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.
Read the rest here: Let Me Know You Remember
Tomorrow I will be sixty-two years old.
When I celebrated my fiftieth, I had so many dreams and plans! I couldn’t have imagined that the next ten years would be filled with the heartache of child loss, along with all the hope and joy of an expanding family.
But here I am.
Definitely older and, I would like to think, a little wiser.
Wiser to the truth that no one escapes pain in this life. Wiser to the fact that joy and sorrow can coexist. Wise enough to know by experience that sometimes the very best thing you can do is shut your mouth and open your arms to a hurting heart. Wise enough to realize that birthdays for bereaved parents are often complicated.
I wrote this post several years ago but share it annually because unless you’ve sent a child ahead to Heaven, you might not realize how very tricky birthdays can be for the parents left behind.
❤ Melanie
Tomorrow is my birthday.
And while I am truly grateful for another trip around the sun, since Dominic left us it’s not a simple celebration of life lived and the hope of years to come.
The last birthday I had with an unbroken family circle was a lovely surprise party for my fiftieth held in Dom’s apartment.
Eleven years later and it seems a lifetime ago.
Read the rest here: Birthdays Are…Complicated
I wrote this post six 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.
Six 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.
Melanie
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.
Read the rest here: Ain’t Nothing Easy About Death
I cling fast to words that speak aloud what I’ve only thought.
I collect sentences that eloquently express what I can only feel.
I pull them out on days when my head and heart are doing battle and I can’t find any middle ground.
Reading reminds me I’m not the first soul to travel this way.
Others have been here before and left breadcrumbs.
A friend said, “Remember, he’s in good hands.” I was deeply moved. But that reality does not put Eric back in my hands now. That’s my grief. For that grief, what consolation can there be other than having him back?
Nicholas Wolterstorff, Lament for a Son
The promise that I will one day see Dominic again makes the pain bearable. But it does nothing to treat the essential wound. He is not here and I will miss him, miss him, miss him until I draw my last breath.
The worst type of crying wasn’t the kind everyone could see–the wailing on street corners, the tearing at clothes. No, the worst kind happened when your soul wept and no matter what you did, there was no way to comfort it. A section withered and became a scar on the part of your soul that survived. For people like me and Echo, our souls contained more scar tissue than life.”
― Katie McGarry, Pushing the Limits
I never knew a person could cry every day for months. Not just a tiny overflow that falls sweetly down a cheek but gigantic gut-wrenching, ear-shattering sobs. That was what I hid from everyone-the pillow-over-my-mouth-to-muffle it-crying in my room in the dark.
Maybe we all do.
Maybe that’s why those untouched by child loss don’t really know how much it hurts and for how long.
grief is a house
where the chairs
have forgotten how to hold us
the mirrors how to reflect us
the walls how to contain us
grief is a house that disappears
each time someone knocks at the door
or rings the bell
a house that blows into the air
at the slightest gust
that buries itself deep in the ground
while everyone is sleeping
grief is a house where no one can protect you
where the younger sister
will grow older than the older one
where the doors
no longer let you in
or outJandy Nelson, The Sky is Everywhere
When Dominic ran ahead to Heaven, he was living on his own. He’d been out of the house for a couple of years.
So I was utterly unprepared to find his earthly absence echoed in the house from which he had already been absent. Everything changed, everything was slightly askew.
And it is “a house where the younger [brother] will grow older than the older one”.
For in grief nothing “stays put.” One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?
But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?
How often — will it be for always? — how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, “I never realized my loss till this moment”? The same leg is cut off time after time.C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
I remember being surprised the first time I circled back around in my grief and revisited places in my heart I thought I had subdued and conquered.
But that’s how it is.
Grief has so many layers that I honestly don’t believe we could survive it at all if forced to peel them back all at once. So I’ve resigned myself to the fact I will come back to many of the same sore spots over and over.
I do feel like I’m spiraling upward. Each time I circle around, I’m better equipped to face the fear or guilt or sorrow or despair.
The phases recur, but I’ve grown in the meantime.
I’m stronger.
I’m wiser.
I’m more resilient.
