child loss – Page 251 – thelifeididntchoose

Fragile

I’ve spent the past two days fighting anxiety and panic.

Breath caught mid-throat, chest pounding, sobs threatening, head throbbing-just like that first day 47 months ago.

A series of events broke down the defense I’ve carefully constructed that helps me make it through most days without tears.

I did pretty good.

I managed a family dinner, church and a covered dish luncheon with no one any the wiser.

Underneath it all I was barely hanging on.

I love that my words give expression to my feelings, thoughts and experience and also help others give expression to theirs. But sometimes I’m afraid that the people closest to me think that because I can write about it, I must be a bit beyond it-detached, clinical, untouched.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I feel every. single. thing.

My heart hurts like every other bereaved parent. My brain struggles to comprehend the reality of my son’s death and a lifetime without his earthly companionship. I fight for my faith. I cry out to God. I feel lonely, misunderstood, abandoned, frightened, and so, so sad.

I am fragile.

Like moth’s wings.

The slightest touch threatens to undo me.

Liquid Prayers

Is it not sweet to believe that our tears are understood even when words fail? Let us learn to think of tears as liquid prayers, and of weeping as a constant dropping of importunate intercession which will wear its way right surly into the very heart of mercy, despite the stony difficulties which obstruct the way. My God, I will “weep” when I cannot plead, for Thou hearest the voice of my weeping.

Spurgeon

I was not yet through the first 24 hours of Dominic’s absence when I decided I’d never hide my tears.

I love fiercely and I understood-even in the confusion of that awful day-that my tears were as much a testimony to love as my hugs ever were.

So I cried when I wanted to, needed to, couldn’t help it.

At first I think my tears were mainly an expression of loss and sorrow.

But as the days rolled into weeks rolled into months and now years, my tears are as often an expression of longing as of pain.

The Spirit of God not only maintains this hope within us, but helps us in our present limitations. For example, we do not know how to pray worthily as sons of God, but his Spirit within us is actually praying for us in those agonising longings which never find words. And God who knows the heart’s secrets understands, of course, the Spirit’s intention as he prays for those who love God.

Romans 8:26 PHILLIPS

When my mind cannot find words for the deep things of my heart, I cry.

I think of each tear as a liquid prayer and trust that God captures it in His bottle, takes note of it in His scroll.

You have seen me tossing and turning through the night. You have collected all my tears and preserved them in your bottle! You have recorded every one in your book.

Psalm 56:8 TLB

And I hold on with both hands to the promise that there will be a Day-a wonderful, never-ending, light filled Day-when tears will be a thing of the past.

Every sad thing will be untrue.

Every stolen thing will be redeemed and every heart restored to perfect peace in the Presence of the Most High God and Christ Jesus Himself!

But here on this mountain, God-of-the-Angel-Armies
    will throw a feast for all the people of the world,
A feast of the finest foods, a feast with vintage wines,
    a feast of seven courses, a feast lavish with gourmet desserts.
And here on this mountain, God will banish
    the pall of doom hanging over all peoples,
The shadow of doom darkening all nations.
    Yes, he’ll banish death forever.
And God will wipe the tears from every face.
    He’ll remove every sign of disgrace
From his people, wherever they are.
    Yes! God says so!

Also at that time, people will say,
    “Look at what’s happened! This is our God!
We waited for him and he showed up and saved us!
    This God, the one we waited for!
Let’s celebrate, sing the joys of his salvation.
    God’s hand rests on this mountain!”

Isaiah 25:6-10 MSG

Nagging Guilt in Child Loss

I should have known. I should have been there. I should have called, texted, spoken one more warning or given one more hug.

Should. Should? Should!

I have yet to speak to a bereaved parent who does not harbor guilt of some kind over the death of his or her child.

Not one.

Why didn’t I know? What did I miss? Why didn’t I say “I love you” one more time?

Hindsight being 20/20 means that there are always threads a heart can pull to guide it back to some moment when it should have been obvious what was about to happen.

We comb through days, months or years of evidence like a crime novel detective, determined to find the clue that unravels all the mystery surrounding our child’s death.

Guilt is a relentless hound nipping at tired heels.

I know there are circumstances where a parent may well be responsible in some measure for the death of his or her child. If that’s you, then I hope you have a good counselor to help you work through all those feelings. It will take a lot of time and a lot of effort, but it can be done.

But for many of us, the guilt is phantom pain. It has no basis in reality. There was nothing we did or didn’t do that contributed to our child leaving this world. Nothing we could have done to prevent it. No way we could have known it was going to happen.

Running from guilt can keep a heart from doing the work grief requires. It can build barriers between us and the people that can help us most. It can lead our minds down a dark path into a bottomless pit.

Guilt is a thief and a liar.

