It took me a little while to realize that if I was going to survive this lifelong journey I had to make some changes in how and when I responded to requests to do something, be somewhere or participate in outside events.
Because no matter how worthy the request, there was only so much of me to go around and I was forced to spend nearly all my energy and time and effort on figuring out how this great wound was impacting me and my family.
I cannot overemphasize how much strength and energy is needed to do the work grief requires.
One of the things I’ve been forced to embrace in the wake of child loss is there are very few questions, experiences or feelings that are simple anymore.
“How many children do you have?”
A common, get-to-know-you question lobbed across tables, down pews and in the check-out line at the grocery store. But for many bereaved parents, it can be a complex question that gets a different answer depending on who is asking and where we are.
If you’ve never been caught short in the midst of an unexpected downpour you might not know how important refuge under the boughs of a cedar or oak tree can be.
Living in the middle of woods, punctuated by open pastures, I’ve retreated more than once to the safety of thick boughs which limit the rain’s ability to soak me through.
I have memorized every safe haven between the road and the middle of my 34 acres.
Faithful friends are like those sheltering trees-offering respite to a weary heart, providing a safe space to take a breath, granting protection when we are pursued by the enemy of our souls.
I hurt for hearts who enter the long road of child loss without the support of really, truly friends.
I have been blessed for nearly ten years with two precious hearts who- even though they have been spared the pain of child loss- chose to walk alongside me.
These women right here.
They came alongside and helped me remember that light still existed when darkness was all I could feel and all I could see.
They brought lunch to my home- over an hour away- and loved me, listened to me, didn’t toss Bible verses or correct me. They were much better friends than the ones who joined Job on the ash heap.
I can never repay the debt I owe them.
I’m so thankful that we are aging together and will spend eternity proving that grace, love and the Gospel transform hearts and lives.
It took me a long time before I wanted to gather in a room with other bereaved parents.
My son’s death had undone me and I had no capacity for other people’s raw grief where I might not have an escape.
I wish I hadn’t been so reluctant and waited so long because what I found when I finally walked into the in-person community of other moms and dads who shared my loss, it was life giving, uplifting and utterly amazing.
So I want to extend an invitation to fellow broken hearts who hope for hope:
WHO?Bereaved parent & grandparents, and anyone who wants to better know how to comfort a grieving friend
WHAT? Our Hearts Are Home Spring Conference
WHEN?April 12-13, 2024
WHERE?Online or In Person (Free option available.)
(If you can’t come on those days, you’ll receive all of the session recordings that remain available for two weeks following the conference.)
I’ll be sharing in a couple of the main sessions and leading a breakout session on bereaved siblings. AND there will be many opportunities to chat informally around meals and other unstructured times.
This is NOT your typical “Christian Conference” where what’s shared is memorized and rehashed in city after city. This is a unique opportunity to interact with parents who are walking the same broken road as you and are willing to reveal the ups and downs, ins and outs of navigating child loss. (My husband will be there too, bereaved dads!)
The cost is minimal although I know travel expenses may make attending in person out of the question for some of y’all. (Online option available!)
I wouldLOVE, LOVE, LOVE to meet (in the flesh!) anyone who has joined me here online.
You have no idea how often your words of encouragement have helped me hold onto hope.
So if you can, join us.
You may be nervous up to the very minute you show up or log on but I PROMISE you will not regret it.
It will be ten (!) years on April 12th. A decade of living without one of my children here on earth.
And yet those first hours and days are some of the most vivid in my memory. Who showed up, what they did, what they said (or graciously and wisely DIDN’T say), how fragile and lost I felt as precious friends guided me through so. many. decisions.
I will never, ever forget the kindnesses shown to our family during that time. I will never, ever stop thanking God for the brave souls that entered into our world of pain and simply refused to be shooed or frightened away.
❤ Melanie
The death of any loved one opens a door and forces you to pass through.
You cannot procrastinate, cannot refuse, cannot ignore or pretend it away.
Suddenly, you find yourself where you absolutely do not want to be.
And there is no going back.
Many bereaved parents describe the first hours, the first days after losing a child as a fog–we feel both horrified (I can’t believe this is happening!) and numb (Is this real? Am I dreaming?).
The holiday season is full of opportunities to gather with folks we don’t see all that often.
It’s also an invitation for those same friends and family to ask all the questions they’ve thought about on the other 364 days of they year but couldn’t ask.
And sometimes those questions are difficult, or insensitive or inappropriate.
What to do? What to say?
Here are some great answers from other bereaved parents.
❤ Melanie
I was utterly amazed at the questions people plied me with not long after Dominic’s accident.
They ranged from digging for details about what happened (when we ourselves were still unsure) to ridiculous requests for when I’d be returning to my previous responsibilities in a local ministry.
Since then, many of my bereaved parent friends have shared even more questions that have been lobbed at them across tables, across rooms and in the grocery store.
Recently there was a post in our group that generated so many excellent answers to these kinds of questions, I asked permission to reprint them here (without names, of course!).
So here they are, good answers to hard (or inappropriate or just plain ridiculous) questions:
At the time all I could manage (barely!) was the twenty-four hours of each long, lonely and pain-wracked day.
After nine-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.
thelifeididntchoose 