grief education – thelifeididntchoose

Child Loss and Holidays 2026: Practical Ways to Remember Our Children at Thanksgiving and Christmas

It’s not like we forget, is it?

And it may be that other folks remember too.

But it can feel oh, so lonely amidst the lights and the laughter when the one name you want most to be spoken aloud just isn’t.

So what are some practical ways to include our missing child in holiday celebrations?

I, and three other bereaved moms, together with Our Hearts are Home, shared thoughts and ideas on how to remember -in a tangible, physical way-our child during the holidays.

Two common themes tie them all together: (1)represent your child in a meaningful way that is authentic to who they are; and (2) help lead others into the knowledge that it is not only OK to talk about your child but downright joyful to hear it (even if it makes you cry).

Not every idea will suit every family but there is probably one (or more!) that you might find suit yours.

So here they are.

THANKSGIVING

Light a candle (real or battery powered) and put it in a prominent place or as part of a centerpiece. You can attach a lovely tag or put a picture next to it or somehow otherwise indicate that it is in honor of your child.
Memory candles of all sorts are available to order and ideas for making them are easily found online. They often have names and (if you want them) dates etched directly onto the candle or on a container designed to hold a candle.
Photographs are always wonderful. Some families set a place for their missing child or have a separate chair set aside to note their absence. Pictures can be placed on the table, on a side table next to a child’s favorite dish or in some other spot. It’s a Jewish tradition to include photos of all close family members gone before during Sukkot (a biblical holiday many feel is the precursor to our Thanksgiving) as a way to remember and honor ongoing ties and love
Cook your child’s favorite dish and put a note next to it that says so. Perhaps bring copies of the recipe or, if something that lends itself to this, prepare take home boxes with a serving or two for family members to relish and remember later. Mention to others sharing the meal that this is your child’s favorite and why. It’s a great way to encourage natural conversation.
Share why you are thankful for your missing child. This can be done in the context of offering thanks for other family members who have joined you and for those who are no longer present if you feel awkward or expect pushback from family members.
Provide a ceramic plate with your child’s name in the center and acrylic paint markers. Have family and friends write one word that they think of when they think of your child. Directions for curing the paint and making it permanent can be found online.
Donate a holiday meal in their honor through a local food bank or charity.
Watch a favorite movie or show and share memories of why it’s a favorite.
Create a memory table by asking guests to bring something that reminds them of your child. During your time together, ask the guest to share why they chose that item.
Create a Thanksgiving memory journal. Ask others to write a memory in it. You can add to it each year.
Do an act of kindness in their honor.
Share stories. One of the things I’ve learned is that if I don’t bring Dominic up and “give permission” to others, they often won’t either. Share about your child in Heaven just as you would one that is here on earth. Every family has a story about that “one Thanksgiving, so and so did…” .
Provide a family photo album of Thanksgivings past. These will naturally spark conversation about memories, about the lives and love of those no longer present and give bereaved parents a great opening to speak about their child.
Leave an empty chair or place setting.
Participate in a Thanksgiving walk or run in their honor. There are lots of 5Ks around this time of year and almost anyone can participate. Get a group, dress up honoring your child and (turkey) trot on!
You might just want to visit their grave or a special place that is meaningful to you.
Send thank you notes to those who were special to them or played a part in their lives. The first Thanksgiving after Dominic left for Heaven, I wrote notes to everyone I could think of who had shown up or helped our family in some way during those early days.

CHRISTMAS

Hang ornaments that represent your child. Some parents do a separate tree for their missing child (and some keep it up all year).
Hang your child’s stocking along with the others. You can write letters to your child and encourage other family members to add their own. You can ask family members to fill the stocking with gift cards that can be donated in your child’s name to a charity that represents his or her heart.
Volunteer to serve at one of the many organizations that need extra help this time of year.
Listen to favorite songs. It’s easy to make an entire dedicated playlist of songs that remind you of your child or are your child’s favorites.
Buy a gift they’d like and give it away. Many parents purchase gifts for a child who would be the same age as their child this year. You can get names from your local DHR or from churches or other organizations.
One family who draws names for Christmas asked family members to purchase a present that began with their daughter in Heaven’s first initial.
Adopt a family and provide Christmas for them in your child’s honor.
Make a memory chain for the tree. One mom said her daughter had family and friends write a memory on the strips and then put them together in a chain. It could be lengthened each year.
Purchase a poinsettia at church remembering your child.
Give an item that belonged to them to someone who would treasure it. This one can be hard because it’s difficult to release those physical objects our child last touched. But if/when you are ready, it can be a truly beautiful and special act of remembrance.
Make cookies for caregivers or others who helped during a prolonged illness or hospital stay. Make cookies for first responders in your own community.
Memory table runners are easy to purchase or make. Have guests write a favorite memory using permanent markers.
Make a story book of their life and display it where others can see it and enjoy it.
Make or purchase an ornament with their handwriting imprinted to give to family. Because Dominic left for Heaven when my other children were also leaving home, I have made or bought ornaments every year that represent our family and include names. Dominic’s is always included.
(Of course, you could do most of the things listed for Thanksgiving as well.)

