Tag: grief anniversaries

Ten Years: Broken Hearts and Broken Lives

I woke this morning to a frantic voice mail left overnight when my phone was on sleep mode which silences all but my few “favorites” from ringing through.

A precious young woman from my family’s past was reaching out because she knew I was a safe person. I wish I had been able to talk to her when she needed me most but I was left with the only option available: call her back and leave a voice mail message.

It’s a poor substitute for being there when someone is hanging on by a thread.

It made me think of the dozens of ways my children and I have learned to “be there” for broken hearts and broken lives.

It’s an easy yes for any one of us when someone calls and says, “Can you talk?”.

Even when it’s inconvenient or worse, we answer the phone and allow that heart to spill its contents until there is some relief and possibly some way forward.

Some days I’m tapped out.

I may not haul feed bags or lift boxes but my heart is wrung dry by mid-morning.

Hours long telephone conversations in which there is no real answer and no way to untangle complex webs of addiction or family history or personal trauma leave me needing a nap.

I try to take a break when I need to and come back fresh when I can.

In this Season of Sorrow I have a little less to give.

But I am committed to helping other broken hearts limp along toward healing for as long as I am able.

So many have helped me.

I want to share the gift. ❤

Ten Years: The Gift of Friendship

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.

I love y’all. ❤️❤️

Ten Years: Reflections, Regrets and Reality

I’m writing this today as springtime sunlight floods my window and the scent of grass and growing things wafts in the breeze.

I still feel the stir of life when the days grow longer and the laying hens gift us with eggs every twenty-four hours.

But for ten years now my heart drags itself into the light bearing a burden of darkness.

In memory of Dominic from an anonymous friend.

In the early years it totally eclipsed any promise spring might portend. Birdsong only reminded me of my son’s silent voice. Flowers smelled like death. The appearance of fresh growth highlighted the passage of time and the timelessness of missing Dominic.

It took a long while to learn how to be alive and also acknowledge the awful reality and sadness of death.



Now I can watch the faithful chickadee family (generations of them) who perch on a garden torch singing praise to the rising sun. I marvel when a daring chipmunk races to retrieve some tasty tidbit while keeping a watchful eye for my outdoor cats. I count the hours as the sun makes its path outside my kitchen window from darkest dawn to midday and beyond.

I put on and take off the garment of grief many times each day.

I regret springs spent doing anything other than reveling in the beautiful life of my beautiful children. I wish I had understood then what I understand now: Life is short, no matter how long it lasts.

Then a lovely memory pops into my mind and I know I did the best I could with what I knew at the time. We DID spend days playing and laughing and learning together.



It’s a battle, this remembering.

I don’t always have time to indulge my heart.

But for this season, this day, I’m giving myself permission.

Ambushed by Grief

So today I kissed a piece of paper Dominic wrote around 2003 or 2004. It was sacred to touch what he once touched.

I kept repeating, “I love you. I love you.”

It isn’t much but it’s all I have left.



I was tidying up some things I’ve been lazy about in anticipation of my dad’s second knee replacement surgery next week. There was a pile of cards and miscellaneous papers that my cats had knocked down from what I thought was a safe perch.

I gathered them up, looking, as always, for any hint of Dominic’s distinctive handwriting.

And there it was. His goals for some forgotten year when I had made the children write them down.

It was SO him. They were complete with illustrations.



I know folks want to hear the triumphant victory of faith over grief. And some days that is my testimony.

Some days I am able to lean in, take hold of hope and declare the goodness of God.

But some days-or some moments– my mama heart cries out for the physical presence of the child I carried, the child I fed at my breast and the child I nurtured until he grew into a man.

There’s no cure for that.

You just have to let the sadness and longing wash over you. The tears must fall.

I’m sure tomorrow will be a better day.

Today I’m just waiting for night to fall and sleep to come. ❤

I’ll Never Forget: Auld Lang Syne

We don’t know what tomorrow will bring.  We plot and plan and hope and dream but in the end we have very little control over how our story ultimately plays out.

