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Holidays and Grief: Surviving Siblings

I have never wanted to make my life journey with blinders on. I realized young that MY perspective is not the only one. I understand that more clearly now.

So I try hard to think about, acknowledge and accommodate the feelings and needs of others.

But it’s especially challenging since Dominic left us. And doubly so this time of year when every sight, smell and song screams, “It’s the holidays and HE IS NOT HERE!“

I may not be as thoughtful to some in my circle as want to be, but I will expend every ounce of energy and effort I can muster to make space for my living children’s needs during this season.

I promised them the day Dominic ran ahead to heaven our family would not be defined by what we have lost. I committed right then and there we would not sanctify Dominic, wouldn’t whitewash his ornery ways and would not put him on a pedestal against which they would be measured for the rest of their lives.

What I didn’t say, but purposed in my heart, was that I would not allow my own feelings of grief, sorrow, missing and despair to rob them of the mother they deserve. I would not stop being there for THEM-because, let’s face it-Dominic didn’t need me anymore. He is safe in his eternal home.

THEY are here with me in this less-than-perfect, messy and painful world we have to navigate together.

So when I’m working on holiday plans, the first thing I do is ask them what they need from me. I want them to have a safe space to express what’s hard for THEM this year. I welcome ideas, frustrations, hopes and dreams.

I will not shut them down because my heart is hurting.

I know what I think-I have to listen to know what THEY think.

I don’t conduct a sit down interview but over the course of a few days or weeks, I ask probing questions, offer potential scenarios and try to hear the heart behind their words when they answer.

Here are some of the things I ask my kids. Maybe they will be helpful for your family as well:

What’s your work schedule for Thanksgiving/Christmas?
Do you have any other major commitments that we need to work around?
How do you feel about what we did last year? What worked for you, what didn’t work?
Is there something special you really want to do this year?
Is there something you absolutely do NOT want to do this year?
How’s your head going into the holidays? What are you struggling with? What’s easier than this time last year?
Do you need something from me to make the holidays easier?
When would you rather have the main meal? Do you want/need to invite friends or co-workers?
What would the ideal Christmas Eve/Christmas Day look like for you?

There are dozens of corollaries to each of these questions. As my children share, I try to explore the edges of the conversation and probe a little further to get at what is really going on. I am open about my own feelings and fears for the season. I’m honest about where we can compromise and where, because of trying to manage everyone’s needs, we can’t.

I always assure them we will continue to work together, to adjust and to muddle through the best we can.

Humans are flawed and fragile and hearts are unpredictable.

Frustration is inevitable at some point.

Don’t apologize for tears.

We will not have thought of everything.

And that’s OK.

Holidays and Grief: Having the Hard Conversations

You don’t have to bury a child to know that changing long-standing family traditions around holidays is a hard, hard thing.

Just ask a parent trying to work out Thanksgiving and Christmas for the first time after an adult child marries. Suddenly the way things have “always been” are no longer the way things are.

Holidays typically involve so many more people and family members than everyday get-togethers and each person brings expectations, emotions and personal history to the table.

So, that is why I decided to run this series of posts NOW. Because one of the things I have learned over the years is that giving people time to adjust to change is a good thing.

Read the rest here: Grief, Holidays and Hard Conversations

Holidays and Grief: Thanksgiving Plan

Thanksgiving is hard on my heart.

My birthday is usually close to, and sometimes on, Thanksgiving. So we often celebrate them together. What makes that especially painful for me since Dominic ran ahead to heaven is that the last birthday before he left was a surprise party at his apartment.

It was wonderful and loud and fun and filled with laughter and love.

So all those good but achingly hard memories are wrapped up with the turkey and dressing.

Thanksgiving has also been our family’s favorite holiday for opening our home to people. No gift-giving expectations and abundant food made adding another chair to the table easy and fun. Internationals, singles, widowers, and other families often joined us cramming the house as full as our stomachs.

So now when the gathering is intimate and one chair left unfilled, it echoes loudly to my heart that things are oh, so different!

The first year after Dominic ran ahead, we went out of town. Our eldest son had married that summer and we visited him and his wife in West Virginia. A power outage that lasted through Thanksgiving Day evening was a welcome, if slightly annoying, diversion from the heaviness of the first real holiday without Dominic. Traveling used up some of what would have been long, empty days. So, for us, it was the best thing to do that year.

The second year we kind of muddled through with a facsimile of years past. it was a struggle and not at all comfortable for my heart. I don’t really know what I was thinking or not thinking that year-the second year found me more anxious, less able to deal with my sadness and overwhelmed by unexpected grief waves that swept me under before I knew it.

The third year some very special friends invited us to join them for Thanksgiving. They fixed all the food and we crowded together in their daughter’s apartment, packed in but jolly and very well loved. Getting there involved an unpleasant and emotional discussion with extended family. But the day was redeemed and it was exactly what I needed last year.

