re·lent·less
adjective
opressively constant; incessant.
Synonyms: persistent, continuing, nonstop, never-ending, unabating, interminable, incessant, unceasing, endless, unremitting, unrelenting, unrelieved.
Relentless
Tag: child loss
Repost: Grieving With Hope
The church at Thessalonica was confused about some fundamental doctrines of the Christian faith. They were frightened that they had missed Christ’s second coming and they were concerned about loved ones that had preceded them in death. So Paul wrote this letter to remind them of truth and offer comfort in their emotional distress:
And regarding the question, friends, that has come up about what happens to those already dead and buried, we don’t want you in the dark any longer. First off, you must not carry on over them like people who have nothing to look forward to, as if the grave were the last word. Since Jesus died and broke loose from the grave, God will most certainly bring back to life those who died in Jesus. I Thessalonians 4:13-14 MSG
This verse is quoted often to believers who have lost a loved one. At first, gently, sweetly–as an invitation to remember that God is in control, that He has a plan, that the grave is not victorious and that burying the body is not the end.
And, in the early days and weeks after the funeral, it IS comforting–I chanted it to myself like a mantra and it drew my heart from the brink of despair.
But at some point, this verse begins to feel like a rebuke–the well-meaning friend says, “Don’t you know, that Jesus followers don’t grieve like those who have no hope!”
And I turn, dumbfounded, to the person saying this, and wonder, “Have you buried a child?”
Read the rest here: Grieving With Hope
Can I Just Be Me?
Even in the very first hours after the news, my brain began instructing my heart, “Now, try to be brave. Try not to disappoint people. Try to say the right thing, do the right thing and be the example you should be.”
Whatever that meant.
As I made phone calls and received concerned friends and family members I was so aware that they would take a cue from me-how much can I say, how hard can I cry, should I hug or stand back, should I talk about him or be silent lest it make the tears fall harder?
And here-almost nine years later-I still feel like I need to lead the way in conversations and social encounters.
If I don’t mention Dominic, no one else does and that disappoints me.
If I do mention Dominic, the response is often sympathy or rushing to another topic.
Which is also disappointing.
If I smile, then I’m “so much better’.
If I tear up, then I’m “not over it yet”.
The entire time I’m in the company of others (besides my family and a couple close friends) I am editing myself. Everything I say or don’t say is filtered through a grid based on how others may receive it.
No off the cuff responses here.
Past experience has taught me that what most folks want from the bereaved (after the first few months or maybe a year) is evidence that they are “moving on”, “healing”, “trusting Jesus”, “getting better” or “finding the silver lining”.
Part of me would like to participate in this ruse because it’s so much easier than trying to push, pull or drag them into the reality that bereaved parents face.
But another part of me wants to rip the blinders off and let them see that this is a lifelong journey that is bumpy, hard and doesn’t look like victory.
It looks like perseverance.
Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I cry. Some days are good. Some days are awful.
I’m stronger than I was but I’m not “better”.
I’m able to greet most days but I still struggle some mornings to get out of bed.
I enjoy my family and friends but I miss my son.
And sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I could be only me.
Not a “me” curated for public consumption.
But just me.
OOPS!! How in the World Did I End up HERE?
My front yard is full of juvenile squirrels. They love to chase one another round and round-playing some version of “king of the hill”.
I’m used to hearing their chatter and seeing them jump from branch to branch, tree to tree.
But yesterday I saw something I’d never seen before-two young squirrels were clinging desperately to the phone lines that stretch between two power line poles. They were twisting and turning, grasping for a foothold and completely flabbergasted to find themselves in such a precarious position.
I looked to see how in the world they might have ended up there. Sure enough, there is a crepe myrtle tree with branches that just graze the phone lines.
I’m pretty sure the silly young things were chasing each other and didn’t realize that they had jumped from the safety of a tree to the danger of the phone line.
As I was watching them I thought about how I can find myself in a very similar situation.
Grief is not a single emotion-it’s a whole suitcase of them! I can’t help feeling them. In fact, I NEED to feel them if I’m going to do the work grief requires.
But if I allow myself to be led by my emotions, I can quickly be drawn away from the safety of truth and find myself perched precariously on the high wire of my feelings.
Once there, my sole focus becomes maintaining my balance and I lose sight of where I want to go.
In my scramble to keep my footing, I can sacrifice relationships.
I can take offense when none was intended.
I give offense because I’m angry and wounded myself.
I can allow sorrow to cloud my vision so that I can’t see the real beauty that still remains.
I need to remain aware of where my emotions are leading me so that I don’t end up somewhere I don’t want to be.
I’m not nearly as nimble as a squirrel. 🙂
Decisions, Decisions-The Complicated Everyday World of Child Loss
Sometimes I wonder why in the world am I so exhausted?
Why does it drain me to go to the grocery store?
Why do I have to gird my loins as if going into battle to make a phone call or a doctor’s appointment or to handle the normal, pesky details of living?
THIS. This is why: Every single thing I do or say is complicated now. No simple answers, no easy, breezy interactions with strangers.
I weigh every word, strategically plan each stop on my shopping route and choose carefully when and where to meet a friend for lunch.
Nothing is simple.
One of the things I’ve been forced to embrace in the wake of child loss is that there are very few questions, experiences or feelings that are simple anymore.
“How many children do you have?”