And I’m still here.
If you think that time makes a difference to a mama missing a child who ran ahead to Heaven without her, you don’t know as much as you think you know.
Time does not heal all wounds-especially the kind that shatter a heart into a million pieces.
It takes time for the wound to scar over, but it doesn’t undo the damage.
So if you are wondering why your coworker still takes the day off on his child’s birthday or the anniversary of her child’s homegoing, I’ll let you in on a little secret: Years disappear when those milestones loom large.
Read the rest here: It’s Been Years-What’s Wrong With You?
When I find words for my feelings it helps.
So I collect quotes, copying them down in my journal and sometimes hanging them where I can see them throughout the day.
Here are a few that speak to my heart. I hope they speak to yours.
I wish there WERE a secret to surviving this journey. But there isn’t. There is just one moment, one breath, one step at a time. I do the best I can each day.
Over time I’ve grown stronger and better able to carry the load. Over time I’ve learned how to shift my focus from my son’s death to his life.
Death ends so many things.
But it does not end the influence of my son’s life on my heart and it can’t steal the moments I shared with him.
As long as I hum the tune of his unique song I can still hear him.
Before I was the one in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I didn’t realize it’s a lifelong journey. I acknowledged that loss changed a person but I didn’t know that it keeps changing you. Grief influences how I experience the present not just how I view the past.
When Dominic ran ahead to Heaven it instantly changed the landscape of my life. The future I thought I’d have was shattered and I was thrust into unfamiliar and often frightening territory with no road map. It has taken a long time to learn how to walk in this uncertain world and I still stumble.
There are no set standards for how or how long a heart grieves. Everyone brings his or her own personality and experience to the process.
It’s tempting to look for a structured guide to measure my progress.
Others can share how they are walking this road but ultimately I have to forge my own trail through the wilderness.
This is one of my very favorite quotes. Great love, great grief. How could it be any different?
When a child is born into a family, no one finds it strange that the addition changes everything. When that child leaves too soon they shouldn’t find it strange that it changes everything once again.
I didn’t just lose my son, I lost the family I used to have.
The place he should be but isn’t looms large every time we sit at the table, gather for celebrations or just line up for a group photo.
Part of the work grief requires is learning to hold onto the love and influence my son poured into my own life. I have had to redefine my relationship with Dominic-figuring out how I to mother a child I can no longer see or hold.
There’s a lot of pressure on grieving hearts to “get better” based on the medical model of illness, treatment, recovery. But grief is not a disease. It truly is the price you pay for love. I have experienced healing in the eleven years since Dominic left for Heaven but I won’t be fully healed until I join him in eternity.
Every single child is a unique gift to the world.
When death steals their presence, the light and love they shared with others lives on.
As long as we remember, as long as we speak their names, they continue to be a gift to those who love them .
Most of the time I’m just kind of rolling along.
There are things to do, places to go, people to see, animals to feed.
I get up, get going and get on with it.
But there are some days that are what I call “Hard Stops” on this journey. They are the days that force my heart to take special notice of the fact that Dominic isn’t here.
Sometimes they are milestone days like birthdays or holidays or the anniversary of that awful knock on the door.
Sometimes they are events where he should be there-like seeing his brother one more time before he deploys half-way around the world.
These days make my heart measure the time since I last hugged his neck, heard his voice, saw his strong, square hands reach across the table for the salt shaker-and I am overcome with how long it has been!
Then my heart shifts to the months and likely years I will have to live with this aching empty place where he should be but isn’t and I fear I just can’t do it!
Many days I’m able to distract myself from the sorrow and to live with the missing.
But these “hard stop” days force me to face it head on. and it is overwhelming.
Every. Time.
So what do I do?
When my heart is overwhelmed, I take it to the Rock that is higher than I.
I run to the Refuge of my Faithful Father.
I turn my eyes to my Savior Who will redeem and restore.
I put my hand firmly in the hand of my Shepherd Who will not leave me in this Valley of the Shadow of Death.
And I pray for myself-and every heart having a hard time holding onto hope today-that we will feel the Father’s loving arms around us and that He will give us strength to stand.
