
This past week has been brutal in many ways.
Some of us are fearful. Some of us are hopeful. Some of us just want it all to go away.
For me, it’s yet another reminder that We are Not Home Yet.

This past week has been brutal in many ways.
Some of us are fearful. Some of us are hopeful. Some of us just want it all to go away.
For me, it’s yet another reminder that We are Not Home Yet.
We all have one you know.
A story.
Many of us think ours isn’t important because it feels so small. We can’t imagine our truth blazoned across a headline.
Your story matters.
Who you are and how you got there is worthy of repeating. You never know if your story will be the key to unlock someone else’s prison.

Some heart is begging to know that they are not alone.
Some soul waits breathless to hear that what they are hiding is OK to share.
Someone, somewhere needs you to unlock the vault of memory and invite them to do the same.
Speak your truth.
Tell your story.
You own it.

The election’s over and whether we like the outcome or not, the calendar pages still turn.
Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming fast. For some of us carrying the pain of loss, the holidays are a treacherous time.
I’m reposting this link in the hopes it might help make things a little easier:

“I know it is hard. I know you don’t truly understand how I feel. You can’t. It wasn’t your child.
I know I may look and act like I’m “better”. I know that you would love for things to be like they were: BEFORE. But they aren’t.
I know my grief interferes with your plans. I know it is uncomfortable to make changes in traditions we have observed for years. But I can’t help it. I didn’t ask for this to be my life.”
Read the rest here: Grief and Holidays:What the Bereaved Need From Friends and Family

The other day a conversation about the upcoming holidays devolved into a confrontation.
What I was trying to communicate came out wrong and one thing led to another until I fled- a crying, trembling mess.
I am trying so hard to manage this life I have left.
I work out plans in my head to navigate what I know will be challenging events or days or gatherings. I execute the plan as best I can and when I feel overwhelmed I try to escape to a quiet corner or a bathroom or outside for a moment to regather my composure.
But it doesn’t always work.
There are so many variables-people, lack of sleep, random added stressors, physical pain, grief triggers, and even low blood sugar-any one of which, or a combination of which, can sabotage the carefully constructed plan I’ve made.
I feel like there are no easy days. I feel like there are no moments when I don’t have to be on alert. I feel like I am constantly doing battle.
I stop by the store and meet someone I haven’t seen in awhile. They ask, “How are you?”
So I go down the line of my living children and give a description of what they are doing-leaving out how they are feeling. I don’t mention me. The person never notices but I’m reminded again of the disconnect between what others see and what I know to be true.
Sunday’s sermon is taken from a text that could be interpreted to mean that God protects His faithful people from physical harm. I’m hemmed in by someone on the end of the pew but I want to get up and run from the sanctuary.
Is my son’s death judgement on my unfaithfulness or on his?
It takes every ounce of self-control I can muster to remain in place. No one is even aware of the battle raging inside.
I walk through each day pushing down the pain, shoving aside the rising tide of tears.
I measure my words, measure my reactions, measure my emotions-trying so very hard to keep it in.
I wish I could crawl in bed, cover my head with the blanket and just stay there until this all went away.
But I can’t.
So I muddle through the best I can-hoping that one day I will figure it out.
Probably not today.
Think back on the most awful thing that has ever happened to you.
Does it still hurt? Do you still carry scars from where it pierced your soul and broke your heart?
Can you forget it? Really, really forget it?
Read the rest here: When Will You Be Over This?
One of the rituals I observe when the time changes and night closes in so very early is to light a candle each evening in the dark.
I’ve done it for years but now as I do it, I think of Dominic.
It is my small way of declaring the truth that darkness will not win.
It’s my protest against despair and hopelessness that threatens to undo me–threatens to undo ALL of us at one time or another.
Because when I sit in the circle of the glow of that single candle, I’m reminded that no matter how small the flame, darkness cannot overcome the light.
I’m reminded that I can be a light bearer or a candle snuffer.

I can help others find hope or I can douse the tiny flame that still burns in their troubled heart.
Dominic was a light bearer.
After his death, the University of Alabama newspaper, The Crimson and White ran an article that said in part:
“Dominic was always very mechanically inclined and sort of became the law school mechanic,” close friend and classmate Joe Heilman said. “We are all poor college kids, so when we had questions, we would always go to him. This year alone I think he worked on five different law students’ cars and wouldn’t let them give him any more money than what it cost to replace the part.”
Heilman said Dominic’s selflessness far surpassed that of most people.
“He was one of the most hospitable people that I had ever met,” Heilman said. “I don’t have Internet or cable at my apartment, and when he found that out, he handed me the extra key to his apartment, no questions asked, and just said, ‘Come over whenever.’”
“He was exactly the kind of friend that everyone wants to have and that everyone tries to be,” Jonathan Mayhall, another friend, said.
All my children are light bearers.
They bring light and life to everyone they meet. They encourage, help and minister to the people in their lives. They stop for strangers, buy meals for the homeless, show up when friends are moving and put people first.
I encourage you, friend, as these nights get longer and darkness seems so very present-light a candle.
Sit in the circle of its glow and think how bright that little light shines in the black around you.
And remember that we all have the power to be light bearers, no matter how dark the night.