Guilt will steal what I have left if I’m not very careful.

When my heart is overwhelmed by the “what ifs” and “shoulds” and “should-have-knowns”, I scream, “Shut Up!”.

I force my thoughts to turn instead to the things I know for sure:

Dominic was (is!) loved.
He was (still is!) a beautiful, thoughtful and capable soul.
His death was an accident and nothing I could have done would have prevented it.
He is safe, right now, in the arms of Jesus.
This separation is temporary.

I still have work to do and people to love and I can’t do either if I’m obsessed with the past.

It’s a costly act of will to stop the guilt soundtrack playing in my head.

But it’s worth it.

Repost: My Heart Hurts

Oh, how my heart hurts!

Deep down where no one can touch it-it aches for my missing child, the family I used to have, the lost opportunities, the missed moments.

And there is no cure.

Yes, there is a Balm in Gilead-there is hope in the Person of Jesus Christ.

And it soothes the pain, takes the edge off, makes it bearable.

But it does not take it away.

Read the rest here: My Heart Hurts

Why Friends Abandon Grievers

It happens in all kinds of ways. One friend just slowly backs off from liking posts on Facebook, waves at a distance from across the sanctuary, stops texting to check up on me.

Another observes complete radio silence as soon as she walks away from the graveside.

Still another hangs in for a few weeks-calls, texts, even invites me to lunch until I can see in her eyes that my lack of “progress” is making her uneasy. Then she, too, falls off the grid.

Why do people do that?

Why is it, when we need them most, many friends-and I mean really, truly FRIENDS–just can’t hang in and hold on?

I admit in the early days I didn’t care WHY they did it.

It broke my heart and enraged me all at the same time. I felt abandoned, judged, forgotten, pressured to conform to some unwritten standard of how I was “supposed” to do grief and utterly, completely forsaken.

It took me months to begin to even consider their perspective and years to come to a place where I could forgive them.

Here’s what I’ve figured out this side of devastating, overwhelming, heart-shattering pain about why some friends run away:

I represent their greatest fear. I am a billboard for loss. My life screams, “We are NOT in control!” And that is scary. Most folks run away from scary if they can.
I remind them that faith is a living thing, tender and vulnerable to trials and testing. We love to tout Sunday School answers that follow like the tag lines on Aesop’s fables when asked about anything to do with Jesus or how God works in the world. But it’s just not that simple. The Bible is full (FULL!) of untidy stories where even the giants of faith got it wrong for a season. I think people are afraid that if they follow me down the rabbit hole of questions they might never come back out. Better to stand outside and hope I emerge safe and sound without risking themselves.
My situation is messy and they don’t want to get involved. I will need ongoing, intense investments of emotional energy and time. Who knows where it might lead? Who knows how many hours might have to be given to come alongside and support someone whose journey looks more like slogging through a swamp than a walk in the park? These folks are just not going to risk entanglement.
Some friends and family are genuinely afraid of doing harm. They feel my pain so deeply that they are frozen, unable to do or say anything because they fear they will make things worse. These are the hearts most easy to forgive and the ones most likely to jump back in when I assure them they cannot make it worse but their support can make it better.
Some people were going to disappear anyway. We don’t like to admit it but many friendships are only for a season-we go to the same church, live in the same neighborhood, our kids go to the same school-and as soon as circumstances change these people fade away. Well, circumstances certainly changed! They leave because our differences outweigh our similarities and it requires too much effort to maintain the friendship.

Understanding why people run away has helped my heart.

It doesn’t undo the pain inflicted by abandonment of those I felt sure would stay close by my side, but it puts it in perspective.

Truth is, I’m not sure how many people I would have stalwartly supported for the long haul either before Dominic ran ahead to heaven.

None of us possess infinite emotional, mental, physical and relational resources. It’s only natural that we portion them out according to our own priorities-even when that means abandoning friends who really need us.

Rehearsing offense only ties me in knots.

It changes nothing.

I have limits as well.

Forgiving those that chose to walk away frees me to use my resources in more fruitful ways that help me heal.

Zoom Out: Choosing to Let Our Real Selves Be Seen

Don’t you just LOVE photo filters? They can transform a not-so-great picture into a work of art.

And with our phones attached to our hips like another appendage, we are one photo-snapping generation!

But when we choose what to make public-what to plaster across our favorite social media platform-most of us are as cautious as museum curators in deciding which pictures to include and which just don’t make the cut.

We are all about personal branding (even if we don’t realize or admit it!)

Of course this is nothing new-Solomon wrote in the book of Ecclesiastes that there “is nothing new under the sun”. It’s simply that what was once reserved for the rich, famous or infamous is now available to every Tom, Dick and Harry-and their kids.

I know when I want to share a moment on my little farm or show off some newly completed craft project, I’m very careful to zoom in and crop out the messy edges of my home, my property, my life.

