic last October and developed a series of posts to make what I shared available here.
So as a follow-up to yesterday’s post (if I didn’t scare you off!), I’m putting the links to all the posts in my series “Trust After Loss” in one place.
Here they are, with a brief description of each:
God is sovereign-He rules.
God is good-He loves.
How do those two truths live together in a universe that includes child loss? How can I trust the rest of my life and my eternal future to a God who lets this happen?
Read the rest here: Trust After Loss: Admit the Pain
“Faith does not eliminate questions but faith knows where to take them”
~Elisabeth Elliot
Read the rest here: Trust After Loss: Acknowledge Doubt and Ask Questions
The same God Who keeps the earth in orbit around the sun has ordained that death will not have the last word.
Light will triumph.
Darkness will have to flee.
Read the rest here: Trust After Loss: Access the Truth
This is what it means to appropriate God’s strength:
I have to exhale my doubts, inhale His truth and then allow His Spirit to weave that truth into armor so that I am strong for battle.
Read the rest here: Trust After Loss: Appropriate God’s Strength
God is no respecter of persons.
What He did for me, He will do for you.
Ask Him to guide your heart and He will do it
❤
Why You Might Have to “Forgive” God
I love this quote.
It’s honest and exactly how I felt after Dominic was killed.
Like any healthy human relationship, forgiveness is a key component in allowing us to grow closer to those we care about. Intellectually, I believed that God is perfect, and could do no wrong. I could agree with all the scriptures I had read since I was a child that told me God cares for us with an everlasting love. But what my heart felt was that God had done Cathy and my whole family an injustice. As long as I held onto those feelings, I knew I could never move forward.
So one evening alone at home, I simply said these words out loud: ‘God, I forgive you.’
When I was finally able to let go of my ‘justifications’ for feeling angry at God, something inside of me shifted. There were no heavenly rays of light breaking through the clouds, but I could tell that much of the mental turmoil I had been struggling with was being replaced with a quiet peace.
The thing is, I knew deep down that God did not need to be forgiven. The forgiveness was meant for my sake. It opened my heart to begin to listen and allowed me to receive more of what God wanted to teach me about who He really is.
~Warren Ludwig, Jewels in the Junkyard
It may be an affront to our religious sensibilities to even suggest that we “forgive” God.
But it is a bold rendering of the betrayal my heart felt. Why MY son? Why ME?
It’s true-as long as I held onto the reasons God had “done me wrong”, I was unable to lean in and trust Him again.
Like Job, I thought I had Him figured out and could hold my own in a debate with the Almighty One.
But also like Job, when confronted with His holiness, perfection and majesty, found all I could do was cover my mouth.
And when I shut up long enough to hear Him, His voice brought comfort.
He [Christ] said not, ‘Thou shalt not be tempested, thou shalt not be trevailed, thou shalt not be dis-eased,’ but He said, ‘Thou shalt not be overcome.’
~Julian of Norwich
I no longer feel betrayed.
I still don’t like this life.
I would never have chosen this life.
But I will trust the One Who made me to carry me through it.
Shifting The Weight, Bearing the Burden
I told the two children with me that morning that we were going to survive this awful blow.
And we have.
It has been hard and ugly and more painful than anything else we’ve ever had to do.
But we’re still standing.
And I want to encourage the hearts that are just starting down this broken road: You really CAN make it.
Some of you reading this are saying, “But I don’t want to make it. I want to lie down and give up and be out of this pain.”
I don’t blame you.
That’s precisely how my heart felt for months and months. The only thing that kept me holding onto hope was a strong desire that my precious family not have to bury another person they loved. It was enough to force my lungs to draw one more breath, and then another, and then another.
The breaths turned into minutes turned into hours turned into days-then weeks, months and finally, years.
Here I am, six plus years into this Valley and I can tell you this:
Sorrow is no longer all I feel and my son’s absence no longer all I see.
Yes, every single minute grief runs like background noise in my brain. I can go from OK to devastated in a heartbeat.
Yes, I miss Dominic like crazy.
I miss the family we used to have.
I miss the me I used to be.
But I am also living, loving and even laughing my way through many days.
I can go from tearful to joyful in a heartbeat too. I am even more grateful for the children that walk the earth with me. I try harder to be present, to listen, to lean in and love more fully.
The broken me is a more compassionate woman who knows the value of a minute spent with someone you love.
I’ve learned to shift the weight of grief to one hip and make room for other things.
It’s hard.
It’s going to stay hard.
But with God’s help, I’m strong enough to make it.
Repost: Grace Gifts in Grief
It was a long time before I wanted to believe that I received any gifts worth keeping from this life I didn’t choose.
I knew I had tears, pain, agonizing sorrow, loss, heartache, dashed hopes, empty arms.
If I could give those back and regain my son, I would do it in less than a heartbeat.
I can’t, so I’m left here to ponder what else I’ve received from burying a child.
Read the rest here: Grace Gifts of Grief
Bereaved Parents Month Post: There Is NO Shame In Getting Help
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
thelifeididntchoose 