I’ve written a lot about surviving the holidays after child loss and will be sharing many of those posts in the coming weeks.

But there are a few thoughts I want to leave you with that I pray provide some hope for any heart dreading the next seven weeks.

Soon after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven I realized all the trappings I associated with Thanksgiving and Christmas were not essential to the primary ideas embodied in both holidays.

Thanksgiving is about setting aside time to express gratitude to God for what He has done, is doing and will continue to do.

I can still manage that.

Christmas is a celebration of the Light coming into a dark world.

This broken heart can definitely get behind that any day.

So, in the end, if your heart cannot bear the thought of one more holly jolly song, one more hap-hap-happy get together, one more frenzied rush to the store for a forgotten present or pantry item—just choose to sit this one out.

It’s OK. I promise.

Here’s a link to the webinar: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=70hNdxY9hWE

And here are links to a few downloadable resources:

Surviving the Holidays: Navigating Christmas With a Broken Heart (https://www.heartacheandhope.org/_files/ugd/fc3456_3f2dbf5095c847a5ac340996c3fbdac1.pdf)

Grief and Holidays: What the Bereaved Need From Family and Friends (https://www.heartacheandhope.org/_files/ugd/fc3456_0100d55e210d4ffa8cffa6f113eef48a.pdf)

Season of Joy: Blessing the Brokenhearted During the Holidays (https://www.heartacheandhope.org/_files/ugd/fc3456_f497651fd49c48c3ae86ba202e9f8ead.pdf)

Remembering Our Children During the Holidays: Practical Ideas (https://www.heartacheandhope.org/_files/ugd/fc3456_672b3487e6214ba7adb6ad6c895bd108.pdf)

International Infant and Pregnancy Loss Awareness Day 2026

As a young wife I suffered pregnancy loss but it was not until my granddaughter, Holly, was born last December, that my life included infant loss.

Having to say “good-bye” to a child before you’ve even had a chance to make memories (or made very few memories) is a special kind of heartache.

All that hope held in the promise of a budding life simply disappears in a torrent of tears.

Today we honor both the brave parents who endure and the precious souls who went to Heaven so very early.

It happens in all kinds of ways.

For one reason or another, the tiny life budding in a belly never gets to see the light of day. Never takes a first breath. Never cries. Never opens his or her eyes to the mama waiting to meet her precious one.

So many mamas have experienced the excitement of watching the pregnancy test show positive only to endure days, weeks or months later, the sadness of saying good-bye to a little one they never got to meet.

Statistics tell us that one in four women will become part of this group during their lifetime.

But what statistics can never tell you about anything is why so, so many of the women who survive pregnancy and infant loss don’t talk about it.

Many think they can’t talk about it or shouldn’t talk about it because often the experience is so very personal.

It may be the pregnancy was never announced. It could be that the culture in which a mama lives doesn’t recognize life at conception so, really, what was lost? Perhaps many women in her family have had similar experiences and THEY didn’t “make a big deal” out of it, so why should she?

Then there’s guilt.

So, so much information is shoved into mothers’ faces about what they should and shouldn’t do to promote a healthy pregnancy and birth. Eat this, don’t eat that. Take this, don’t take that. Exercise-but not too strenuously. Drink water. Don’t drink alcohol or too much caffeine.

It’s easy to blame yourself when a baby stops growing.

Some brave mamas carry a baby for months and to the point of birth-see that precious bundle on an ultrasound, hear the heartbeat, watch and feel those legs kick-yet never hear a cry or hold a warm infant in their arms.

That’s a kind of awful no heart should have to bear.

And yet, that loss too is often unacknowledged.

How do you celebrate a life that was lived only inside the comfort and safety of the womb? How do you share a photo of your precious baby when the only one you have (if you have any) is of him wrapped in a blanket, eyes closed, your eyes crying?

