I didn’t know last year that there was an International Bereaved Mother’s Day celebrated the Sunday BEFORE the U.S. Mother’s Day.
I hope that my bereaved mother friends took advantage of that day to think about and honor their missing child(ren).
But we still have to make it through tomorrow. And that can be very challenging.
I wrote this last year: Mother’s Day as a Bereaved Mother
So, more than twenty years on a farm and I can NOT back a trailer. Nope. Can’t do it.
One day I spent hours trying to teach myself how to do it. Never was able to do anything other than manage to jackknife the trailer, go unhook it and start over.
When I go somewhere with a trailer I do one of two things: (1) I find a space where I can drive in and be able to just make a loop or (2) I find the nearest person who CAN back a trailer, hand them my keys and ask them to do it.
I feel NO shame.
But that’s not the case with other things I can’t do. So many times I try to avoid admitting that I am unable to meet certain people’s expectations or do certain things that I either used to be able to do or feel I SHOULD be able to do.
I think the reason I don’t mind outing myself on trailers is because that confession usually gets a laugh or a knowing look from the person who helps me or an admission from someone standing near at the feed store that they also have trouble backing up a trailer.
But when I say, “I just don’t think I’m up to teaching VBS” or “I’d love to come to that event but I’ve reached my social quota this week” or “I’m still struggling with driving by that spot or eating at that restaurant” it’s often met with (at best) a quizzical look or (at worst) a comment about how I should be “better” by now.
And then I DO feel shamed. I feel like I don’t measure up, like I’m not as valuable as the next person or that I have failed some cosmic test.
You know what though? That’s a reflection on other people’s lack of compassion and experience or their personal insecurity NOT a reflection of my worth.
It is really just fine for me to admit my limitations because EVERYONE has limitations.
I can’t lift a 250 lb barbell. But I can whip up dinner for fifty people. I can’t read Chinese but I can read Dr. Seuss with an accent and hit all the rhymes on cue. I can’t run a marathon but I can work all day without complaining (most of the time).
I’m human (surprise!). So are you.
I have some limitations as a result of burying a child. You may have limitations because of age or disease or something else I don’t know about or can’t see.
That’s OK.
Let’s make a pact: I’ll take you as you are and you can take me as I am. I’ll help you when you need help and you can help me when I need help.
We will extend grace and receive grace as needed to make life work.
Isn’t that really the essence of human community?
I write because it’s important to me and because I want to share freely what I feel God is teaching me in this Valley of the Shadow of Death.
I don’t have affiliate links on my blog, don’t sell books, posters or merchandise and have no plans to do so.
But I am jealous of the content I produce. Not jealous because I think it is of high value but jealous because the words are wrung from ny heart each evening to be posted the next morning. Jealous because they reflect MY experience, expose MY heart and contain details of MY journey.
In all the time I’ve been sharing, I have never had a post stolen, to my knowledge. Until the other day when I found another blogger had re-blogged my post, “International Bereaved Mother’s Day” and given credit (appropriately) to where she had found it-on a Facebook page.
I followed the link and yep, there it was-MY post, copied and pasted changed-only to exclude Dominic’s name and replace it with “child”. Even the graphic I chose was used.
I contacted the page and they have agreed to correct the post and add the link to the blog. I appreciate that.
But in responding to my concerns, the page administrator indicated that it had been found and reposted from another page ( I don’t know which one). And that upsets me.
I know social media is risky business and that I can’t stop anyone from doing whatever they want to once I hit “publish”. But I would ask that in this community of bereaved parents we show one another the respect anyone deserves and honor our individual contributions, whatever they may be.
Taking the words of another and passing them off as your own is plagiarism. It is wrong and it is hurtful.
I will keep writing and risking but now I’m on guard and I hate that.
If you are a regular reader/poster/sharer I ask that you help me watch for this in the future.
I want people to share.
That’s the purpose of writing-that one more heart my be encouraged or strengthened for another day in this Valley. So share away!
But please do it honestly 🙂 ❤
“A joy-filled heart is curative balm, but a broken spirit hurts all the way to the bone.” ~Proverbs 17:22 VOICE
Laughter is good for my heart. Not just my physical blood-pumping organ, but the emotional center of my being.
And in this Valley of the Shadow of Death, laughter can be a real life-saver.
It’s not betraying Dominic-although it kind of felt that way in the first few weeks-it’s honoring his sense of humor and celebrating his life.
Our family spent hours laughing around the table, in the living room and passing wry texts back and forth.
I firmly believe there will be laughter in Heaven. I think that part of joy is great big belly laughs that will shake me from head to toe.
In the meantime, I’m going to keep practicing down here.
International Bereaved Mother’s Day is observed the Sunday before Mother’s Day in the United States. This year it’s Sunday, [May 4, 2025].
I didn’t even know such a day existed until I was a mom that needed it.
For those of us who have children in heaven, setting aside a day to acknowledge that unique mother/child relationship is helpful.