This year-well-I’m not entirely sure just yet.

There are a number of factors keeping us from making definitive plans. My mother is still unwell and not able to travel. One son will most likely be absent. Some friends may need a place to land and a table around which to gather.

So my plan is to have a plan by early next week.

I’ve done a few things so far: purchased pretty paper plates, baked some goodies and put them in the freezer, got my Thanksgiving cards out (remember-I’m sending them instead of Christmas cards this year!), washed the big windows in the kitchen and living room, and begun putting out feelers to the lonely and abandoned in our circle to see if they are interested in coming for a meal.

The meal is the easy part. Because in the end, as long as it ends with pie and chocolate, who really cares what you eat beforehand? 🙂

The hard part is the conversations.

The way I have to remind even those closest to me that this year will be just. as. hard. as every other year since Dominic left us. The way I have to breathe deep and swallow words so I don’t burst out crying at the mention of who’s coming and who’s not-because Dominic will never come again. The way I have to be very, very careful to balance all the emotional needs of family members and try to respect various requests for what’s important to their hearts.

I remind myself that I am not the focus of every event or holiday. I am not the only one carrying emotional or physical burdens that require accommodation. I am not given a pass to act ugly or pitch a fit or crawl in a hole and hide just because I buried a child.

So I try to think ahead, ask ahead, make my needs known ahead and then I participate as fully as I can-with a smile and an open heart to the ones that still gather.

I refuse to turn every holiday into a battle and every meal into uncomfortable silence where people are afraid to say anything for fear of hurting my feelings.

I honor Dominic by honoring those I have left.

My heart may be broken, but it is also blessed.

I won’t let one overshadow the other.

Holidays and Grief: You Need a Plan

When faced with the upcoming holidays and already rapid heartbeat and fading strength, the last thing a bereaved parent wants to hear is , “Make a plan”.

But the truth is, if you don’t it will be so. much. worse.

No one can tell YOU what the plan should be. Each family is unique. Each year brings different challenges-declining health, moves, children or grandchildren born and a dozen other variables that must be accounted for THIS year versus years past.

This will be our fourth set of holidays without Dominic and the one thing that has been, and continues to be, important is communication. I need to communicate early enough and plainly enough to extended family what I and my immediate family can bear for this year. If I don’t, there will be misunderstandings and hurt feelings all around.

This year will be different than last year.

That’s something surprising to me this side of child loss, nothing seems “fixed”. No new tradition can take the place of the traditions we embraced before Dominic ran ahead to heaven. So every year I find myself feeling my way in the dark.

Another important note: Even though my loss is great I am not the only one whose heart should be honored this time of year. I may not be able to participate in everything others want to do, but I can decline gracefully and encourage them to celebrate well without fear I’m upset about it.

If this is your very first holiday season after loss, I highly recommend keeping things low-key, whatever that looks like for you.

Some families find that keeping tradition is helpful. Some find it unbearably painful. Some want to run away from familiar places and others want to wrap their hearts in shared memories.

Over the next few days I will be reposting past articles about how to survive the holidays after loss. I hope they cast a little light on this hard topic. Take what helps and leave the rest.

It’s your call.

Your life.

Your heart.

No one else gets to judge how you choose to do (or not do) the holidays.

Let Me Know You Remember

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.

Of course I may cry.

I cry often anyway.

But if I cry because you remind me of the good friend Dominic was to you or because of a special memory you shared with him, they are tears of joy as much as tears of longing. ❤

An Open Letter to the Mom Who Was Almost Me

I hesitated to post this but plunged ahead for two reasons:

I want my friends to know that I welcome the opportunity to pray for them and their children-my heart longs to join in petition for the life of another mother’s child.

But it still hurts to hear too much detail about some things-you have no idea how well my imagination can fill in the gaps in stories of twisted metal and almost death.

So here it is. I hope you receive it as it’s intended. ❤

Dear Mom Whose Son Survived the Accident,

I want you to know that I am beyond thankful that you will be spared my pain. I prayed for your son as you requested-begged God to spare him.

They say misery love company but I say misery loves comfort.

I do not want one more parent to know the heartache of child loss.

Given the chance, I would not hesitate a moment to answer the Miss America question: “If you could do one thing in the world to make it a better place, what would it be?”

“I would make sure no parent ever had to bury a child.”

Not from disease.

Not from starvation.

Not from war or natural disaster or accidents.

No more out of order deaths!

Every parent would go to his grave assured his son or daughter would continue to carry the family legacy.

But that’s not possible. So I rejoiced extra hard when YOUR son had that awful accident, yet lived.

You get to visit him in the hospital, take him home with medicine and physical therapy. I met my son in the funeral home and could only choose a casket for his final resting place.

You will have this holiday season tempered by the shadow of what might have happened, but rejoicing in a second chance to make new memories.

This will be my fourth set of holidays without my son-without his presence at the table, his face around the Christmas tree, his stocking limp and empty because there’s nothing left for me to give him.