If a second pregnancy follows any kind of pregnancy or infant loss, friends and family almost always pounce on the opportunity to push a mama’s heart forward fast and furious to the future of her “rainbow child” making it even less likely her missing baby is acknowledged or remembered.

But she never forgets.

A mama’s heart never lets go of the life that lived inside her.

That tiny baby-one week, one month, full term-is her son or daughter.

Counted among the others.

Just as precious.

Always.

I’m remembering with you, my sweet friends. Tonight I will light a candle along with millions who also remember, to honor the baby I never held. May the multiplied voices and hearts joined together help others hear the message that our child matters.

Every child matters.❤ Melanie

Hello. Again.

My first post in this space was September 16, 2015. A lot has happened since then.

My twenty-three year old son, Dominic, ran ahead to Heaven in a single vehicle motorcycle accident April 12, 2014. It shattered my world and my worldview. Longing for a voice who would tell the WHOLE, unedited story of loss and faith, I felt compelled to begin sharing my own journey. I committed then to being as transparent as possible and I think I’ve been faithful to that promise.

The intervening years have had many challenges. More than four thousand posts tell the tale.

If you’ve been here for the past year or so, you know my father had a devastating stroke at almost ninety years old LAST September. In addition to changing my availability for ministry (as I was caring for him), it means that half my time is spent where there is little internet service and almost no cell phone service so writing and posting are really difficult and require a great deal of forethought and planning.

Then in January, my precious granddaughter, Holly, went to Jesus after a brief two weeks here on earth. It has been a hard journey for all of us but especially for my son and his wife and family.

I have tried, tried, tried to send out hope and light across the Internet and around the world even when my own heart was hanging on by a thread.

Over the years I’ve taken a few short breaks and, without really planning it, I took another one for most of the month of September.

I have Rheumatoid Arthritis and my hands and wrists have made typing difficult so my computer has sat unattended for some weeks while waiting for new medicine to provide relief. Things are just beginning to feel better, so here I am again.

This many years into the journey I have a different perspective than when I began. And I know there are many, other, more popular ways to share insights than what seems now an old-fashioned blog, but this is the format with which I am most familiar and comfortable so I intend to keep showing up.

Some of you are familiar with my ministry, Heartache and Hope (heartacheandhope.org), which I formed a couple years ago. I am praying that next year (2027) I will be able to do some retreats again, perhaps a monthly zoom meeting online and make more devotional and teaching materials available online. Stay tuned (as they used to say!) for updates.

If you’ve read this far, may I ask for your support and prayer?

Please comment and let me know what challenges you are facing in your child loss journey.
Tell me what posts have spoken to you and why.
Allow me to pray for you by sharing your own prayer requests.

Thank you for every heart who has joined me here over the years.

May the Lord meet you where you are in ways that surprise and delight you and may you feel loved, held and comforted.

❤ Melanie

Bereaved Parents Month 2026: Given a Chance, Life Grows Around Grief

When days become months and months become years it’s hard to explain to others how grief is both always present but not always in focus.

I’ve struggled to help those outside the loss community understand that the absolute weight of the burden is precisely the same as when it fell on me without warning that dark morning.

Dominic’s absence, if anything, has seeped into more places, changed more relationships and influences more choices than it did eleven years ago when I was only just beginning to comprehend what a world without him would look like.

But I, and my family, have continued to live.

We’ve added family members through marriage and birth. We’ve gone places, made memories and made career moves. We’ve gotten older. My husband retired. Children moved away.

All these things and more mean that life is simply bigger than it was when Dom left us.

I really like this graphic that puts this in perspective.

It’s a slow, gradual process. And for some hearts who are forced to endure multiple losses in a short time the circle may never get very large because the grief is so great.

I remember when I realized that sorrow was not ALL I felt nor Dominic’s absence ALL I saw. It was a bit frightening to be honest.

Did that mean my love for him was waning or that his importance in our family was forgotten? Was I a bad mother because I no longer cried every day for the child not here? Had my heart grown cold?

But then I realized none of those things were true. What allowed me to feel joy again, to participate fully in family outings or gatherings, to plan holidays and birthdays once more was instead that my heart had found a way to hold both sorrow and gladness at the same time.

There are still days when grief looms large and my world seems too small to contain it. But those don’t come as often as they once did.

Life will march on, regardless of how hard we might wish it wouldn’t.

And, in large measure, life after loss is what we choose to make of it.

I’m not abandoning Dom by embracing my life now.

In fact, I’m sure he’d approve.