It’s truly not that I’m trying to “be somebody I’m not” it’s more about trying to only let people see part of who I really am.

roosevelt in box on table spring 2017 — The cute, cropped, curated photo.

Because who wants all the ragged and untidy borders of their life exposed to the masses?

I’m afraid there would be too much ‘splainin’ to do (like Ricky used to say to Lucy) if people saw it all.

I might have to own up to my less-than-perfect housekeeping or my procrastination that means I still have piles of junk on my porch nearly four years after Dom left us.
Someone might freak out that my cats are allowed on the kitchen table (where we don’t eat) because it is too hard to keep them off.
People may whisper that they just can’t understand how I live with piles of books stacked everywhere and random animal supplies in baskets by the door so they’re handy to grab on my way outside.

But when I edit the life I expose to others, I’m also limiting my opportunity to make genuine connections.

Because if the people around me think I’ve got it all together, then they can be afraid to admit that they do not.

If the folks that follow me on Facebook think my life is all giggles and glitter, then they might be reticent to reveal that theirs is shadows and sorrow. If all I ever do is talk about, post and promote the high points of this journey, then who will want to tell me that they are in a valley and can’t see sunlight or maybe that they’ve even forgotten what sunlight looks like.

So I’m going to zoom out.

Stop cropping.

Quit editing.

Be real.

That doesn’t mean you won’t see funny photos or hopeful posts or encouraging memes on my timeline.

But it does mean that I’ll be out there-big hips, messy house, piled up books and all.

roosevelt in box on table spring 2017 zoom out — The REST of the story.

Breathe In. Breathe Out. Repeat.

Almost four years and I still have those moments.

I know from other grieving mamas that I always will.

But sometimes they catch me by surprise.

Motoring home from Walmart, a campaign sign catches my eye. The candidate is young and running for District Judge in our county. That could have been Dominic.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.

Walking by the wall of photos in my hallway-something I do every. single. night. I turn and two-year-old Dom is looking right at me. Innocent. Full of promise. Smiling wide. I kiss his picture because that’s all I have left.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.

Reaching for the jar opener Dominic brought home one day, suddenly I’m crying. He was always looking for ways to make my life easier. I hope he knew how very much I appreciated it.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.

Water the plants we got for his funeral.

Walk by the car he drove to school.

Wash his cup hanging unused under the kitchen cupboard because it’s covered in dust.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.

❤

Heartache, Healing and Hope

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.

I wanted to go.

I wanted to take this next step toward sharing and serving and healing for my own heart. But I was still more than a little scared.

I am so, so glad I went!

Every single mama who came through the door brought one more measure of grace into that cabin. Every heart that cracked open and shared spread the sweet aroma of brokenness and compassion rose up to meet it.

Every tear was acknowledged, every sorrow counted, every story heard.

It was beautiful.

I was overwhelmed by the grace, mercy and love that flowed in, around and through the women there. It was a perfect picture of how God intends the Body of Christ to work!

We were all poured out in service to one another.

No need for a kitchen committee or clean up crew because it was natural to reach out and pitch in.

I am oh, so sorry for the reason that brought us together. But I am absolutely amazed at the blessing that ran like a river through that place.

It was a river of healing and life.

No one left “healed”. But we all left a little better equipped for this journey.

No one received “answers”. But we all left with a few more truths tucked into our belts.

Our hearts are knit together because we chose to show up and be vulnerable.

It is a gift I will carry with me wherever I go.

*If you are looking for a lovely place to hold a children’s camp for your ministry, please consider Abby Acres Christian Camp Facebook Page

Love in Action: Being a Friend

For fifty years I was on the “other side”-the one where I looked on, sad and sometimes horror-stricken, at the pain and sorrow friends or family had to bear.

I wanted to help.

I wanted to say the “right thing”. I wanted to express how very much my heart hurt for them and that I badly wished I could carry some of their load.

Sometimes I think I did a pretty good job of reaching out and touching the wound and offering a little bit of comfort. But other times, I would say nothing because I didn’t know what to say.

Read the rest here: Loving Well: Being a Friend

Love in Action: How the Church Can Serve Grieving Parents and Other Hurting Hearts

One of the hardest things for me to hear is how sometimes the church fails to minister to grieving parents.

I don’t think it’s because leadership decides to ignore them and others who have intractable situations.

But I do think that our modern emphasis on programs and platforms often leaves hurting hearts behind.

I am a shepherd. My goats and sheep depend on me for food, for guidance and for their security.

And every day I am reminded that a shepherd’s heart is revealed by the way he or she cares for the weakest and most vulnerable of the flock.

Read the rest here: Loving Well: How the Church Can Serve Grieving Parents and Other Hurting People

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