Every time I tell the story of Dominic, it helps to keep him real.
It reminds my heart that he lived, that he mattered, that he matters still.
And in the telling, I am giving away a little bit of him for another heart to carry.
His light is passed to another soul that can pass it to another and another.
Read the rest here: Why We Have to Tell Our Stories & Why We Need Someone to Listen
Part of the reason I share my story is to provide insight for people who haven’t lost a child into the hearts and lives of those who have.
But mainly it is to be a voice for and to encourage other parents walking this valley by letting them know they aren’t alone, their feelings and experiences are perfectly normal and that just as welcoming a child into your family is a life-altering event, saying good-bye to a child is a life-altering event.
We do not expect a mom to “get over” the changes having a baby brings to her everyday experience, and we should not expect a bereaved mom to “get over” the changes burying one brings either.
Want to help? Read: Loving the Grieving Heart
Can we talk about my missing son and quit pretending that just because he’s no longer present in the body, he’s not still part of my life?
Can we say his name without also looking down or away like his death is a shameful secret?
Can we share stories and memories and laughter and tears just as naturally about HIM as we do about anyone else?
Read the rest here: Can We Talk?
I’m ending Bereaved Parents Month by sharing this post because I still have moments when I marvel that I’ve survived.
❤
It was the question I asked the bereaved mother that came to my son’s funeral.
It was the question a mother asked me as we stood by her granddaughter’s casket, surrounded by family and flowers.
And it is the right question.
Because when the breath leaves the body of your child, and you look down at the shell that used to be the home of a vibrant, living soul, you simply can. not. breathe.
Read the rest here: How Do You Breathe?
My hardest grief season begins in November and runs to the end of May. Thanksgiving through Dominic’s birthday on (or near) Memorial Day are days full of triggers, memories and stark reminders that one of us is missing.
If I could fall asleep November first and wake up in June I’d do it.
But I can’t so I have to employ all the tricks I’ve learned in the over eight years since Dominic ran ahead to heaven to survive those particularly challenging months.
Here are ten ways I survive hard grief days:
Read the rest here: Taking Care: Ten Ways to Survive Hard Grief Days
I’ve done it myself.
Jumped right in with all kinds of suggestions designed to “fix” someone else’s problem.
Or worse, heaped my own experience with something more or less (often less) similar onto an already overburdened heart.
Read the rest here: Hardly The Time For Being Taught
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?
Read the rest here: Why Friends Abandon Grievers
I know most folks are doing the best they can to come up with something to say when both they and I know there’s nothing to be said.
So sometimes they fall into the trap of pointing out what I still have as if it makes up for what I’ve lost.
But there really, truly is no “at least” in child loss.
None. At. All.❤
“At least you had him for 23 years.”
Yes, but I thought I’d have him for my whole life!
“At least you still have three other children.”
Yes, but which one of yours would you choose to do without?
Read the rest here: At Least?
It took me a little while to realize that if I was going to survive this lifelong journey I had to make some changes in how and when I responded to requests to do something, be somewhere or participate in outside events.
Because no matter how worthy the request, there was only so much of me to go around and I was forced to spend nearly all my energy and time and effort on figuring out how this great wound was impacting me and my family.
I cannot overemphasize how much strength and energy is needed to do the work grief requires.
Read the rest here: Grace and Space
Summer time has its own way of highlighting Dominic’s absence.
Warm days and extra daylight can sometimes slow things down so that every moment hangs heavy with longing.
When we gather with family for cookouts or reunions or Fourth of July in this mama’s heart there is always an empty chair even when every available seat is full.❤
Most people realize that the “big” holidays are painful for bereaved parents-Christmas, Thanksgiving, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day-that makes sense.
But what most people don’t know is that every single red-letter day-even the obscure ones-can be hard on parents missing a child.
Read the rest here: The Empty Chair
thelifeididntchoose 