Bereaved Parents Month 2026: Taking Care of Broken Hearts

Sometimes I’m envious of folks hobbling along in those plastic boots designed to support an injured leg or ankle and aid healing.

Not because of the injury–I’m thankful I’ve never broken a bone-but because it’s an outward warning to anyone who might otherwise be impatient or insensitive that they just can’t go any faster.

I think there ought to be a t-shirt, pin or banner that gives the same kind of warning for those of us walking around with broken hearts and broken lives.

But there isn’t.

Except for the first shell-shocked days immediately following Dominic’s death, I look pretty much the same as I always have.

Most of us do.

If you lined up a hundred parents and scattered ten in the group who had suffered child loss, very few people would be able to single them out.

The giant heart wound we bear is barely noticeable to the uninitiated.

Yet even years later, we need extra support, extra care, extra grace to help us continue to heal.

There’s no plastic boot to fit around a broken heart. But there are things friends and family can do to create safe spaces that protect it.

Remember my heart is tender and easily bruised.
Speak about my child in Heaven. When I hear his name it is music to my ears.
Allow me to graciously bow out of activities or gatherings that are noisy, busy or filled with people I don’t know.
Don’t change the subject when I become emotional because you are uncomfortable-acknowledge my pain as a perfectly acceptable response to an unfathomable loss or just hug me.
Help me carry the light and life of my missing child by sharing memories, photographs or mementos. It’s a great gift to know that my child is spoken about, remembered and loved by others.
Recognize that while I am stronger, the absolute weight of my burden isn’t lighter. On some days it’s heavier than others so don’t be surprised by tears that seem out of place or out of time.
Remember important dates like my child’s birthday or memorial service day or even when he or she would have graduated high school or college if denied that opportunity. My heart mark all those silent grief anniversaries even when no one else recognizes them. It can be awfully lonely. Compassionate companionship expressed in a note, text or call helps so very much.
Please don’t give up on me! There may be seasons when i isolate in an effort to protect my heart. I know it’s hard to continue to reach out to someone who won’t reach back, but sometimes I just don’t have the strength to do it even when the distance is short. Try again in a little while.

If you know someone whose child has run ahead to Heaven, don’t ignore the wound.

Reach out.

Don’t insist that they walk as fast or as unencumbered as you might.

Be willing to slow down and walk with them awhile.

Bereaved Parents Month 2026: Ten Ways to Cope During Hard Seasons

My hardest grief season begins in November and runs to the end of May. Thanksgiving through Dominic’s birthday on (or near) Memorial Day are days full of triggers, memories and stark reminders that one of us is missing.

If I could fall asleep November first and wake up in June I’d do it.

But I can’t so I have to employ all the tricks I’ve learned in the over twelve years since Dominic ran ahead to heaven to survive those particularly challenging months.

Here are ten ways I survive hard grief days:

1. I make lists of things to do. I’ve found that if I don’t make a plan for each day it’s far too easy to just lie around and feel sorry for myself. I use index cards but whatever works for you is fine. I list household chores, phone calls to make or notes to write, exercise, errands or whatever. And then I consider them non-negotiable. These are my marching orders and after my morning coffee I start down the list.

2. I do something creative. I crochet or arrange flowers or sew a little. Taking just five or ten minutes to make something beautiful changes my perspective. I have a can opener that takes the lids off without sharp edges and I make magnets for friends and family members or just to have on hand for a little gift.

3. I take a walk. I am thankful I can go outside on my own property and enjoy fresh air and country sunshine. I know not everyone has that option. But even a walk inside your office building or up and down a couple flights of stairs gets the blood pumping and releases endorphins. If I can’t walk, then I at least change my physical position-from sitting to standing, from standing to moving. Body position impacts my emotions.

4. I find something to make me smile. There is scientific evidence to back our common sense experience that smiling lightens our mood and helps our hearts. I read jokes or check out some of my Facebook friends that tend to post funny memes or stories. Sometimes I just “practice” a smile and even that can send feel-good hormones surging through my system.

paco face (2) — “Don’t try to win over the haters, you are not a jackass whisperer.” ~ Brene Brown

5. I call or text a friend. Sometimes I just need to know that someone else is aware of my hard day. No one can undo my grief but when I feel there is a witness, it lightens the load somehow.

6. I stay off Facebook and other social media platforms. I love that I’m able to keep in touch with friends and family via social media. But it can be full of drama and negativity as well. So if I’m having a tough day, I remove the potential for it to be made harder due to random comments, posts or photographs.

