“Family means no one gets left behind or fogotten”~David Ogden Stiers
We are in this together, and part of my job as mom to the children still walking the earth with me is to help them survive the loss of their brother.
I write about that here: Helping My Children Walk Through Grief
The months roll by, the calendar pages turn, soon school will be back in session and you are still not here.
Sometimes I think I have figured out how to do these days that remain between now and when we will be together again.
And sometimes I realize that I haven’t.
Today is one of those days.
I miss you.
I love you.
I can’t round a corner without thinking of you and wishing this was not my life.
But it is.
So I’ll keep on keeping on. Just like you would want me to.
Just like you would do.
Even when it’s hard.
And some days it is so very hard.
Every time the headlines scream death and destruction, I feel like I’ve been punched.
My heart hurts.
It hurts for the community of people who feel targeted by police.
It hurts for police officers and their families who feel targeted for simply doing their jobs.
It hurts for the mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters and others who will bury someone this week.
It hurts because the possibility for constructive conversation around what has been done, what should be done and what might be done is drowned out by wailing and yelling and strident protests and incendiary social media posts that leave no room for real change.
We are all on one side or the other.
And that is beyond sad. It is diabolical.
Jesus said that the thief comes only to “steal, kill and destroy”. (John 10:10)
I refuse to be part of the enemy’s plot to destroy us by dividing us into opposing camps.
No matter where I fall on the political spectrum, if I add my voice to the screaming and drown out reasonable and meaningful discussion, I join with those advocating anarchy instead of progress toward positive change.
We are making choices right now that will affect ourselves, our children and our grandchildren.
I choose to listen.
I choose to learn.
I choose to try to understand different perspectives and to work toward our common goal of protecting all lives.
Everywhere.
Every. time.
In the wake of burying Dominic, the most difficult spiritual discipline for me to recover has been prayer.
In part because my heart just doesn’t know what to ask for or how to talk to a God Who has allowed this pain in my life.
In part because I don’t really have a framework for placing the prayers I want to pray inside my ongoing struggle to commit my future and the future of my family to the hands of a Father Who didn’t step in to prevent Dominic’s death.
I still struggle with this.
“When it’s not your kid you can think of all kinds of lofty, theologically correct arguments or reasons for why God answers one prayer and not another–for why one person is healed and not another–for why one person survives a devastating-should-have-killed-him accident but not another.
But when it is your child that doesn’t survive or isn’t healed or is stolen through the violent actions of someone else…well, that’s a different matter entirely.”
Read the rest of this post here: The Problem of [Un]Answered Prayer
One of the reasons I write is to share my grief experience with others.
I realized when tossed into the ocean of sorrow that of all the things I had heard about or read about, surviving child loss was never mentioned.
Oh, someone might comment that so-and-so had LOST a child, but then the conversation quickly moved on to more comfortable topics.
But if we don’t talk about it, we can’t learn to live through it.
Silence doesn’t serve anyone well.
I agree with Mr. Rogers:
Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone.”
― Fred Rogers
During the course of my lifetime I have seen many topics dragged from behind closed doors out onto the stage and under the public spotlight.
Frankly, some of them could have remained in darkness as far as I’m concerned.
But there is something still taboo in polite conversation–something hushed with awkward silence should it ever be spoken aloud in a crowded room–mention GRIEF and eyes drop to the floor or someone hastily throws an arm around you and says, “There, there–it’s going to be alright.”
I don’t blame them. Remaining in the presence of great pain is uncomfortable.
In my growing up years I don’t remember anyone speaking about death and grief for longer than the time it took to go to a funeral home visitation and stand by the grave as the casket was lowered in the ground.
What came AFTER the loss–not a word.
We need to talk about it. We need to educate ourselves about it. Because, like my EMT son says, “No one gets out of here alive.”
You WILL experience grief in your lifetime.
I pray the people you lose are full of years and ready to go–that you get to say “good-bye” and all the important things have been said and done so you aren’t left with extra emotional baggage in addition to the sorrow and missing.
But you never know. Neither you nor I are in control.
And even in the one place where it would seem most natural to talk about life and death and grief and pain–our churches–it still makes those who are not experiencing it uncomfortable.
Yes, there are grief support groups. And, yes, they are helpful in ways that only a group made up of people who understand by experience what you are going through can be.
But much of life is spent rubbing elbows with folks unlike ourselves, with parents who know the fear of losing a child but not the awful reality.
And just a little bit of openness, a little bit of education and a little bit of understanding would make such a difference.
We don’t want pity.
We aren’t looking for special accommodations that single us out and mark us as “needy”.
But we long for understanding and compassion and the opportunity to tell our stories.
