Tag: grief work

Grief Has Changed Me

Grief has changed me in profound ways.

“Thoughtfulness” is one of them.

I was always (mostly!) outwardly thoughtful. I wrote thank you notes, brought hostess gifts, remembered birthdays, anniversaries and other important dates in the lives of friends and family.

But I wasn’t always as attentive to or aware of subtle and significant cues others might have been tossing in my direction.

Now I’m especially careful to pay attention and try to make space for things folks need or want to say, to be a safe person for the deposit of feelings or secrets that are too heavy to carry alone and I try, try, try to leave each heart better than how I found them.

I’ve had to examine so much in my own life and heart I never want to give the impression others aren’t free to do the same.

❤ Melanie

2016: Priorities

How many times have I chosen to ignore a friend’s need for companionship-brushing past importantly as I pursued the day’s tasks?

“I’ll get around to it when I have more time,” I think to myself.

And then one day there is no more time.  The friend I kept putting off has left this world for the next and I can’t retrieve the missed opportunities.

Nothing stings like words unsaid, hugs not given or love left bound in a heart instead of set free to bless another.

Read the rest here: Priorities

2017: What Does Faith Really Look Like?

What Does Faith Really Look Like?

Is faith always a never-faltering, wild “Hallelujah!”?

I don’t think so.

Read the rest here: What Does Faith Really Look Like?

2018: Silence Is a Gift

Every morning I get up, make coffee, sit down and drink in the quiet with my caffeine.  I listen for a bit and then write down what I hear my heart saying.  It has been the most effective habit for helping me walk through this Valley in the four years since Dominic left us.

Silence is necessary for a heart to do the work grief requires.

Don’t fight it.

Read the rest here: Silence is a Gift

2019: The God Who Comes Near

If someone asked me to describe Jesus I would say He’s the God who does not turn away.

He’s the God who comes near.

He’s the God who will always, always, always show up and bend down.

Read the rest here: Scripture Journal Challenge: The God Who Comes Near

2020: Helpful Advice on What Not to Say to a Grieving Parent

This came across my Facebook newsfeed and I really liked it.  

Concise,  it also acknowledges that most bereaved parents understand folks generally mean well, even when they say something less than helpful.

Honestly, this is great advice for what not to say to anyone going through a tough patch. 

Read the rest here: Helpful Advice on What Not to Say to a Grieving Parent

Thirty-Nine Years and Counting

Today is thirty-nine years since we said, “I do” and had absolutely NO idea what that would look like.

I first shared this a few years ago on our anniversary because I wanted other bereaved parents to know that while it is hard (and isn’t marriage always hard?), it is not impossible for a marriage to survive child loss.

We are definitely not the perfect couple. We fuss and we struggle. We sometimes retreat into our own separate worlds as we process some new aspect of living this earthly life without one of our children.

But we have learned that we are stronger together and that we are willing to do the work necessary to stay that way.❤

Today my husband and I celebrate 39 years of marriage.  

Our thirtieth anniversary was a mere two months after we buried our son.

Here’s the last “before” anniversary photo (2013)-unfeigned smiles, genuine joy, excitement to have made it that far:

hector and me 29 anniversary

Read the rest here: Dispelling Marriage Myths Surrounding Child Loss.

What’s Changed, What’s the Same, Nine Years Down the Road of Child Loss?

What’s changed and what is still the same nine years down the road of child loss?

I’ve thought about this a lot in the past few months as I prepared for, greeted and marked another year of unwelcome milestones since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.

Some things are exactly the same:

  • Whenever I focus solely on his absence, my heart still cries, “Can he REALLY be gone?” I am STILL A Mess Some Days….
  • The pain is precisely as painful as the moment I got the news.
  • It’s just as horrific today to dwell on the manner of his leaving.
  • I miss him, I miss him, I miss him. I live every day with his Tangible Absence.
  • I am thankful for his life, for the opportunity to be his mama and for the part of me shaped by who he was.
  • The absolute weight of grief has not changed. The burden remains a heavy one.
  • Daily choices are the difference between giving up and going on. I have to make Wise Choices in Grief.
  • My faith in Christ and my confidence that His promises are sure is the strength on which I rely. I have been Knocked Down But Not Destroyed.
  • I passionately look forward to the culmination of all history when every sad thing will come untrue.

