Tag: grief

Grief-A Tangled Ball of Emotions

Someone posted this image yesterday on Facebook-they had received a copy in a therapy session and found it a helpful way to picture grief.  

I wanted to share it because perhaps you may find it helpful as well.  ❤

I think it’s one of the very best ways to think about grief for several reasons:

  • First, it accurately represents the many emotions that are part of grief and loss–it’s not “just” sorrow or missing-it is so many other things as well.  And some of those emotions catch me off guard because I don’t always recognize them as grief-related.
  • Second, it illustrates how tangled and interwoven these emotions can be. Teasing out where one feeling begins and ends is really hard.  Separating a single emotional strand can be almost impossible.
  • Third, emotions experienced in the grieving process are not necessarily sequential.  There’s no certain charted course through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  My experience may be very different from yours in terms of what I feel and when I feel it.
  • Finally, the sphere is a perfect representation of how my feelings may circle back around again and again as new experiences post-loss remind me of yet another part of life that has been impacted by my son’s unexpected and untimely death.

grief a tangled ball of emotions.jpg

Grace and Space

It didn’t take long after Dominic’s leaving for life to ramp up and obligations to pour in. We had two graduations and a wedding within two months of his funeral.

Then there were thank-you notes to write, dishes to return and every day chores necessary to manage a home and family.

No escaping what must be done.

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.

At first, turning down a request or asking someone to reschedule was relatively easy-the loss was fresh in their minds and they were gracious and understanding.  As the weeks and months and now YEARS have passed, it is harder.  Not always because they don’t understand but because I sometimes hold myself to an untenable standard that says I should be better by now.   I should be able to do all that I could once do.  I shouldn’t be so sensitive to the date on the calendar or the place we might meet for lunch or the rainy weather that brings my mood down.

But I’m not able to ignore all those things and sometimes I just can’t do what someone else would like me to be able to do.

So I keep repeating the mantra, “grace and space” to myself.

I need grace-from my own heart FOR my own heart– I must cut myself the slack I would be happy to extend to others.

I need grace from friends and family. I cannot help you understand exactly what it’s like to be me.  You can never know all the ways I ache for the life I had before Dominic ran ahead to heaven.  You could never imagine all the daily pinpricks my soul must suffer as I walk in this world and am reminded of what I’ve lost.

So you will have to take it on faith when I say, “I just can’t do that”.

I need space.

I need space between me and the noise of the world and the shouting urgency of “to do” lists and project deadlines.  So much of the work I must do is silent, solitary work. It takes hours and hours of thinking, talking to God, reading Scripture, journaling and just being alone to sort this all out.

I’m not rejecting YOU-I’m trying to preserve ME.

It isn’t selfishness, it’s love for my family.  I refuse to add to their burden by running myself into the ground.  I won’t choose to make life harder for them by creating an unecessary crisis.

I don’t know when I might (or IF I might) return to the busy bee I once was.  Right now I can’t even imagine it.

I think I will need grace and space for a very, very long time.

fine not fine

Repost: Five Practical Ways to Support a Grieving Parent

It’s oh, so hard to know what to do when you are watching a heart break.

You want to reach out and make it better, make the pain go away, make a difference.  But it seems like nothing you can do will matter much in the face of such a huge loss.

While it’s true that you cannot “fix”  the brokenness in a bereaved parent’s life, there are some very important and practical ways you can support them in their grief-especially as the weeks turn into months and then to years.

Read the rest here:  Five Practical Ways to Support a Grieving Parent

Not Funny Anymore

We took this picture celebrating Father’s Day 2013 and it was supposed to be a joke.

IMG_0674

Dominic had a habit of finding somewhere to be for the end of May (which includes his birthday) and the first couple weeks of June (Father’s Day) nearly every summer for the last six years he was with us.

I had to schedule his high school graduation (we home schooled) for the ONE weekend out of the whole summer when he would be home before he entered college in the fall.

In 2013 he was studying abroad in Switzerland.

So on this day when he was absent (again!) I brought along this picture and thought it would be funny to have him represented in the obligatory Father’s Day photo-little smiling Dominic.

It popped up in my Facebook memories the other day and I realized it’s not funny anymore.

Now the only way Dominic CAN be part of a family portrait is if one of us holds a picture of him.

I hate that.

Who could have guessed that our messing around would now mess with my head?

 

 

Fifth Sunday Singings and a Mama’s Broken Heart

Fifth Sunday Singings are a tradition down South.

We gather in the evening or afternoon every time there is a fifth Sunday in a month and sing, sing, sing.

Sometimes there are featured groups but often it’s just the faithful few who enjoy picking favorite hymns that might not get much air time on Sunday mornings.

