Tag: compassion

Finding Joy Amidst Grief: Holiday Strategies

Fellow brave and bereaved, I don’t know how you feel coming off this late-in-the-month Thanksgiving headed straight for Christmas but I’m kind of tired.

Yesterday I shared about post-holiday blues but this is something different.

I love, love, love any time I get with my family and I want to be clear that THEY do not place demands on me I find burdensome.

But…I am no better prepared to trudge through all the holly-jolly THIS year than I was the second year after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. (I don’t even count the first year when shock overwhelmed my heart.)

This far along in my grief journey many folks I rub shoulders with are either unaware that child loss is part of my story or they’ve tucked that “incident” away in some rarely accessed section of their memory. And while I do not tote my loss around like a token demanding special attention, it absolutely continues to inform how I experience every day and especially how I experience holidays.

So I wanted to share a few thoughts about THIS year-the eleventh Christmas I will celebrate since Dom left us.

  • It’s still hard. It still takes 110% effort to show up, engage, maintain enthusiasm, DO all the things (or even my abbreviated list of things), not let my emotions overrun my desire to be polite and find time to sit silent in the circle of sacred sorrow that helps my heart hold on to hope.
  • I have to constantly revisit my own advice (which I will repost in the coming days) about giving myself permission to bow out of whatever I simply can not face.
  • Communication is key. It sometimes surprises me (but shouldn’t!) that other people can’t read my mind and most forget what I told them last year or the year before. Add to that things change from year-to-year and there’s no way around the need for at least a casual conversation about what THIS year is going to look like.
  • Grace greases the wheels of relationships. Grace for myself. Grace for family and friends. Grace for strangers-including the clerk at the grocery store-who are probably doing the best they can too.
  • Increased social interaction-whether a function of more planned activities or just the crowds of shoppers-means it’s harder for me to escape the pressure of social anxiety that has developed post loss. I try to choose carefully what I add to my calendar, graciously send regrets for the rest and then refuse to feel guilty about it.
  • I am more careful about hydrating and not over indulging in any foods that tend to send my body into overdrive. It’s less about the calories (although I need to be mindful of those!) than it is about the wild swings poor nutrition produces in my sense of physical well-being.
  • I must plan rest stops along the way. I can’t overschedule, overstimulate and overwork myself and still maintain a semblance of control over my emotional response to the grief waves and grief ambushes this season is sure to provide. I try to set aside at least a few minutes EVERY DAY and (if possible) one day PER WEEK that promises quiet solitude and the opportunity to unwind and unspool built up tension and anxiety.
  • I purpose to find joyful moments and beautiful memories when gathered with others and when doing all the things holidays require. I hold them close and cherish them.

Most importantly, I remind my heart that this season is only a season.

It doesn’t last forever.

I will survive this like I’ve survived every day since Dominic left us-one moment, one breath at a time.

Coping With Post-Holiday Grief

I always like to share this post after a holiday because I never want any hurting heart to think the pain they feel “the day after” is not a normal part of the grief journey.

It is absolutely, positively NORMAL to feel more anxious, more sad, more lonely, more despair once the plates are cleared away and everyone else has returned to their respective homes.

Grief is funny that way-sometimes the very busyness and noisy conversation we dread so much BEFORE a big day turns out to be a good distraction from the quiet desperation and longing that would otherwise demand attention.

And then…in the quiet, in the stillness it all comes crashing down.

It’s a paradox really-that grieving hearts can be more anxious and more sorrowful BEFORE and AFTER a milestone day, birthday or holiday than on the day itself.

That’s not true for everyone, but it’s a frequent comment in our closed bereaved parent groups.

Read the rest here: Post Holiday Blues: When The Grief Comes Crashing Down

Remembering Loved Ones During Thanksgiving

As families gather around tables and in backyards to celebrate fall birthdays, Thanksgiving and (soon!) Christmas, my heart longs even harder to hear Dominic’s name.  

Of course I remember him-he’s my son-and of course others do too. 

But it is especially helpful this time of year to have friends and family speak of him aloud. 

Read the rest here: Let Me Know You Remember

Supporting Grieving Hearts This Thanksgiving


Thanksgiving is Thursday and I know many are making final plans and preparations to gather family and friends around the table.

In the rush toward celebration, please don’t forget those in your circle who have suffered loss.

The first Thanksgiving without your child is excruciating.

Even the second or third Thanksgiving with an empty chair is unbelievably hard.

Here are some helpful ideas to get you started. 

❤ Melanie

We are all on a journey through life and each carry some sort of load.  Mine is child loss.  Yours may be something else.

We can help one another if we try.  

Love and grace grease the wheels and make the load lighter.  

Here are ten ways to love a mourning heart at Thanksgiving:

Read the rest here: Ten Ways to Love a Mourning Heart at Thanksgiving

Honest Conversations: Tips for Responding to Pain

We are surrounded by hurting hearts. When one of them turns to you and bravely holds out her pain, accept it as an offering.