Traditional Mother’s Day is meant to be a time of celebration. A day when children send cards or flowers or give gifts to honor their mom and let her know that years spent pouring into their lives are appreciated.
Lots of church pews and restaurant tables are filled with family as children come home to be with mom.
But Dominic can’t come home.
That makes Mother’s Day complicated for me.
It means that while I am thrilled to spend it with the children who can make it home, there is always a tinge of sadness to the celebration. And I hate that. Because they deserve a whole-hearted mama.
So I’m thankful this other day exists. Thankful for a day when I can think about and speak about and embrace the child that won’t be with me next weekend.
Because Dominic is STILL my son. He is still very much a part of my heart. And I need to be able to speak that aloud for others to hear.
Some mamas will be drawing or painting hearts on their hands and writing their missing child’s name inside as a beautiful outward testimony to an inward reality. Every day we carry our missing child in our hearts.
So if you know a bereaved mama, give her a hug Sunday.
Make time and give space for her to share.
And then listen, love and lift her up.
Can I just say I’m not a fan of church signs?
I could list a dozen reasons but here I will simply list one: It is impossible to constrain good theology to the few words that will fit on most church signs.
The temptation to be funny, cute or trite generally overcomes any desire to be biblically accurate.
Case in point-just down the road from me is this sign:
THERE ARE NO PROBLEMS, ONLY OPPORTUNITIES FOR GOD TO WORK.
I could write for days on why I hate (yes, HATE!) this sign. But I’ll restrain myself.
Here are the top three reasons I want to close my eyes when I pass it:
This week alone I have dealt with at least ten “problems” that required practical solutions in addition to prayers that God would help work them out.
Did He make some things fall in place that otherwise might not? Probably. And for that I am very thankful.
But did He shower solutions from the sky like raindrops? No. I had to face the problems, look for solutions and ask for help from others.
When Christ instituted the church it was not for us to sit inside four walls and dole out pithy platitudes to passersby. It was for us to be His hands and feet in the world.
Truth is that God DOES work. But most often He works through US.
All around us are people hungry for the Good News of Jesus Christ.
If we are going to put out a sign, could it just say, “We welcome the broken, the wounded, the hurting, the ones with no hope”?
Isn’t THAT what Jesus came to do?
My grandmother had two sisters who didn’t have any children.
They were often tapped as babysitters when someone in the family needed to leave their kids home for an extended period of time. And while my aunts meant well, and certainly were never hateful or cruel, there was a giant gap between what they THOUGHT they knew about children and what they ACTUALLY knew.
So many sentences began with, “If you were my child….” But I wasn’t. And the boundaries set between me and my parents had been hashed out through trial and error in real time in real life-not some hypothetical perfect world.
It’s like that in my grief journey as well.
There have been many well-meaning but woefully uninformed people who offered advice. Some of it was helpful but most of it was predicated on misinformation and lack of real-life experience.
The MOST helpful advice has come from fellow bereaved parents.
They share their hearts and their hopes, their failures and their victories, their fears and their faith. They don’t have to-they could simply focus on their own pain and refuse to offer aid.
But moms and dads a few steps ahead of me in the Valley turn back and hold out a hand and say, “This way. I’m right here with you. You can make it!”
And for that I am oh. so. thankful.
An exchange with a Facebook friend got me thinking.
How much of my struggle in life is a result of ignoring my own limits?
How much pain do I inflict on myself because I won’t admit I need help? Why do I insist on living to the edge of endurance and emotional capacity?
Why, why, why do I try so hard to keep up a front of invincibility?
Pride.
Pride goads me like a whip.
Pride makes me say, “yes” when I should say, “no”. Pride whispers the lie to my heart that I can be everything to everyone because I am “all that”. Pride makes me believe I am the focus of others’ attention and conversation when they probably haven’t even noticed.
Foolish woman!
When I try to do too much, I am unable to do anything well. When I spread myself too thin, I guarantee that I’ll crack under the pressure of keeping up appearances.
Truth is, I’m not fooling anyone. And I’m not serving myself or others well.
I’m learning some lessons in this Valley and one of them is to try to accept my limits. I need to be honest about how much I can and cannot do, what I can and cannot carry alone.
Admitting I am human is hardly a unique confession-it’s the plight of all who walk the earth. When I do, I invite others to walk alongside and assist me in carrying the load.
Asking for help isn’t weakness, it’s strength.
God bless the inventor of Band Aids!
That little tacky plaster has soothed more fears and tears than almost any other invention in the world.
Skinned knee? Put a BandAid on it.
Bee sting? BandAid.
Tiny bump that no one can even see? Oh, sweetie, let me give you a BandAid.
Simply acknowledging pain and woundedness is so often all that is needed to encourage a heart and point it toward healing.
Read the rest here: Loving the Wounded
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-especially as the weeks turn into months and then to years.
Here are five practical ways to support grieving parents:
You may be surprised how often I get discouraged and feel alone.
An outstretched hand at just the moment when my strength is fading makes all the difference.
thelifeididntchoose 