family – Page 40 – thelifeididntchoose

Shadows and Sunlight

The sun streams just so

and turns my head

I’ve learned not to look too long at that wall

But today

Well today I am face to face with HIS face

I didn’t mean to linger

but I did

No remedy but to let the grief wash over me

allow the tears to fall and the hurt to run its course

How can I push this down so well most days

How is it possible to NOT feel this all the time

Am I a monster that my heart can pretend it hasn’t been torn in two????

Not a monster just a mom–

A mom with children left to love

Ones left to hold, to encourage, to champion as they keep on keeping on

photo-36

shadow and sunlight

hope and despair

not either/or

both/and

Repost: Subtitles

My husband is the child of immigrants. And even thirty years after coming to America, my in-laws preferred their native Italian to English.

So when we would be in a crowded room, comments flying, I struggled to keep up with what was being said because I didn’t speak the same language.

Sometimes feelings got hurt because what one of us thought we were saying was not what the other person heard.

Read the rest here: Subtitles

(Almost) All Together

Our family has never been the “go somewhere for the holidays” sort. We tend to stick close to home, to what’s familiar, to routine and regular bedtimes.

But lately life has thrown us a number of curveballs. And we are learning to swing at them instead of just letting them lob past us.

So just after Christmas, the four of us that were together in Alabama took a drive down to Florida to spend time with our oldest son and his wife in their new home.

We spent New Year’s Eve on a windy dog beach enjoying waves and walks and friendly strangers whose mutts came over to sniff ours.

Seafood and people watching at a nearby restaurant sitting outside in the breezy cool topped off a lovely day.

I’m learning to live with Dominic’s absence.

I’m (almost) used to photographs of my three surviving children documenting adventures that don’t include his smiling face and raucous antics. I’m trying to recapture the joy of his life and not dwell as much on the fact and circumstances of his death.

I can look forward a little further on a calendar. I can plan a bit more. My heart finds some satisfaction again in hosting friends and family for special occasions or no occasion at all.

In a word, I’m “better”.

Not healed-never healed (past tense)-until heaven.

But oh, so thankful for the days I have to spend with the family I have left.

I don’t know if Dominic can see us from where he is, but if he can’t, we’ll have lots to tell him when we get there.

One day closer.

Listen. Love. Repeat.

Today and tomorrow families will gather around tables and trees and television sets.

Some folks together for the first time in twelve months and maybe a few for the first time in years.

All the cheesy Christmas movies promise that reunion is sweet.

They roll out the fantasy that old wounds are easily patched up and the smell of turkey and apple pie casts a spell on broken hearts and broken relationships.

But that’s not usually how it goes in real life.

Instead of sweet release and precious moments, many families will experience rising tension as one person tries to bite her tongue and another fuels his anger. Politics, religion, personal lifestyle choices and old slights work to raise the temperature of the room to boiling.

And then it happens: He storms out, she leaves in tears and another “Hap-Hap-Happy Holiday” is in the books.

It doesn’t have to be that way.

It can be different.

If, instead of letting words hit our ears only long enough to form a quick rebuttal, we choose to listen-really listen–we can change everything.

If, instead of jumping to conclusions we commit to lavish love, we can undo the knots that form in stomachs and smooth out the furrowed brows.

If instead of making a point we choose to make a friend, we will endure fewer arguments and foster greater compassion.

Listen.

Love.

Repeat.

As many times as it takes to wash the worry out of a room. As often as necessary to weave a web of welcome.

Listen.

Love.

Repeat.

What Does Healing Look Like?

band aid and heart

As I continue to walk this Valley, my heart asks the question, “What does healing look like?”

Fewer tears? Check.

More laughter? Check.

Better able to function? Check.

I’m definitely not as fragile as I was in the days and weeks and first months after Dominic left us.

I can do what life requires without falling apart (most of the time).

If you run into me out and about, I make small talk and answer questions about my family without breaking down.

So, from the outside looking in it seems the gaping wound of loss has healed pretty well.

But if I lift the lid of my heart ever so slightly, I’m amazed at how much it still hurts. I’m astonished by the depth of pain and sorrow just under the facade of OK.