Every spring and every fall we dutifully make the rounds to our clocks and digital devices, putting them first forward an hour and then back in an attempt to make the days “longer”.
As if time was in our hands.
The sun rises and sets according to the Creator’s schedule, we can neither speed the world’s turning, nor slow it down. We can only choose whether to be present in the moments He grants us.
Read the rest here: Time Change

These past few weeks have been challenging.
A dozen unrelated things have added up to a load I struggle to carry.
I have absolutely NO reserves.
No extra emotional or physical resources that can help me bounce back when things get tough.
None.
Every day I tread a razor’s edge instead of the broad path I used to walk.
It takes so much effort just to keep from falling off that I have a hard time looking ahead and am regularly blindsided by things I might have avoided, or handled better or made plans to endure.
So I take the hits full force–defenses down.
I’ve learned to hide it. Most of the time.
I’ve learned to lower my eyes, bite my tongue or walk away to catch my breath.
I’ve nearly mastered the art of holding in the tears.
You think I’m strong.
But I’m not.
You will hardly ever know when my heart is hurting.
But it is.
I began this blog almost a year and a half into my grief journey.

At first I wasn’t fully committed to writing on a regular basis.
I certainly never thought I’d write every day.
But this month marks a milestone: From November 1, 2015 to today I have posted at least once a day. Not every post original-some reposts of my blog or links to other blogs.
But I’ve shown up.
And it has been helpful to me, even if it hasn’t helped anyone else.
I had been journaling since the day I got the news but was too raw and too hurt to share my thoughts with anyone but God.
Goodness, I’d been journaling for almost 20 years and never expected to share any of it with anyone. It was my way of working through hard emotions, recording insights and venting things that wouldn’t be helpful for others to hear.
But here I am-letting so much of it out to the world.
Every time I press “post” I still tremble. Am I saying something helpful? Hurtful? Foolish? Wise? I never know until I get some feedback.
I appreciate everyone who has commented on or “liked” or shared a post.
It gives me courage to carry on.
My only ambition for this effort is that I remain authentic, faithful and honest about the journey through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
I want to finish well. I want to make Dominic proud.
It is my way of redeeming the pain.
Thank you for joining me in the journey.

If you’ve ever been in any kind of counseling or recovery group , you have probably seen or heard this acronym and advice: HALT before you speak.
It’s a great reminder that I should take a moment to consider my frame of mind before I blurt out something that might damage a relationship or wound someone else’s heart.
I had never thought about it until recently, but it is also a great reminder to us who grieve that what we interpret solely as grief (which we cannot control) might be compounded greatly by other things (some of which we can control).
So I am learning to apply the HALT acronym to a grief spiral in my own life.
When I feel absolutely overwhelmed and the grief wave is dragging me under I ask myself, “Am I hungry, angry, lonely or tired?”

H-Am I hungry?
Some of us eat our feelings and some of us avoid food when we are stressed. Either can be terrible for health and for mental well-being.
If you have ever been diagnosed as borderline diabetic in the past, intense grief can send you over the edge-request that your primary health provider do an A1-c test, not just measure fasting glucose.
If you don’t feel like eating, make it a non-option. Set an alarm on your phone if you have to and consider food as medicine. If you aren’t fueling your body appropriately, you just simply don’t have the energy to do all the things grief requires.
If you find you are overeating, try to portion out healthy and lower calorie snacks that can help you feel full but are lower in sugar and empty calories. Or instead of eating, try taking a walk or doing a few minutes of impromptu exercise.

A-Am I angry?
Somewhere in life I embraced the idea that anger is “bad”. When I am angry, I feel the anger and also feel guilty for being angry.
Acknowledge your anger.
If it is toward a person, ask yourself if you can bring it to them and mend the relationship. If that’s not an option, think about how you can construct boundaries to limit that person’s impact on your life, at least while you are experiencing the most intense feelings of grief.
If it’s toward God, express it in a journal or aloud or to a safe friend. The Psalms are full of “Why God?”; “Where are You?”; “Why have You abandoned me?”
If your anger is toward your missing child, consider writing your thoughts in a journal or a letter to him or her. Often I find that really all I need is an opportunity to express myself. It doesn’t “fix” things, but it makes them bearable.

L-Am I lonely?
Grief is an isolating experience.
Once the funeral and first few days or weeks pass by, most people around us either don’t think about our loss or don’t recognize its ongoing impact on our daily lives. There have been many days when I have felt very, very alone.
I have been blessed with some amazing friends who continue to seek fellowship even though it’s been 2 1/2 years since my son left us. And I also joined several online communities of bereaved parents where I can vent my feelings any time and be assured that I am received, affirmed and understood.
I think anyone who hopes to heal after the loss of a child must have a safe someone to talk to. If you don’t have friends or family that can fill that need, consider counseling. There are just some things you have to speak aloud to be able to work out.

T-Am I tired?
I know that for many bereaved parents, sleep is elusive. And once asleep, staying asleep is a whole other issue. But without proper rest, you cannot have the resources to do the work grief requires.
If you are consistently struggling with sleeplessness, consider asking your healthcare provider for help. There are a number of natural sleep remedies (melatonin, valerian root, etc.) that may be appropriate. And if necessary, prescription medicine can help break the cycle of insomnia.
None of these things-hunger, anger, loneliness or feeling tired-are the root cause of my grief.
I grieve because my son is gone.
BUT–any of them, or a combination of them-can make me more vulnerable to feeling worse IN my grief.
I cannot control the fact that I am grieving.
I cannot remove the burden of sorrow and pain that losing a child has placed upon me.
But I can make adjustments in my lifestyle or life choices to make it easier to bear that burden.