The events of this past week have thrown my body into a tailspin-like muscle memory acquired through repetitive action-I feel the terror of parents hearing the awful news that their child is gone.
It’s as if I am the one hearing the knock on the door.
As if I am the one absorbing the terrible blow.
And I know what they don’t yet understand-there is no wonder drug or magic pill that can erase the pain.
There is no miraculous cure for a broken heart.
I wrote this months ago, but this week has made it fresh again:
When Dominic was born by c-section, they placed the epidural too high and I was unable to feel my chest rise and fall even though I continued to breathe.
It was a frightening experience. I WANTED to keep breathing-because I wanted to touch this new life coming into the world and into our family.
But when the deputy brought the news that Dominic had been killed, it felt like I stopped breathing and my heart stopped beating-and I would have welcomed both.
I wanted to escape the pain that filled my heart, my soul, my bones.
I think most bereaved mothers will tell you they have absolutely NO IDEA how their bodies continue to live and carry this heavy burden.
I do it for those still here and, having felt the pain of being left behind, my mama heart wants to spare the ones I love as long as I can.
But rest assured, it is a daily struggle to decide to go on.
“Broken Hearts Still Beat”
BIRTH
I’m not breathing.
They assure me that I am.
My heartbeat thumps the truth for all to hear.
A welcome wail ushers his life into the spotlight of this wide world.
DEATH
I’m not breathing.
They assure me that I am.
My lungs draw air against my will and my better judgment.
An anguished cry marks the end of his earthly life.
I am breathing.
My body refusing to keep pace with my broken heart.
melanie desimone, november 7, 2014
Healing can’t be hurried.
Read the rest: No Rush
Let me begin by saying I purposely remove myself from the 24/7 news cycle that beats our ears and tries hard to hammer hearts into whatever shape a particular organization deems most meritorious.
So it is no surprise that I was unaware of the Orlando tragedy until well into the day on Sunday.
And I don’t know what the pundits and politicians or social media gurus are saying.
I only know how it feels.
I know how it feels to have an officer come to your door and tell you that your child is never coming home.
I know how it feels to receive the devastating news that whatever you said the last time you saw or spoke to your child is the LAST thing you will ever have the opportunity to say to them.
I know how it feels to stand, dumbstruck and reeling, with the instant realization that your world has been wrecked beyond repair-To have to whisper to your heart, “you’ve got to make calls, make connections, make arrangements”.
Oh! My!
Why, why, why can we not as a nation simply step back and embrace those who have lost so much instead of standing on the ruins of their lives and posturing for ratings, rankings and political, social or moral agendas????
I wrote before, when commenting here on the incident at the Cincinatti zoo:
If we covered the stories of families who have lost children with the same zeal and creative journalism as we do the lives and deaths of endangered animals, that would change.
If the despair, heartbreak, brokenness and utter horror of bereaved parents’ lives were on display like the sickening piles of poached elephants and rhinos then at least we could have a discussion that was more informed and even-tempered.
We are a death avoidant culture-we splatter gore across the screen in video games and movies-but we DO NOT discuss the ongoing impact loss has on the ones left behind.
These lives are not numbers, they are not just names or a sweet little synoptic bio plastered on Twitter, Facebook or an AP newswire.
They are people-with families, friends and loved ones.
There is a single, appropriate response to this tragedy–deep mourning for the lives lost to hatred and violent action and prayer for the ones left behind.
I refuse to entertain the musings and posturing of ANYONE who does not first-and for an appropriate length of time-acknowledge the loss of sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers-each a unique creation with an eternal soul.
Tears.
TEARS are what should be filling the airwaves, the streets, our altars.
Advertising works on a simple principle: exposure.
The more exposure a person has to the product, the more likely that person will want to buy it.
My eyes lead my heart.
I go where my gaze rests.
What I stare at changes me.
In the first moments, days, weeks after Dominic’s accident, it was very hard to lift my eyes from the reality of pain and sorrow that began like a hard kernel in my heart and grew to a mushroom cloud of destruction that took over my whole body.
But even then, God broke through to remind me all was not dark, all was not lost, and, in the end, all would be well.
See that I am God. See that I am in everything. See that I do everything. See that I have never stopped ordering my works, nor ever shall, eternally. See that I lead everything on to the conclusion I ordained for it before time began, by the same power, wisdom and love with which I made it. How can anything be amiss?
Julian of Norwich
As the cloud began to lift, I was able, by degrees, to choose where to turn my eyes. I could read and write and focus on truth, or I could fill my gaze with deception, darkness and lies.
I am going to stare at SOMETHING-I have to decide what or Who will fill the horizon of my days.