Some things are very different:

  • Dominic’s absence is no longer all I see.
  • Sorrow and pain are no longer all I feel.
  • I’ve learned to live in spite of the hole in my heart-his unique place isn’t threatened by allowing myself to love others and pouring my life into the people I have left.
  • Joy and sorrow are not mutually exclusive. They live together in my heart and I can smile and laugh again while still pining for a time when things were different and easier.
  • I am Stronger because I’ve carried this burden for years. I’ve learned to shift it from side to side.
  • The darkness has receded so that I see light once more. I’m not as prone to fall as fast down the dark hole of despair.
  • My heart longs for reunion but has also learned to treasure the time I have left here on earth.

I’ve never hidden the struggle and pain of this journey.

But I don’t want those who are fresh in grief to think that how they are feeling TODAY is the way they will feel FOREVER.

By doing the work grief requires, making wise choices and holding onto hope a heart does begin to heal.

I am not as fragile today as I was on the first day.

And I am so, so thankful for that. ❤

I Am Not Anti-Social. I Am Selectively Social.

While I’ve always been an introvert, I was not nearly the homebody I’ve become since my son ran ahead to heaven.

Now staying in, carefully planning social events and obligations, leaving a few days between high-energy gatherings and just generally pacing myself is the norm.

I’m truly not anti-social. I love my people. I love seeing them and talking to them.

But since there’s only so much energy to go around I AM selectively social.

❤

Grief changes lots of things.  

I am simply not able to spend energy on frivolous and marginally meaningful social activities anymore. 

I’m sure that hurts some folks feelings and I am truly sorry.

But I can’t help it.  

Read the rest here: Not Anti-Social. Just Selectively Social.

Grief Work: Thoughts Matter

So much of this battle has been fought in my mind.

Really, even more than in my heart.

Because you can’t argue with sad or shock or missing or disappointment.

But you can absolutely argue with hopelessness (there is nothing to live for), apathy (there is nothing to do) and distrust (there is no one who can help me).

Read the rest here: Thoughts Matter

Grief Work: Loss is Relentless

My family has opened our eyes to thousands of mornings knowing the one thing we would change if we could is outside our control.

When the world faced the pandemic these past years, it was a new and disturbing feeling for millions (billions?). We are still reaping the consequences of decisions taken during that time.

Eventually, though, most people’s lives will return to a semblance of normal that makes allowances for the changes.

But some of us emerged on the other side of that season carrying the new and unrelenting burden of loss.

And nothing will ever be normal again.

❤

re·lent·less

adjective

opressively constant; incessant.

Read the rest here: Relentless

Grief Work: Child Loss and Secondary Losses

While I certainly had no real idea in the first hours or even weeks what losing a child entailed, I understood plainly that it meant I would not have Dominic to see, hold or talk to.

I wouldn’t be able to hug his neck or telephone him.  

He wouldn’t be sitting at my table any more.

But the death of a child or other loved one has a ripple effect.  It impacts parts of life you might not expect.  As time went on, I was introduced to a whole list of losses commonly called “secondary losses”.

Read the rest here: Child Loss and Secondary Losses

Grief Work: Baby Steps Count!

When Dominic ran ahead to heaven, I felt like I was physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually knocked to the floor.  I had no idea how I was going to make a life after this great blow.   I could barely get dressed, much less do anything that took more thought or energy than that.

I was overwhelmed.   I had to learn to walk all over again.

And I did it with baby steps, in a judgement free-zone I created for myself where I refused to gauge my progress against anyone else’s.

Read the rest here: Baby Steps Count

Grief Work: Marking the Milestones

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.

grieving mother at grave

So how do you do it?  How in the world do you observe the polar opposite of a birthday?

Read the rest here: Child Loss: Marking the Milestone

Grief Work: What’s the Difference Between Solitude and Isolation?

Since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven, I find I need even more alone time than before.

That quiet place is where I do my most effective grief work, undisturbed by interruptions and distractions.

But I need to be careful that solitude doesn’t shift into isolation. 

Read the rest here: Solitude or Isolation? Which is it?