We’ve all been there-we ask a routine question and someone refuses to play the social game.
We say, “How are you?” and they answer honestly instead of with the obligatory, “I’m fine. You?”
Suddenly the encounter has taken an unexpected turn.
“Oh, no! I don’t know what to say,” you think.
Read the rest here: How To Respond When Someone Shares Their Pain
Some days there are just no words for this journey.
Sometimes I can only feel what I feel
and do what I do
and cry when I cry.
Today is like that.
I cannot wrap my mind around the FACT that my son is dead.
Am I somehow defective because I can’t?
Can any parent do that?
I know it’s true-I’m not in denial.
But knowing something is true and embracing it as true are two different things. I am forced to walk in the world but not always forced to confront Dominic’s absence.
He could just be on a trip, or away at school, or out of cell phone range. It’s funny the tricks your mind will play to placate your heart.
But this morning when the light pushed back against the darkness my mind refused to continue the charade.
In a moment of clarity, the sword of truth penetrated my soul.
And here I am, naked and bleeding clinging to the fact that I am mother to a dead son.
Nowhere to hide. No way to escape.
No words.
As I continue to walk this Valley, my heart asks the question, “What does healing look like?”
Fewer tears? Check.
More laughter? Check.
Better able to function? Check.
Read the rest here: What Does Healing Look Like?
As a follow up to the repost a couple days ago: Why is Anxiety Part of Child Loss?, I wanted to share this entry.
Here are some practical ways to deal with anxious thoughts, take them captive or redirect my focus so that they don’t rule my heart.
Please feel free to add any helpful tips in the comments section below. We learn best from those that share our journey. You may have the very words that will encourage another parent’s broken heart!
I no longer have to imagine the worst thing that could happen in the life of a mother-I know exactly how it feels.
And if I allow my heart to ponder that too often or too long, it consumes me.
So I am learning to take those anxious thoughts captive, learning to make them live in only a small corner of my mind instead of taking it over completely.
It takes effort and discipline, but it’s possible.
I don’t have to live the rest of my days a quivering mess-
Read the rest here: Dealing With Anxious Thoughts
It surprised me when I felt anxious after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.
Not that the doorbell startled me, or that passing the place of the accident was hard nor that hearing motorcycles made my skin crawl.
But that every single day for many, many months anxiety crept up my backbone and made a knot in my neck.
It surprised me that I felt like I was literally going to explode.
Read the rest here: Why is Anxiety Part of Child Loss?
I know many who read this blog belong to closed online bereavement groups.
That’s a beautiful thing- a place where we can share our pain with others who understand it in a judgement-free zone.
We often post photos and our child(ren)’s story in the closed groups.
But today I want to take a moment to provide a public forum for anyone who wishes to take advantage of it.
Your child matters.
His or her story matters.
Your pain matters.
If you are so inclined, please “speak” your child(ren)’s name in the comments section. Tell us something about your child(ren), tell us what you miss about your child(ren), tell us what made your child(ren) a special light in this world.
(It is a PUBLIC forum so please don’t post anything you don’t want the world to know.)
The best remedy for my heart on the days when grief rolls in like morning fog and refuses to burn off with sunshine is hard work.
If weather permits I go outside and move hay bales, pick up limbs, cut weeds or do anything that requires large muscles to accomplish the task. The goal is exhaustion so I can sleep.
If the weather doesn’t cooperate, I’ll try to tackle jobs inside that I otherwise tend to ignore. If you ever see me cleaning the bathroom or kitchen sink fixtures with a toothbrush, just leave me alone-I’m working something out.
So these past days leading up to Dominic’s birthday, that’s what I’ve done.
I sheared sheep, raked out a hay shed, moved hay, medicated horses, dogs and goats, picked up limbs brought down by rain and high winds, vacuumed, washed clothes, cleaned bathrooms and organized (sort of) my closet.
The ungrateful sheep and the silly cat kneading his paws while I’m bent over shearing her.