I cannot claim to have reached some higher plane of healing or restoration yet. I’m not sure I will this side of heaven.

And the pain of loss has tainted the joy I feel in what remains.

Instead of brilliant technicolor, my life is now lived in sepia tones that warn what joy I have could be stolen at any moment.

The lesson I’ve had stamped with fire on my heart is this: Love is the only thing that matters in the end.

Love God.

Love people.

So the path to healing means I lean in and love Him and love the people He has given me with everything I’ve got.

Because love endures forever.

graphic-his-faithful-love-endures-forever

Repost: Season of Joy-Blessing the Brokenhearted During the Holidays

merry-christmas-tree

This was a post I wrote last year around this time. It was my first attempt to express how hard the holidays can be for those missing someone they love.

“Most parents feel a little stressed during the holidays.

We used to be able to enjoy Thanksgiving before our 24/7 supercharged and super-connected world thrust us into hyper-drive. Now we zoom past the first day of school on a highway toward Christmas at breakneck speed.

For bereaved parents, the rush toward the “Season of Joy” is doubly frightening.

Constant reminders that this is the “most wonderful time of the year” make our broken hearts just that much more out of place. Who cares what you get for Christmas when the one thing your heart desires–your child, alive and whole–is unavailable…”

Read the rest here: Season of Joy: Blessing the Brokenhearted During the Holidays

Repost: Grief and Holidays: What the Bereaved Need From Friends and Family

The election’s over and whether we like the outcome or not, the calendar pages still turn.

Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming fast. For some of us carrying the pain of loss, the holidays are a treacherous time.

I’m reposting this link in the hopes it might help make things a little easier:

its hurting again

“I know it is hard. I know you don’t truly understand how I feel. You can’t. It wasn’t your child.

I know I may look and act like I’m “better”. I know that you would love for things to be like they were: BEFORE. But they aren’t.

I know my grief interferes with your plans. I know it is uncomfortable to make changes in traditions we have observed for years. But I can’t help it. I didn’t ask for this to be my life.”

Read the rest here: Grief and Holidays:What the Bereaved Need From Friends and Family

Repost: Thankful But Broken

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday.

My birthday sometimes falls on the day itself, and I have often been able to celebrate with extended family and friends-a full table of food and a full house of fellowship.

I love the colors of fall, the scents of cinnamon and pumpkin, the freedom from gift-giving pressures that lets me focus on the people in my life.

Read the rest here: Thankful But Broken

Speak Your Peace-You May Not Get Another Chance

Just a couple of days before Dominic left us, I and another one of my kids had a fuss.

He was frustrated and stressed and I was vulnerable and stressed and a few stray words ended up hurting my feelings.

I said, “I can’t talk anymore now”, and hung up the phone in tears.

He was sorry and I was sorry and we immediately exchanged texts and let the feelings cool so we could resume our conversation the next day.

He sent me flowers.

They were still beautiful when he came home to bury his brother.

Our family observes a rule: Don’t part in the heat of anger.

We may not be over our pain and the reason for the dispute may be legitimate, but NOTHING trumps relationship.

I am so very thankful for that rule. Because one burden I don’t have to carry is that I might have left Dominic wondering if everything was OK between us.

It was.

So I say to you:

Speak your peace.
Say you’re sorry.
Move TOWARD the people you love and not away from them.

I pray every time I hear a siren that the person they are going to rescue will be alright. I pray that the family that loves that person will get another chance. I pray that the call that’s made is, “Come to the hospital to see me” and not “Come to the morgue”.

But you never know-you have NO guarantee that the last time you see or speak to someone you care about won’t be the LAST time.

And then you cannot undo the horror of regret that they might have left this world wondering if you loved them.

“I love you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to stay angry with you. Please forgive me.”

Say it loud, say it often, say it NOW.

Holiday Planning Helps for Grieving Parents

As much as I hate the mashup of Halloween/Thanksgiving/Christmas that assaults my senses every time I walk into a store, it IS a reminder that, like it or not, the holidays are coming.