Because it is.

An offering of trust, friendship and vulnerability.  

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.

It can end badly-both of you walking away uncomfortable and wary.

Read the rest here: How To Respond When Someone Shares Their Pain

Why Grief Isn’t Always Visible: A Look Inside Bereaved Hearts

From the outside-very soon after all the formal visiting, meal bringing and memorial service or funeral-most bereaved parents look “fine”.

We have to.

The world doesn’t stop turning because our world imploded.

Work, life, family duties, household chores, and all the ordinary things determined by hours and calendars keep rolling along.

But on the inside, every bit of who we are, how we feel, what we think has been devastatingly poked, prodded, ripped apart and rearranged.

And just like there is no substitute for TIME in physical healing, there is no substitute for TIME in emotional, mental or spiritual healing either.

So if you are fresh on this path, new to the rigors of trying to “do life” while mourning your precious child, recognize that there is oh, so much damage where people can’t see.

Read the rest here: Don’t Let The Outside Fool You

The Power of Listening: Supporting Grieving Hearts

Listening is love in action.

If you know someone whose heart carries great grief-and child loss is not the only hard journey hearts are making–offer to listen. 

Give up a few minutes to hear how they are really doing, what is really hard, what they really need to say but may be afraid to speak aloud.  Leave spaces in conversation so a heart can work up the courage to share.  Don’t be quick to offer platitudes that shut down deep discussion.  

It often takes many, many repetitions of traumatic events for a heart to begin to heal. 

Read the rest here: Why I Have To Talk It Out

Remembering Our Children Beyond Anniversaries

My son’s death is a point in time for people outside my immediate grief circle. It’s a date on a calendar. There is a period after his name.

But it is an ongoing experience for me and my family.

We don’t only remember on birthdays, holidays and anniversary days, we can never forget.

Yet often others do.

Read the rest here: I’m Sorry

Another Hard Season

My nearly ninety year old father suffered a major stroke in mid September.

Much like the morning when a deputy showed up at my door and told me Dominic was never coming home, my life was suddenly and drastically changed in ways I wish it wasn’t.

I got in the car, drove to the hospital and suddenly became a full time caregiver.

It’s been a rocky couple of months.

I’ve learned more than I ever wanted to know about navigating our complex healthcare system of doctors, rehabilitation services and finding reliable and qualified respite care.

My patience, self control and organizational skills have been stretched to the limit.

I was forced to cancel several upcoming ministry commitments and am just now beginning to try to figure out how to re-engage directly with parents on a regular basis. I miss that so much!

One of the things I’ve learned since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven is that life keeps coming.

The calendar has no respect for my personal Season of Sorrow or any other, more pressing, stressors being heaped one atop the other. Holidays and birthdays are fixed dates. Babies are born in the fullness of time and don’t ask permission.

I know I’m not the only bereaved parent who is part of the sandwich generation-adult children on one side and aging parents on the other. It is truly a challenging season.

I find many of the strategies and habits I developed while grieving have served me well as I try to navigate a different kind of loss.

Boundaries are so important. I’ve had to tell lots of people that I simply cannot be available all the time. I let text messages go unanswered when I’m engaged in more important tasks. That’s hard and uncomfortable but necessary.

If someone offers to help, let them. There are so many things that only I can do for my dad that when someone offers to do one of the others, I’m trying hard to let them.

I’m honest about the hard. It’s tempting to gloss over or minimize the most difficult parts of our journey. But that’s not helpful for me or for anyone else who might be following my journey. When I share transparently, I encourage others to hold on, knowing they are not alone and give friends and family the opportunity to come alongside and encourage me.

Give grace-to yourself and to others. I don’t always make the best choices and sometimes I say the wrong thing. I get tired and grumpy. I’m human and that’s going to happen. When it does, I need to extend the grace to myself I’d give to someone else.

People are going to offer unsolicited and unwanted advice. They are going to say things that rub me the wrong way. Bible verses and trite, bumper sticker, positive thinking messages have been tossed at me from the sidelines. Our culture insists on bright siding even the darkest and most devastating situations. I try to extend grace to those folks too. (And when I can’t, I mute them on social media and silence their texts and calls!)

I don’t know how long or how hard this season will ultimately prove to be.

But I know that I will survive.

The Lord has been faithful for the more than eleven years since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.

His love will not fail me now.

One of the rituals I observe when the time changes and night closes in so very early is to light a candle each evening in the dark.

I’ve done it for years but now as I do it, I think of Dominic.

It is my small way of declaring the truth that darkness will not win.

It’s my protest against despair and hopelessness that threatens to undo me–threatens to undo ALL of us at one time or another.

Read the rest here: Light Bearers and Candle Snuffers