7. I pet my cats. I have always been an animal lover. But I truly do not know how I could have survived these past four years without the companionship of my cats and other furry friends. Study after study confirms that being in the presence of pets lowers blood pressure and calms nerves.

8. I go with my feelings. There is no rule book that says I have to be tough and hide my tears. If I’m having a hard grief day it is perfectly acceptable to let the sorrow wash over me and let the tears fall. Sometimes fighting the feelings only prolongs my pain. Often a good cry is cleansing and I am much better afterwards.

sometimes you can hurt yourself more by keeping feelings hidden

9. I journal. There are things I need to “say” that are better kept between me, God and my notebook. I have kept a journal for nearly three decades. Many times just writing out my feelings, my fears, my thoughts and my frustrations is enough to take the sting out. There’s something about not keeping it all bottled up inside-even if no other soul reads it-that acts as a catharsis.

10. I copy encouraging quotes or Scripture and hang them prominent places throughout the house. I have notes tacked to my bed post, on my bathroom mirror, taped to the cabinet next to my stove, stuck on the fridge, slid into my wallet in my purse-absolutely everywhere. Because when my heart is hanging on by a thread, the smallest bit of encouragement is often enough to help me hold onto hope.

None of these things undo my grief in the most basic sense.

Dominic is gone, gone, gone and I will not see him or hear his voice until we are reunited in the Presence of our Savior.

But they DO help.

One of the most devastating aspects of child loss is the overwhelming sense that NOTHING makes sense anymore and that I have absolutely NO control.

Choosing helpful habits and actions gives me a way to regain dominion over a tiny corner of my world.

And that little bit of action strengthens my spirit and helps my heart hold on.

remember to take care of yourself you cant pour from an empty cup

Bereaved Parents Month 2026: Coping With The Calendar

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?

Every family,

every child that has run ahead and

every situation is unique.

What works for one person (even in the same family) won’t necessarily work for another. But there are some ways to make these days a little easier.

Here’s a list of what has helped my heart and the hearts of others walking this journey. Take what may help and toss the rest:

Invite friends and family to a special celebration featuring foods and/or activities that honor your missing child. On the first anniversary of Dominic’s homegoing, his friends brought lunch and they shared stories and memories with me-many of which I hadn’t heard since he was living away from home when he left us. I didn’t do a lot of talking, but just listening was a beautiful way to pass that day.
Ask folks to do a “random act of kindness” in your child’s name. Some parents have printed out cards (like photo Christmas cards) and distributed them with a picture and brief information about their child and a way to post the RAK online (Facebook, Instagram, etc.)
If you have a charitable organization or scholarship or other project that bears your child’s name, remind people of it and request donations (if appropriate). Many times friends and family long to do something tangible to show they have not forgotten either.
For birthdays and holidays, purchase a cake (at a local bakery) or toys/gifts for a child the same age as your own. I went a couple of days before Dominic’s birthday and paid for a cake ordered for a little girl’s first birthday. I left a note that said, “Children are a blessing from the Lord. Enjoy your sweet blessing. In honor of my son, Dominic. Love, His Mama.”
Some people launch lanterns at the cemetery or another meaningful place. Check with local regulations before you do this-you don’t want the occasion marred by a confrontation. There are environmentally friendly lanterns available online for those concerned about that. (This is why I don’t recommend letting balloons go.)
Gather gift cards to give to a local Ronald McDonald House or other charitable group that provides support for families of pediatric patients. I know one family that did this for a group that had ministered to them during their son’s illness. The response was overwhelming and it touched them as well as all the families that benefitted from the gift cards.
Create a quiet memorial space in your own yard honoring your child. There are lots of ideas online to get you started. Some parents plant a tree while others use smaller plants and stones along with a bench and special items that remind them of their missing child.
Some grieving parents spend the day at home, under the covers and waiting for it to pass.

Most importantly, no matter what you do or don’t do, be prepared to give yourself grace whatever the day holds.

Don’t do what you don’t feel like you can do-even if you made plans ahead of time.

Do whatever helps your heart.

Hug anyone who chooses to come alongside and bear witness to this awful anniversary.

And hold tight to the fact that even the worst day only lasts 24 hours.

Bereaved Parents Month 2026: Finding Courage to Share Our Stories

You know what breaks my heart all over again?

The fact that so many bereaved parents tell me they don’t feel they can share their experience on their own FaceBook or other social media pages.

That’s just SO SAD!