Another shooting.
Another tragedy.
Lives lost, families ripped apart, lives changed forever.
The quote that reverberates in my head is from the dad of one of the shooting victims, “We want people to remember who he was, not how he died.”
The cry of every bereaved parent’s heart.
No matter how our children leave for Heaven, what we want most is for folks to remember the light they were when they were here, impacting others, laughing, living and making a difference.
Dominic left in a tragic, could-have-been-avoided single vehicle motorcycle accident. I’m sure there are people who judge him, who judge me, who think that if it had been THEIR child, they wouldn’t have been going too fast in that curve.
It’s something I live with every single day.
But there’s nothing I can change about that night. There’s no way I can reach back across time and make things different.
So when you interact with a bereaved parent, please don’t focus on the illness or the addiction or the tragic circumstances that transported their child from time to eternity.
Ask them about who they were, what they liked, where they found the most joy in life.
Give them permission to share their life, love and light with you, not only their death.
Our children are so. much. more than how they left this life.
They are potential unrealized, lives lived, love spread to others.
Let us tell you about that.
When your child is born you take notes.
You plan to mark this day as a special milestone for the rest of your life.
You absolutely, positively NEVER think you will have to mark another one: the day he or she leaves this life and leaves you behind.
But some parents have to mark both. The dash in the middle is shorter than we anticipated, and our child’s life ends before ours.
So how do you do it? How in the world do you observe the polar opposite of a birthday?
Here are some ideas (shared with permission) that parents shared recently in an online discussion sparked by one mom’s very honest admission that she just didn’t have it in her to create another video montage from the same old photos to mark yet another year without the earthly companionship of her precious son:
Don’t do anything. That is an option. We do not have to draw a red circle around THAT day on the calendar, gather folks as if it’s a celebration. As one mama said, “Yes, the day they left us does not need to be ‘remembered’.” For some parents, going to work like it’s a regular day, engaging in whatever normal activities are required, ticking the hours off on the clock until night falls and the earth turns to the next day may be the very best choice. Another mama wrote this: “I have friends who celebrate a ‘heaven day’ for their son. I can’t. I just can’t. If it were up to me, I would probably go camp somewhere all alone, and not move a muscle for the entire day.”
Do something big (or small). Some parents choose this day to hold an annual “Celebration of Life”. It might take the form of a balloon release, or lantern release at home, at a park or other outdoor venue or at the cemetery. It might be lunch or dinner out at your child’s favorite restaurant or at home with your child’s favorite menu. Invite friends and family to join you and ask that they bring a photograph or memory and share. One mom said that such an event kind of happened organically and spontaneously when contacted by her son’s widow: “We went to one of [his] favorite restaurants. Told funny stories about him, talked about how missed he is, then went o his grave and put fresh flowers.”
Serve others. Did your child have a special interest in a particular charity or community organization? Maybe you can spend this day volunteering or raising awareness/money for that group. Often having something to do helps a heart from sinking into despair. If the group allows, maybe put up a sign saying, “Volunteering today in honor of __________” and attach appropriate photos of your child. Some parents whose child died from cancer or suicide or violence participate in walks or fundraisers that highlight those causes.
Encourage Random Acts of Kindness (RAK). I plan to do this one in April. It will be seven years (!) and I can barely stand it. But so many of the comments from Dominic’s friends after he left for Heaven went something like this one, “He was always doing something for someone else. Fixing their car or showing up when they needed an encouraging word.” He was known for his many acts of generosity and kindness and I feel like he lives on in the hearts of others because of that. I had cards printed ( I intentionally let his “dates” off) which I will distribute well in advance of April 12th for friends and family to leave behind when they do a RAK in memory of Dom. Vistaprint and other online publishing companies offer reasonable prices and will guide you through the process step-by-step.
Escape. Lots of us find being at home (alone or in the company of others) too hard to bear. Many received word of their child’s death at home and as the day creeps closer, the memories crowd every corner of mental and physical space and are inescapable. So sometimes parents plan a trip around this time. Go somewhere your child would have loved to go or go somewhere he or she enjoyed visiting. Take photos and post them in honor of your child if you want to.