So we are left each New Year’s Eve with some good memories, some not so good ones and some we cling to like gold from a treasure chest because they are all we have.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot and days of auld lang syne?

Never. 

Read the rest here: New Year’s Eve and Auld Lang Syne

Won’t Pretend: Ain’t Nothing Easy About Death

I wrote this post four years ago after my mother joined Dominic in Heaven. Her passing reminded me once again (as if my heart needed reminding!) that there ain’t nothing easy about death.

Four years later and I’m no more willing to pretend it’s anything but awful even as I’m resigned to admit there’s nothing I can do about it.

I miss you both so very much.

❤

I remember the moment I realized I was going to have to summarize my son’s life into a few, relatively short paragraphs to be read by friends, family and strangers.

It seemed impossible.

But as the designated author of our family I had to do it so I did.

Today I wrote my mama’s obituary and though her death was not as surprising as Dominic’s it was just as hard to swallow.

Read the rest here: Ain’t Nothing Easy About Death

Bereaved Parents Month 2023: Surviving Grief Anniversaries

I know I’m not the only one who carries a calendar in my head that threatens to explode like a ticking timebomb.  Days that mean nothing to anyone else loom large as they approach.

The date of his death.

The date of his funeral.

His birthday.

My birthday.

The day he should have graduated from law school.

On and on and on.

How can I survive these oppressive reminders of what I thought my life would look like? How can I grab hold of something, anything that will keep my heart and mind from falling down the rabbit hole of grief into a topsy-turvy land where nothing makes sense and it’s full of unfriendly creatures that threaten to gobble me whole?

Read the rest here: Surviving Grief Anniversaries

Still At a Loss for Words…

Today is Dominic’s birthday. He would have been thirty-three if he lived.

I find as the years roll by it becomes increasingly difficult to “age” the person I last saw into the person he might have become. Oh, I can guess-but that’s hardly worth doing since we all know life rarely follows a straight path.

And that’s what defies language and steals my breath. On milestone days especially, I’m not only mourning what I have lost but also what I will never know.

❤

It would surprise my mama most of all that on this day I’m at a loss for words.

I regularly embarrassed her with my non-stop commentary as a child. I told stories about what I heard and saw (and what my young mind THOUGHT it heard or saw) to anyone who would listen.

But I realize now there are moments too sacred, wounds too deep, experiences too precious for words.

Either you are there and share it-or you’re not-and can’t imagine.

This is one of those times.

Dominic would be thirty-three years old today if he had lived.

Read the rest here: At A Loss For Words: Another Birthday Without You

I Am Changed For Life

I wrote this six years ago but it still speaks my heart.❤

Melanie

I will not get used to the fact that my son is beyond my reach.  I have come to a certain acceptance of it as fact, and acknowledgement of the truth that I cannot change that fact.

The pain hasn’t become less painful, only more familiar.  It doesn’t surprise me as often when it pricks my heart anew.

The world goes on.

Read the rest here: True Truth

Anyone Have Birthday Ideas?

It will be Dominic’s thirty-third birthday in a few days and even though this is the tenth (!) one I’ve had to mark without his earthly companionship, I’m no better at it.

I just do not know HOW I’m supposed to honor and celebrate him today when I really can’t imagine who he would be or what new interests he might have picked up along the way.

I do know I miss him like crazy.

And while this aging mama often has to start with her oldest to figure everyone’s current age, it doesn’t hurt any less when I skip count past Dom to my youngest son who many years ago surpassed him in earthly years.

I hate that.

❤ Melanie

Some folks are great at it.

They find a tagline or a cause or even a certain color and it becomes shorthand for remembering and honoring their missing child.

Me, not so much.

Dominic wasn’t the kind of person you could sum up in a few words or a certain favorite anything.

Read the rest here: Birthday Ideas? Anyone?