There are so many ways child loss impacts relationships!
Some of the people you think will stand beside you for the long haul either never show up or disappear right after the funeral.
Some people you never expected to hang around not only come running but choose to stay.
And every. single. relationship. gets more complicated.
When your heart is shattered, there are lots of sharp edges that end up cutting you and everyone around you. It’s pretty much inevitable that one or more relationships will need mending at some point.
At the time all I could manage (barely!) was the twenty-four hours of each long, lonely and pain-wracked day.
After six-plus years I’ve learned to look ahead, plan ahead and forge ahead to birthdays, holidays, special days and not-so-special days.
But it takes a great deal of effort and often uncomfortable conversations because no matter how long it’s been, I’m still dragging loss and its after affects behind me.
I wrote this in 2016 when I was desperate to communicate how hard it is to try to marry joy and sorrow, celebration and commemoration, light, love, life and darkness, grief and death.
This is the seventh Christmas without Dominic. There really are no words to describe the intersection of holiday cheer and another milestone in this journey of child loss.
I’m not sad all the time-far from it. Often I am very, very happy.
But I will never stop missing him, missing the family we used to be and missing our blissful ignorance of how quickly and utterly life can change in an instant.
And I will never outgrow the need to have others remember him as well, to encourage my heart and the hearts of my family members and to help us make it through another year, another Christmas. ❤
If I got ten grieving parents in a room we could write down fifty things we wish people would stop saying in about five minutes.
Most of the time folks do it out of ignorance or in a desperate attempt to sound compassionate or to change the subject (death is very uncomfortable) or simply because they can’t just shut their mouths and offer silent companionship.
And most of the time, I and other bereaved parents just smile and nod and add one more encounter to a long list of unhelpful moments when we have to be the bigger person and take the blow without wincing.
But there is one common phrase that I think needs attention
As hard as I may try to help those around me understand how very difficult it is to walk on in this life I didn’t choose, my efforts often go awry.
I forget to make a phone call, I assume some plans are in place, I mistake silence for assent, I’m unaware of secondary pressures or I simply underestimate pent up feelings waiting for an opportunity to be expressed and what I thought would be a regular encounter ends up being an uncomfortable or painful confrontation.
And I’m trapped. No where to go, no where to hide. Stuck in an unfruitful conversational circle.
No matter how carefully I listen, how cautiously I employ “I” statements and affirm another heart’s perspective, it isn’t enough. Because what they really need from me is something I can’t give: to make life like it was “before”.
But we both know that’s not possible. So I become the sacrificial punching bag-the person they pummel until the negative energy is spent.
I want to agree to disagree and lay down arms. I want to walk away, hang up the phone, run and hide.
I don’t.
Because if there were a way for me to relieve this built-up inner pressure (without hurting another heart) I’d do it too.
But there isn’t. So I take the licks.
I add that to my sack of “Things You Have To Endure Post Child Loss” and carry on.
I don’t know about you, but I find I can often white-knuckle through a holiday itself only to be spent and exhausted on the other side.
Staying busy in the kitchen, trying hard to be present and participate, enjoying extra folks in the house and around the table are great distractions.
I love being with my people!
Thanksgiving Pandemic Style 2020
Of course I’m constantly aware of the quiet tune that plays in the background, “Dom’s not here” but I genuinely appreciate every moment I have with the ones I love.
But…then comes the quiet.
A silent reminder of the hollow carved in my heart.
And I can’t ignore it.
So I have to take a day (or two or three) and rest.
It’s what I call a “holiday hangover” and it has nothing to do with over-indulging in spirits or food.
It’s OK if I don’t rush to tidy the house or start planning for the next get-together. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone.
I can pause, take a breather, sit and read or do nothing at all.
I admit I’m full of words. When my mama came to pick me up when her best friend was babysitting for awhile, she said, “You can’t have her yet, she’s telling me all kinds of things!”
More than once my mouth got me in trouble.
It’s still the source of most of my problems.
But for a time after Dominic left I found that the only words I could muster beyond what was absolutely necessary were written in my journal. Because the words I wanted to say were bitter and harsh and tasted bad as they came up my throat and threatened to roll off my tongue.
We were pretty sure Thanksgiving was nailed down this year.
Several of us have spent months doing work down at Papa’s place creating the perfect space for the whole family to gather. Food was ordered, menu planned and travel coordinated.
But no one can plan for the unpredictable.
So when Covid cases skyrocketed and we did the math, it became too risky for four separate households to spend five days eating, sleeping and playing together under one roof.
We called it off.
It was and is heartbreaking.
But not as heartbreaking as adding another empty chair around the table or missing another face in our family circle.
Perhaps you’re faced with some equally hard choices this year, this season.
I’m so sorry.
It seems especially unfair to those whose hearts are already lonely from loss to be forced to give up the chance for fellowship and encouragement in company of family and friends!
I wish there were some magic to make it all better.
There isn’t.
And one thing I’ve learned in this life I didn’t choose is this: you have to make the best of what you have left.
Thanksgiving with the family before loss. ❤
So I pray no matter how small, how unusual, how disappointing your own Thanksgiving may feel this year that you find space in your heart for hope.
We are not doing what we planned, but we are doing something.
It won’t be what we wished for, but we will still have a day.
thelifeididntchoose 