Focus on family. You may not want to be alone, but the thought of being with anyone outside your closest grief circle is overwhelming. That’s OK. Spend time with the people who, like you, are most affected by your child’s absence. You don’t have to do anything special. You can make room for them to speak or not speak about their grief as they choose. Sometimes just having another warm body in the room is enough to ward of the chill of despondency.
Flip the script. For those of us who believe that this life is not all there is, the day can be one of celebration. Our children have escaped life full of sorrow and trouble and are safe forever in the arms of Jesus, where we will also be one day. Waiting is hard, but waiting is not forever.
Simply allow yourself to feel the full force of missing and grief. “As far as his death day, for me, that is a day when I allow myself to fully feel and express the pain of my loss. It is a way to (temporarily) empty myself of all this pain, so I can breathe again to face another day. I will sit in his sweatshirt, listen to reflective music, cry a lot, talk to him, pray to God, and just allow myself to feel all the pain and emotion that everyday responsibilities cause me to stuff away.” If you can manage it, taking the day off work and giving yourself grace and space to grieve in ways that are denied so often may be the very best way to experience the day.
Here’s a list of ways some parents honor their child on this day:
Do or don’t do whatever helps you make it through those twenty-four hours that represent another year of sorrow, another year of missing.
There is NO wrong way to mark or not mark this day.
It’s up to you and your heart.
And absolutely does not require anyone else’s permission or approval.
It’s so tempting to try to run or numb the pain of child loss!
Who willingly submits to 24/7 excruciating pain?
But the truth is, unless I face my feelings, give my heart and mind time to experience them and work toward processing them, I cannot even begin to heal.
One of the most difficult and time consuming aspects of grief work is setting aside space and giving myself grace to do just this. In the first couple of years I would venture to say that the majority of my waking hours-intentionally or unintentionally-were spent on this very thing.
Even eleven years later, I still spend some portion of every day (although now it may be fleeting) feeling, dealing and trying to work on healing part of my broken heart.
❤ Melanie
If I touch a hot stove my hand jerks away almost before my mind registers the searing pain. It’s reflex. Our bodies were designed to react to and protect us from things that cause pain.
Run away. Don’t go back. Set up barricades and warning signs so that others can be protected.
Most of the time, this reaction serves us well.
But sometimes those reflexes keep us from healing.
Anyone who’s had major surgery knows that when the nurses come in the next morning saying, “We’re going to get you out of bed today!”, the last thing you want to do is swing your legs over and stand up. It HURTS!
We want to avoid what hurts, not embrace it.
So it’s no surprise that when we suffer deep emotional wounds, our first response is to try to run away or bury them or ignore them. The last thing we want to do is face them.
But if I am to heal, I have to face them. I have to take hold of each place where the dagger of grief and sorrow and regret and anger has pierced my heart and examine it closely. I have to decide what to do with it, how to integrate it into my life after loss.
Grief is work! That is one of the reasons grievers need solitude as well as companionship on this journey. And that is why grief can’t be hurried along. It takes a great deal of time to do the work grief requires.
If instead of facing our pain, we try to run away or distract ourselves or numb ourselves with alcohol, food or drugs, we only prolong the process. Grief will not be ignored forever.
We must FEEL what we need to feel.
Then we must DEAL with those feelings-it might mean seeking a professional counselor or a trusted friend. Online or in-person grief support groups are a wonderful resource. Journaling can help too. But we have got to acknowledge and work through these feelings.
And then we can begin to HEAL Hearts that have embraced and made some sense of grief can begin to beat again. They can begin to love again and feel joy again. They can learn to carry both sorrow and happiness-to remember and honor the missing child while also honoring and loving family and friends still here.
It’s not a “once and done” exercise.
I have repeated these steps over and over in the soon to be [nine] years since Dominic ran ahead to heaven. New feelings show up at the door of my heart and I have to choose to feel them, to search for what they mean and why they are here and then allow them to be woven into the fabric of who I am NOW-this side of child loss.
It takes courage and stamina and determination, but it is the only way forward.
thelifeididntchoose 