They have been shushed to silent suffering because when they break open the vault of emotions and let others see what’s inside, many people turn away-or worse, they condemn that wounded heart for sharing.

I grew up in the Deep South where ladies were supposed to keep silent about anything “unmentionable”.

Problem is, that included many things that SHOULD be spoken aloud.

Because a conspiracy of silence forces those who are suffering to hide. It creates huge gaps between what goes on behind closed doors and public image.

And it causes those who are wounded to question the authenticity of their own experience.

In recent years we have dragged many topics into the light. We’ve made space in the public square for discussion of things we used to pretend didn’t exist.

But life after child loss is still a hushed topic.

The long road to healing after burying a child is rarely acknowledged outside the community of bereaved parents.

The FACT that as long as I live, my son’s absence will be a shadow trailing me, the burden of sorrow will slow my steps, the heartache of missing will shape my world is glossed over and set aside.

I understand why.

It is scary to speak aloud what you hope will never happen to you. It’s unbelievably frightening to admit that we really have no control over whether, or when, we or the ones we love might leave this world.

But I am not going to keep silent.

Not because I want pity or special treatment, but because I want that parent who just buried his or her child to know that you. are. not. alone.

I want you to know that what you are experiencing is not unusual.

I want you to understand that the horrible pain you feel is absolutely normal.

And I want you to be assured that you are NOT Crazy!

I will tell my story because even though it is hard, it matters. And even though it hurts, it can help heal another. And even though it isn’t finished, it can blaze a trail for others to follow.

Join me, be BRAVE, tell yours.

Courage is a heart word. The root of the word courage is cor – the Latin word for heart. In one of its earliest forms, the word courage meant “To speak one’s mind by telling all one’s heart.” Over time, this definition has changed, and today, we typically associate courage with heroic and brave deeds. But in my opinion, this definition fails to recognize the inner strength and level of commitment required for us to actually speak honestly and openly about who we are and about our experiences — good and bad.

~Brene Brown

Bereaved Parents Month 2026: The Soundtrack of Loss

Another bereaved mom wrote that she was better able to cope now than she had been a year ago.

And thanks to Facebook memories she had proof.

Several comments down a second mom wrote something that got me thinking-when, exactly, did Dominic’s loss move from the forefront to the background?

I’m not sure I can pinpoint a day or moment when I realized that sorrow was no longer ALL I feel and Dominic’s absence no longer ALL I see.

I remember when more experienced loss moms posted and talked about grief being gentler and quieter I thought that they were out of their minds.

How in the world would this breath-robbing, heart-stopping, crippling pain ever be anything close to “gentle”?

How could the pulsating, blasting, all-consuming noise of loss become softer?

In the first days, months and even years, everything about loss was so loud it was all I could hear.

Rock concert, standing-next-to-the-giant-speakers-loud.

So loud it shook my body and made me want to cover my ears. There was no way to block the sound, no silent corner where I could retreat and hide. Just relentless pounding noise and pain.

But little by little, in imperceptible increments the volume decreased.

Now, missing Dominic is the background music to everything. A quiet tune I hum in my head that keeps me company all day and invades my dreams at night.

If I take a moment and pay attention or when other things quiet down, it moves again to the forefront.

My head and heart are never free of the music Dominic brings to my life. He is the soundtrack to my days, the lullaby as I fall asleep.

No longer an ear-piercing scream demanding attention, grief is now mostly a quiet song in a minor key.

Never silent.

Always playing.

Bereaved Parents Month 2026: I Don’t Want to Remember My Son

I don’t want to remember my son.

I want to make memories with him.

I want him to watch me grow old, to watch him get married and have children and to hear his voice mingled with his siblings at my table.

I’ve tried dozens of times to write a post that describes the abyss that divides the life I thought I would live and what it’s turned out to be.

I can’t do it.

A twenty-three year old isn’t planning his legacy. A mom of a twenty-three year old isn’t carefully preserving daily moments in the event he suddenly disappears.

Whatever legacy Dominic has left behind is a function of his huge personality rather than careful planning. And all I have left of his life are bits and pieces I’m trying to string together so he’s not forgotten.

I was not prepared to wake up one morning and learn that his earthly story ended.

I didn’t get to say good-bye, didn’t get to look him in the eye and tell him how very much I love him, didn’t even get to hold his hand as he left this life and entered Heaven.

I know he is just fine. He’s full of joy and perfectly content.

But I’m not.

I don’t want Dominic to be a memory.

I want him to be here.

THANKSGIVING

CHRISTMAS

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