A common, get-to-know-you question lobbed across tables, down pews and in the check-out line at the grocery store. But for many bereaved parents, it can be a complex question that gets a different answer depending on who is asking and where we are.
I decided from the beginning that I would say, “four” in answer to that query.
But that doesn’t always get me off the hook. A follow-up of, “Oh, what do they do?” means that I have to make a decision: do I go down the line, including Dominic in any kind of detail or do I gloss over the fact that one of my children now lives in heaven?
Read the rest here: It’s Complicated
You are Braver than You Think
Child loss is not the only devastating life circumstance that can make a person want to hide in bed.
Every single day, broken hearts, broken bodies and limping spirits open their eyes to the dawn and choose to get up and get going.
If that is you, I want you to know this:
You are strong.
You are brave.
You are not invisible.
You may never be recognized in this life for the heroic struggle you face every day but it counts.
Endurance is triumph.
Perseverance is conquest.
Choosing brave in the face of fear is victory.
Repost: Can’t Fake it Forever
There’s a common bit of advice in grief circles: Fake it until you make it.
It’s not bad as far as it goes and can be pretty useful-especially just after the initial loss and activity surrounding it.
Like when I met the acquaintance in the grocery store a month after burying Dominic and she grabbed me with a giant smile on her face, “How AREyou?!!! It’s SO good to see you out!!!”
I just smiled and stood there as if I appreciated her interest, a deer caught in headlights, silently praying she’d live up to her talkative past and soon move on to another target.
Faked it.
Boom!
BUT there comes a time when faking it is not helpful. In fact, it’s downright dangerous.
Read the rest here: Can’t Fake It Forever
Step Back, Don’t React
It is possible not to react to every single thing someone says or does. It is possible to scroll past social media posts that get under your skin and not look back. It is possible to ignore a snarky comment or an unhelpful piece of advice from someone who ACTS like they know what you’re going through but really has. no. idea.
Now if you are new on this journey, you will read these first few lines and think, “Is this woman crazy????”
I felt EXACTLY the same way in the first months and even through the first couple years in this Valley.
But, I will tell you this: the sooner you can embrace the habit of practicing the pause, the sooner you will begin to feel like you have some control in your world again.
And isn’t that one of the things we crave after the tsunami of child loss sweeps over our lives-order, control, a sense of purpose and direction?
It’s hard.
Really, really hard not to react against every arrow shot into my wounded heart. Even when I know it was an accident and the offense is collateral damage, it still hurts.
But I’ve found that if I just take a single, deep breath I can put a bit of distance between the oomph of the impact and my reaction. And there is actually power in choosing to ignore offense.
Because then I am in control, not the person lobbing the arrows.
So what do I do in the split-second it takes to draw in that preparatory breath? I consider the source. I think (quickly) about my ongoing relationship with this person, what’s happening in THEIR life and why they might have said or done what they said or did.
Is it ignorance? Is it sloppy choice of words? Is it due to stress in his life? Is she just worn out and not thinking?
And I decide: is reacting to THIS particular exchange worth damaging the relationship?
Is it worth the negative emotional energy that I will have to expend?
Is it something I can overlook and move past?
Most of the time the answer is, “yes”. I CAN let it go. It’s not that big of a deal. It is not a fair representation of our relationship and it is certainly not worth ruining a friendship.
I’m not just doing THEM a favor. I’m doing ME a favor.
I’m not “letting them off the hook”. I may actually revisit the issue later on, when emotions aren’t running high.
But I have learned that I only have so much emotional energy to expend in this Valley. So much of it is already absorbed in carrying the missing and sorrow and reining in my own outrageous feelings that I just don’t need to waste the rest on trivial things.
So I don’t (most of the time).
Practicing the pause helps me do that.
It gives me control.
There is far too little of that this side of child loss.
So I will take what I can get.
Time Alone Does NOT Heal
Time, by itself, does not heal the pain of child loss.
But time, plus the work grief requires, plus God’s grace poured out on my heart and in my life, does bring a measure of healing.
I did not believe that in the first months or even years. But I can testify to that truth today. It has been a slow and very painful process full of stops and starts, one step forward, two steps back.
Am I still very broken?
Absolutely!
Am I still limping?
YES!
Until the day I die I will never be the same.
But I have grown stronger and better able to carry this load of sorrow and God is helping me turn the ashes into something beautiful.
That something bears witness to my son, to my pain and to the truth that, with God’s help, I can endure faithfully to the end.
And God is no respecter of persons-He has not given me anything He will not pour out on every single heart that asks.
My prayer for each wounded reader is that you will feel the Father’s loving arms around you and that He will flood your broken heart with His grace, mercy and comfort.
❤
Repost: The Silent Joy of Memory
There is something about winter mornings that invite me to linger long in my rocking chair with my cup of coffee. It’s cold and outside chores can wait a bit.
When I sit here, my mind wanders to many things-mostly days gone by when my busy household would have made these long, slow mornings impossible.
And I miss it. All of it.
Especially the beauty of an unbroken family circle.
I try to hold onto the precious moments as long as I can.
We live in a noisy world.
Music, television, voices and the hum of electricity tunnel into our brains and distract us from hard questions and painful circumstances.
We live in a busy world.
If I’m not in motion, I am getting ready to be.
It is tempting in my grief to try to stuff life full of noise and busyness so I can ignore the pain and emptiness of missing my son.
Read the rest here: The Silent Joy of Memory
thelifeididntchoose 