Every spring and every fall we dutifully make the rounds to our clocks and digital devices, putting them first forward an hour and then back in an attempt to make the days “longer”.
As if time was in our hands.
The sun rises and sets according to the Creator’s schedule, we can neither speed the world’s turning, nor slow it down.
We can only choose whether to be present in the moments He grants us.
Read the rest here: Time Change
When I was a little girl, I struggled mightily being afraid of the dark.
Sometimes I could barely close my eyes because I was scared something terrible would happen between going to sleep and waking up.
I outgrew that as I grew into my faith.
But after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven, I found myself again afraid to go to sleep.
Not because of “monsters” hiding beneath the bed but because it was between sleep and wake that he left.
I fell asleep with four living children and woke up with three.
I’m still not so good at falling asleep or staying asleep-just another change child loss has wrought in my life. Most nights I have to talk myself into it.
I recite truth to my spirit, sing songs to my soul.
I remind my heart that God was with me and was with Dominic the night he was killed.
He was with me the morning I got the news and Dominic is with Him forever in Heaven.
I’ve learned that leaning into Him, I can find rest and wake to a new day, confident that whatever the sunrise brings, I am not alone.
Some of us only felt tiny hands and feet pressing against the inside of our body.
Some of us saw first steps or first grade.
Some of us watched our child drive away to college certain it was the beginning of an adventure, not the beginning of the end.
Some of us have grandchildren reflecting back a smile or gesture or tone of voice that it so much like the one we miss.
All of us know what it is to lose more than any heart can bear-and yet we DO bear it-every. single. day.
None of us would give up whatever time we had even knowing how hard it is to go on without them. ❤
It’s a lesson you never forget once you’ve learned it.
It’s lesson you never learn unless you have to.
The destruction of property-even every single thing you own on this earth-is awful, frightening and life-changing.
But it’s still LIFE.
My parents were caught in the fury that was Hurricane Michael. They were miles inland, a community that had never seen anything like this in four generations that had lived in the house where they rode out the storm.
Their property and home took a hit, but they are OK.
And for this mama with one son in heaven and one deployed half-way around the world, that’s ALL THAT MATTERS.
We can rebuild a house. We can buy more stuff.
But I can’t replace the people I love.
Life and Death.
I know that lesson well.
Dominic’s death has made me angry at times.
And I really don’t have anyone on whom to focus that anger.
I can blame Dom, but what will that do for my heart?
I can be angry at God, but the truth is, I have too long a history with Him to think that He is punishing me or that He isn’t the loving Father I know Him to be.
So often I end up casting blame on those who don’t live up to my standards of how they SHOULD be walking alongside me in this Valley.
Because all that anger has to go somewhere, right?
Sad thing is, right when I need friends most, if I’m spending my time picking them apart because they aren’t approaching me in the most helpful ways or, worse-avoiding me altogether-then I am guaranteeing I’ll be alone and lonely.
It does hurt when folks say the wrong thing, don’t say anything or let mention of my missing son fall like a lead ball between us.
But most often it isn’t because they MEAN to hurt me, it’s because they don’t know what to say or how to act.
Child loss and its lifelong aftermath is largely a secret in Western society.
Even many mental health professionals don’t recognize its ongoing impact on a heart and life.
I’m beginning to suspect that most of the people I know have been and are doing the best they can to walk alongside me in this Valley. And, well, if it looks a little awkward or is kind of an on again/off again thing-I’ll give grace.
Blaming is easy.
But it pushes hearts apart.
Right when I need them to come closer.
Even though I purpose to be authentic and open about how Dominic’s absence impacts my life, I find that I may go days or weeks without realizing I’m stuffing things again.
Most of the time I figure it out because the grief has found the path of least resistance and leaked onto other people or has made me sick, tired or both.
When I catch myself overreacting to the less than attentive store clerk or avoiding phone calls or snapping at family members I need to take a moment and search for what’s behind that.
When I dread another day, sit for too long in my chair instead of getting up and getting going, procrastinate over simple and easy tasks, have trouble sleeping or am achy all over I need to reexamine my week and see what grief triggers I overlooked or tried to ignore.