Inevitably the hymns that are chosen most often include a verse or two about “when the roll is called up yonder” or “the streets of gold” or “amazing grace”.  Because almost all of us have a hymn etched on our hearts during a time of trial or sorrow or deep suffering.

And it’s the promise that God is faithful, His word is true and this life is not all there is that gets us through.

But for this mama’s broken heart, a few choruses in and I’m in tears.  

While I am thankful, thankful, thankful that I know I will see my son again, these hymns remind me that a lifetime may lie between here and there.

The waiting is hard.  

waiting with hope water

 

 

75 Percent

I have tried blogging at various times through the years and always given up after a few posts.  My life was full and I found that in a few weeks or months I didn’t really have all that much to say.

It’s different this time-I have been writing every day for almost 20 months and seem to always have at least a sentence or two that wants to burst forth from my keyboard.

I think pain births words.

But one thing I never want to forget is that although Dominic is gone from my sight-my other three children are not.  I still have 75 percent of my children with me.

I do not take that for granted.

Each one is a successful and highly-functioning adult in their own right.  It would be easy to run from a broken family and run toward a life that didn’t include daily reminders that their mama cries often and is not nearly the woman she once was.

But they don’t.

Instead they check on me, love me and encourage me with text messages and Facebook memes and silly photos.  They listen when I need to download a pile of frustration and disappointment.

They help me remember that life is still happening, even when I wish (in some ways) it wasn’t.

When each one of my children was born I received him or her as a gift from God.  I could not imagine there would be a day when I would treasure them more than I did on that day.

But I do.

I miss Dominic, because he was a gift from God too.

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But I will be forever thankful that, at least for now, I have Fiona, James Michael and Julian.

Forced to give one child back, I will never, ever, ever take the ones I have left for granted.

beach-and-family-better

 

Still Put My Foot In It…

You’d think that being on the other side of untimely or even painful comments would shape my conversation so that I am not the one blurting out hurtful or thoughtless words.

Sadly, that’s not the case.

While I am much more careful about what I say and how and when I say it, I still put my foot in it on a regular basis.

I talk instead of listen-rushing ahead to share MY pain instead of sitting silently while someone else shares theirs.

I make comparisons instead of extending boundless compassion.

I focus too much on the words and not enough on the wordless communication of facial expression and body language.

I try to “fix” the problem or person instead of simply being present.

I overwhelm a hurting heart with too much information.  Even good information delivered from a firehose instead of a water fountain is unhelpful.

I interrupt, cut people off, turn away and shorten uncomfortable conversations.

I want to do better.

I want to be the safe space hurting hearts need.

I want to be full of grace and mercy and kindness.

I know I fall short, but I’m still learning.

still-learning

 

 

Repost: Grief is NOT Sin

Grief is not sin.  

It wasn’t until another grieving mom asked the question that I realized there are some (many?) in the community of believers that think grief is sin.

Not at first, mind you-everyone is “allowed” a certain amount of time to get over the loss of a dream, the loss of a job, the loss of health or the loss of a loved one.

But carry that sadness and wounded heart too publicly for too long and you better be ready for someone to question your faith.

Read the rest here:  Grief is Not Sin

The Missing Never Fades

This popped up in my Facebook memories today:

dom looking up with camera

That face!

What I wouldn’t give to see it again, to feel his beard against my cheek when I hugged his neck, hear him laugh, know he was only a phone call away!

I’ve learned to carry the sorrow because I know it will be redeemed.

But the missing?

The missing never fades.

missing-someone

Is It More Admirable to Pretend?

 

We say we want real.

But we really don’t.

We tune in by the millions to watch “reality TV” even though we know the drama is manufactured and the outcome decided months before.

We participate daily in quiet subterfuge when our coworker pretends her marriage isn’t falling apart even though we overhear her desperate phone calls trying to mend it.

We like to hear “Fine, thank you.” when we offer the polite greeting, “How are you?”.

What happens to the person who refuses to play along?  What about the one whose heart is so broken that she can’t begin to put on the false front that would make everyone else more comfortable around her?

smile-question

What do you do when someone stops pretending everything is OK?

Often, people walk away.

Because we have absolutely no idea what to do with real. We have no words when “How are you?” is answered with “Awful.  My world is falling apart.”

We reward those who choose to go along with the script that makes us comfortable and isolate the ones that don’t.

But is that the world we really want to live in?  Do we want to walk with unsaid words between us, unreleased feelings bottled up and threatening to overflow?

It is really more admirable to pretend?

 

masks by shel silverstein

MASKS  by Shel Silverstein

She had blue skin
And so did he.
He kept it hid
And so did she.
They searched for blue
Their whole life through.
Then passed right by —
And never knew.