In my sorrow, I can stare down the black hole of death or I can lift my eyes to the Hope of Heaven.
I can linger long at the grave or I can point my face to the sky and look for His return.
My gaze can rest on the emptiness of today or it can rest secure in the promise of tomorrow.
I can sit at the feet of Jesus and let His Presence fill my eyes and guide my heart or I can turn away and let despair overtake my soul.
I’m asking God for one thing, only one thing: To live with him in his house my whole life long. I’ll contemplate his beauty; I’ll study at his feet.
Psalm 27:4 MSG
When Moses came from God’s Presence, he glowed.
His face was transformed because he beheld the glory of the Lord.
He was sustained in the dry season of leading the Israelites through the wilderness by the abundant life he received in communion with God.
This season of grief is hard.
It is DRY, and if I focus on the sorrow, it will suck the life right out of me.
I feel the sorrow. I feel the pain. There is no escaping reality.
But I can fix my eyes on the truth that this world is not all there is.
I can focus my gaze on the finished work of Christ and the promise of reunion made possible by His blood.
Wearing Michael Jordan’s shoes won’t make me a basketball star.
But spending time in the Presence of Jesus will make me more like Him.
As I expose myself repeatedly to His grace, mercy and beauty , I am transformed.
Our faces, then, are not covered. We all show the Lord’s glory, and we are being changed to be like him. This change in us brings more and more glory. And it comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.
2 Corinthians 3:18 ICB
I first learned my son had been killed in the dark hours of morning.
I made phone calls.
I had to be certain there was no mistake in identifying the accident victim. I assured the officer on the other end of the phone I was not in denial, I was just confirming what I knew was true.
That was a lie-my ears heard it as true.
Some part of my brain was acting as if it were true.
And I was passing the information along as true, but it was not until I saw his body that my heart embraced as absolutely undeniable what I had been told.
He was gone, gone, gone. No coming back.
That’s when I knew: Death is awful.
It is hard to have patience with people who say, ‘There is no death’ or ‘Death doesn’t matter.’ There is death. And whatever is matters. And whatever happens has consequences, and it and they are irrevocable and irreversible. You might as well say that birth doesn’t matter. ~C.S.Lewis
Death was not part of God’s perfect plan for the people He made and the world He created.
But sin marred that perfection and we are left to walk this wounded world in bodies that, at best, wear out, and at worst, plunge headlong into darkness due to illness, accident or violence.
Where is the victory in this defeat?
Where is the happy ending to this sad chapter of life?
Victory is declared when I trust in Jehovah-Nissi-the LORD my Banner-to uproot the evil that the enemy seeks to sow into my life.
Victory is displayed in my surviving children who have chosen to lean in and labor on and love and laugh even while grieving the loss of their brother.
Victory is demonstrated when my marriage does not crumble under the heavy weight of sorrow, when my family is made stronger- not weaker-and when our story breathes courage into the hearts and lives of others facing devastating trials.
The ultimate and eternal victory lies in the finished work of Christ.
I need to emphasize, friends, that our natural, earthy lives don’t in themselves lead us by their very nature into the kingdom of God. Their very “nature” is to die, so how could they “naturally” end up in the Life kingdom?
But let me tell you something wonderful, a mystery I’ll probably never fully understand. We’re not all going to die—but we are all going to be changed. You hear a blast to end all blasts from a trumpet, and in the time that you look up and blink your eyes—it’s over. On signal from that trumpet from heaven, the dead will be up and out of their graves, beyond the reach of death, never to die again. At the same moment and in the same way, we’ll all be changed. In the resurrection scheme of things, this has to happen: everything perishable taken off the shelves and replaced by the imperishable, this mortal replaced by the immortal. Then the saying will come true:
Death swallowed by triumphant Life!
Who got the last word, oh, Death?
Oh, Death, who’s afraid of you now?It was sin that made death so frightening and law-code guilt that gave sin its leverage, its destructive power. But now in a single victorious stroke of Life, all three—sin, guilt, death—are gone, the gift of our Master, Jesus Christ. Thank God!
With all this going for us, my dear, dear friends, stand your ground. And don’t hold back. Throw yourselves into the work of the Master, confident that nothing you do for him is a waste of time or effort.
I Corinthians 15:50-58 MSG
Jesus has redeemed and restored what the enemy has stolen.
I will not enjoy the fullness of this victory until I embrace Dominic in heaven.
But I can live confidently in the promise that it has already been decided.
I can walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death without fear, because Jehovah-Nissi-the LORD my Banner (my Victory) is with me. (Psalm 23:4)
I am not alone.
thelifeididntchoose 