Skinks are some of the happier surprises when moving hay. Snakes and ants not so much.
The good thing about so many critters that eat grass is that I rarely cut it.
Now I’m worn slap out!
I think I’ll hit the sack.
I wrote this last year and, to be honest, I don’t have anything new to say for this year’s birthday.
Four birthdays after Dominic ran ahead to heaven and I’m no better at it than I was the first time.
I will never get used to waking to a sunrise that is supposed to mark another year of fellowship and enjoyment of my third child but instead is a reminder that the life that was Dominic is no more on this earth.
Some parents find wonderful ways to commemorate their child even in their absence. I haven’t been able to do that consistently.
So today I will think about and remember and be thankful for the many things Dominic was and still is, but miss his smile, his laughter, his giant presence.
Happy Birthday Son-it would be 27.
You should be here.
Read last year’s post here: Do They Have Birthdays in Heaven?
When you pass that accident on the side of the road or read about the mass shooting in the press, what do you think?
What do you say?
Do you breathe a sigh of relief that no one you loved or knew was part of such a tragic disaster? Do you feel chosen, special, “above it all” because you follow Jesus? Do you think that your faithful, Bible-focused life and worldview will protect you from random accidents or the sinful actions of others?
Do you say, “Thank You God, it wasn’t me (or mine)?” Do you pray for the ones caught up in the death and destruction? Pray that they knew Jesus? Pray that their families will be able to bear the weight of grief and sorrow that is just this moment bearing down on them?
Or do you snap a photo with your phone and post on social media something like: “Awful wreck on the interstate. So glad I was a little late this morning or it might have been me! God is good!”
Or worse: “Awful wreck on the interstate. Traffic backed up for miles. UGH!“
I walk in two worlds–one where I am so very thankful for each life and family spared what I now know by experience, and one where I am brought to tears every time they aren’t.
I wish believers in Christ would choose words that are consistent with compassion-whether the person is spared or not.
Jesus is a man of tears.
He was moved by love and compassion in every human encounter (even with the Pharisees-He wished their eyes were opened).
I want my heart and my words to reflect that I know this Saviour full of love and mercy.
Spared or not, it’s no doing of mine.
To say otherwise reflects only arrogance and ignorance.
Just a moment, now, you who say, “We are going to such-and-such a city today or tomorrow. We shall stay there a year doing business and make a profit”! How do you know what will happen even tomorrow? What, after all, is your life? It is like a puff of smoke visible for a little while and then dissolving into thin air. Your remarks should be prefaced with, “If it is the Lord’s will, we shall be alive and will do so-and-so.” As it is, you get a certain pride in yourself in planning your future with such confidence. That sort of pride is all wrong. No doubt you agree with the above in theory. Well, remember that if a man knows what is right and fails to do it, his failure is a real sin.
James 4:14-17 PHILLIPS
I will not get used to the fact that my son is beyond my reach. I have come to a certain acceptance of it as fact, and acknowledgement of the truth that I cannot change that fact.
The pain hasn’t become less painful, only more familiar. It doesn’t surprise me as often when it pricks my heart anew.
The world goes on. I am a tiny speck in the greater scheme of things and my heartache hardly merits any pause in the machinery of the cosmos.
I have learned to put on the face I need for everyday tasks and to look the part of a functioning human being. But just beneath the surface is a cauldron of emotion that can be exposed in a heartbeat.
I miss my son.
I miss the part of me that was reflected back from the mirror of Dominic.
I miss the family we used to be.
I miss the past when there could be a whole day of laughter without a single tear.
I miss the children I used to have-the ones who knew nothing about irrevocable loss and breathtaking heartache.
I know I’m indulging in selfish introspection and that I should be looking with faith-filled eyes to the glorious future God has promised through Christ.
But today I just can’t.
I won’t be guilted into trying to pretend that I don’t miss all this.
Because I do.
thelifeididntchoose 