You were impatient when I asked you to respect how difficult it is for me to hear the details of your son’s accident. Even in my joy that you will be spared my fate, it hurts to hear how close you came. You were offended and that really hurt my heart.

I didn’t contact you; you contacted me.

I didn’t ask you to pray for me, you asked me to pray for you.

And I did.

And I will.

Because even if you are insensitive, ungrateful and inconsiderate, I will ask God to continue to protect your son-that’s what a broken heart does.

It begs for mercy.

Love,

A Broken Hearted Mama ❤

Repost: Don’t Want to Miss a Post? Here’s How.

I’m reposting this one just to help those of you that either want to catch every blog post and/or want an easy way to share them with friends and other bereaved parents. ❤

I’m no tech expert. I kind of blunder about like a blind mouse searching for cheese most of the time. So I feel you if you haven’t figured out how to make sure you get each day’s blog post.

For those that do want it each morning here are several ways to get it:

Read the rest here: Don’t Want to Miss a Post? Here’s How.

Fault Lines: Bereaved Parents and Social Anxiety

I’m no geologist, but from what I understand, earthquakes are nearly always “about to happen”. Fault lines guarantee it. Pressure is building underneath the surface of the earth and when it reaches a level that can no longer be contained, it spews.

Can I just let you in on a secret?

Bereaved parents are full of fault lines.

Many of us are nearly ready to blow almost every single minute, yet hold it in and hold it together. If you could put a meter to our temple and measure how close we are to a come apart, you would be amazed that it happens so rarely!

And this is why we sometimes say, “no” to an invitation. It’s why we stay home from church or baby showers or weddings. Not because we are anti-social, but because social situations present unique challenges to our desire to keep it together.

We don’t want to become the center of attention when the center of attention should be the mom-to-be or the wedding couple or the birthday boy.

It may be months or years or decades since our child ran ahead to heaven. And you may think that’s enough time to “get over” or “get past” or “learn to live with” his or her absence. In some ways it IS. Most of us have a “game face” we plaster on to make it through ordinary days and even some extraordinarily difficult ones.

But underneath the veneer of “everything’s OK” there are the fault lines and when extra pressure is applied, we just know we might blow.

Many times I want to be there, really I do. If I choose not to be, know that it’s because I am trying to be thoughtful, not ugly. I stay home out of love, not disrespect.

So please extend grace.

Give me the benefit of the doubt.

Let me bow out gracefully when I know in advance my heart won’t be able to hold on.

It’s best for both of us, really. ❤

Important Reminder

It can get lonely in this life. Social media aside, most of us wonder if who we are really makes a difference at all.

But it does.

You are unique-created to make a difference only YOU can make.

The edges of your life touch the edges of others’ lives in places no one else can reach.

Don’t give up.

Don’t give in.

The Problem With Microwave Presets: Struggling with Others’ Expectations in Grief

I hate microwaves that have the “quick minute” presets!

It takes MORE time for me to undo that feature and tap in how long I want to nuke my food than it would if it weren’t set up that way.

And sometimes I feel as if “undoing” is a great deal of what I do as a griever.

I have to dispel others’ expectations of what I should be feeling, doing or thinking.

I have to help them understand that unless you have been here, you CAN’T understand.

I pray they never understand.

But in the meantime, here we are, walking the same road but experiencing discord in communication, relationship, expectations and outlook.

Sometimes it’s ME. I’ll admit that up front.

Sometimes I am feeling so vulnerable and broken that the slightest misplaced syllable, the tiniest hint of disapproval, the merest whiff of impatience sends me down the rabbit hole of darkest night and endless grief. I receive things not as they are MEANT but as they FEEL filtered through my own pain.

But sometimes it IS the other person.

Sometimes they are thoughtless, heartless and unsympathetic. Sometimes they think that time has healed all wounds and that I should be “over this”-whatever THAT means. Sometimes it’s inconvenient for them to continue extending grace when what they need is a spot filled on the roster, a hand to help or a quick fix to one of their problems.

I have better days now at over three years since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. I even have better weeks every now and again. But what a given day or week will be like is still not mine to decide. Although I steel my mind and heart against the sorrow and missing, one word can pierce the armor I so carefully arrange and I am felled.

So I try to help my friends and family understand that. I spend time (especially when I am less emotional) explaining what it feels like to continue to miss my son. I hunt down examples to share that may speak to their hearts and circumstances. I write this blog. I’m honest when making plans to say that I may have to back out at the last minute or only stay for a portion of an event.

In many ways it’s like having an infant again. When I was nursing my babies there were always things I had to say “no” to or situations that had to be adapted to accommodate the baby. Feeding schedules and nap times dictated my life.

No one seemed to mind then.

My current life is equally hemmed in by what I can’t control.

Try as I might, it’s impossible for me to meet the expectations of others. I’m not a microwave.

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