At first I was very aware of carrying the load of grief and sorrow-tears made it obvious and impossible to ignore.
But as time has progressed (now 4 1/2 years) I find I can seem to breeze right past things that would have stopped me in my tracks during the first twelve months.
Still, they DO pluck at my heart even if I think they don’t.
And if I refuse to drag those feelings out into the light, they will find their own path.
Grief will not be denied forever.
It leaks out somewhere.
Better for me to face up, own it and choose how it comes out.
I confess.
When I used to drive by an unkempt yard, a run down house or bumped into an untidy person, I would think, “Goodness! Don’t they care about their yard, home or appearance? They need to do better! I would NEVER let my (fill in the blank) look like that.”
I don’t do that anymore.
Because I’ve learned that there are all kinds of reasons a body may not be busy mowing a lawn, painting a porch or even putting on matching socks.
Life happens.
And when it does, it demands all my energy, effort and attention. I don’t have the time or luxury of worrying about things that aren’t absolutely necessary for survival.
When Dominic left for Heaven, my priorities were immediately shaken out, sifted and re-ordered. Not only the big ones-like spending more time with the people I loved-but also the smaller ones-like whether or not I swept the front porch before someone visited.
More than nine years later and I look around sometimes wishing I was better at keeping up with things, better able to tidy up, decorate for the seasons, mend the fences, stay on top of clutter, or put together decent outfits.
But then I pause, breathe and realize that while the outside looks messy and unorganized and not at all like I’d prefer, my inside is focused on the things that really matter.
I am spending most of my time caring (one way or another) for other hearts.
Now when I see someone’s home that needs attention or someone who isn’t put together, I think, “What battle are they facing? What life circumstance has swallowed up their time, energy, and emotional reserves?”
Because life happens.
Whether we are ready for it or not.
No matter how busy or how noisy or how frantic, in the middle of my chest there is a quiet place that holds space for my missing child.
It was true last year in the craziness of my mother’s health crisis and it’s been so very, very true this past eight weeks full of anxiety, discomfort, challenge and unbelievable stress.
Read the rest here: The Loudest Silence
I wrote this less than six months after Dominic ran ahead to heaven.
My heart had not yet fully grasped his absence and there was a lovely moment each morning when my sleepy eyes opened to a world where he was still in it.
Read the rest here: Today’s Gift
I’m no quitter.
I grew up with the mantra, “You can be anything you want to be if you want to be it badly enough” ringing through my childhood.
I added this one for my kids: “Failure is not an option.”
But I’ve got to admit, while both are great motivators when motivation is the missing ingredient, they are lies.
I cannot be “anything I want to be”. I can be the best me possible, but I cannot be anyone but me.
And failure-well, how do you want to define that? Is it failure when you have poured every ounce of energy into a person or a project and things just don’t work like you hoped they would? Is it failure when despite all the planning, pursuing and perseverance a heart can muster life takes a giant left turn you never expected?
One of my favorite but most exasperating memories of Dominic is when he was about six months old and would wake every morning close to 3 a.m. and refuse to go back to sleep. Now, judge me if you want to, but this whole “let them cry it out” thing was not in my parenting wheelhouse. With two other siblings and a small house, if he was crying for hours, it meant soon everyone would be awake.
So after nursing him and trying to get him to go back to sleep, I finally gave up and just went into the living room and let him play.
This went on for weeks-my body was so, so tired and I was frustrated beyond imagination.
Until I realized that I was burning more energy being upset over the inevitable than I was in just getting up and enjoying the one on one time with my baby.
So instead of fussing every early morning, I started getting up, making coffee, playing with him and then doing necessary chores while he prattled on with his toys.
I accepted what was out of my control and made the best of it.
That’s how I feel this side of Dominic running ahead to heaven.
I am not the person I used to be.
I cannot do all the things I used to do.
I need to acknowledge that. I need to let go of unrealistic expectations that only drive me to distraction and despair.
I’m freeing myself to lean into the life I have NOW by admitting it’s not the life I USED to have.
I’m not giving up.
I am letting go of excess emotional baggage.
But I’m holding onto hope with both hands.
thelifeididntchoose 