Oh, sometimes I think I’m clever enough to do it.
I edit my words, costume my body and fix my face so I can act the part. But truth is, I never manage to fool anyone who looks closer than my plastic smile.
I can’t hide my heart.
And I don’t know why I try-I don’t get points for pretending.
There’s no prize at the end of this long road for the one who makes it with fewest tears.
Read the rest here: Zero Points for Pretending: You Can’t Hide Your Heart
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.
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.
Read the rest here: Courage is a Heart Word
Some people’s passions lead them to headline making, world changing careers.
Most of us spend our days in smaller ways.
And we often feel like our tiny efforts create barely a ripple in the giant ocean of human experience.
But I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to be brilliant, rich, beautiful or perfect to make a difference in someone’s life.
All you have to do is care.
Compassionate companionship is a gift.
Learning to sit with another heart in joy and sorrow, victory and pain, sunshine and darkness all the while assuring her you will not leave-no matter what–is priceless.
Think about it: People pay thousands of dollars for a stranger to listen to their heart cries.
Sure, sometimes folks need a professional to help them untangle complex emotions, underlying mental health issues and substance abuse problems. But often, at root, they are simply lonely with no trusted companion for life’s journey.
Who do you know that needs a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on, a heart to affirm that his or her heart is worthy of love?
Choose to reach out.
Be a friend.
Make a difference.
When grief was fresh, the pain was raw and my heart was oh, so tender, I desperately needed a safe space to talk about the nitty-gritty of child loss.
And I found it in online bereaved parents’ groups.
I’m so thankful that they exist, that they are maintained by people who give time and energy to keeping them safe and that-for the most part-participants are kind, compassionate and encouraging.
There is something I’ve noticed now that I’ve been here awhile. Many parents tend to drop out of active participation when they get a little further along in their journey.
I understand completely that time, plus the work grief requires, often means a heart has less need for these groups. It’s not that grief dissipates, it’s simply that we get stronger and learn to carry it a little better.
I also know that grief groups can become Echo Chambers and wear on a heart after a time.
We all need a break.
But can I take a moment to encourage those among us who have learned a little, lived a little and walked longer in the path of child loss to stick around?
Newly bereaved parents need to know that they CAN survive.
Your presence-even if you don’t have wonderful words of wisdom-speaks volumes.
When someone comments and shares that her loss was 5, 7, 10 years ago, it helps my heart hold onto hope.
Because if YOU can make it, maybe I can too.
No matter how busy or how noisy or how frantic, in the middle of my chest there is a quiet place that holds space for my missing child.
It was true last year in the craziness of my mother’s health crisis and it’s been so very, very true this past eight weeks full of anxiety, discomfort, challenge and unbelievable stress.
Read the rest here: The Loudest Silence
I definitely don’t have a solo quality voice.
I can carry a tune but it’s best carried mixed in with others in a choir so the occasional missed note is barely noticeable.
But if I was granted the ability to belt out a single song and have it broadcast far and wide, this would be it: “Love the Broken”.
Not, “Love the Lovely” or “Love the Sexy” or even “Love the One Who Loves You Back”.
Nope.
It would definitely be, “Love the Broken”.
This is the song I’ve learned the hard way. It’s the song that’s been burned into my heart and mind and soul and spirit. It’s the song that resonates in any language, across time and across miles.
It’s the song every single heart can understand.
Because we have all been broken at one time or another.
And we have all desperately needed love at one time or another.
I’m really not that great at many things. I’m a decent cook, a mediocre housekeeper, a devoted but probably not up-to-the-highest-standards shepherd, a lazy gardener, and a wish-I-could-follow-directions-better crafter.
But I am a full on, all out, no-holds-barred lover.
I am unashamed to speak blessing over strangers in public places.
I will not be silenced by a sheepish glance when my kids wish I’d just stop telling them how very much they fill my heart with so many good things.
I hug. I give cheek kisses. I hold the hand of a person whose heart is breaking just so they know they are not alone.
I believe with my whole heart that at least one verse of the New Song we will sing in Heaven is “Love the Broken”.
Because isn’t that really what Christ came to do?
His ultimate act of sacrifice was to bring the broken and outcast into the Kingdom.
He is Hope for the hopeless, love for the unloved, peace for the war weary soul.
Truth is, I’m going to spend my life on something.
I want to spend it like Jesus.
I’m no quitter.
I grew up with the mantra, “You can be anything you want to be if you want to be it badly enough” ringing through my childhood.
I added this one for my kids: “Failure is not an option.”
But I’ve got to admit, while both are great motivators when motivation is the missing ingredient, they are lies.
I cannot be “anything I want to be”. I can be the best me possible, but I cannot be anyone but me.
And failure-well, how do you want to define that? Is it failure when you have poured every ounce of energy into a person or a project and things just don’t work like you hoped they would? Is it failure when despite all the planning, pursuing and perseverance a heart can muster life takes a giant left turn you never expected?
One of my favorite but most exasperating memories of Dominic is when he was about six months old and would wake every morning close to 3 a.m. and refuse to go back to sleep. Now, judge me if you want to, but this whole “let them cry it out” thing was not in my parenting wheelhouse. With two other siblings and a small house, if he was crying for hours, it meant soon everyone would be awake.
So after nursing him and trying to get him to go back to sleep, I finally gave up and just went into the living room and let him play.
This went on for weeks-my body was so, so tired and I was frustrated beyond imagination.
Until I realized that I was burning more energy being upset over the inevitable than I was in just getting up and enjoying the one on one time with my baby.
So instead of fussing every early morning, I started getting up, making coffee, playing with him and then doing necessary chores while he prattled on with his toys.
I accepted what was out of my control and made the best of it.
That’s how I feel this side of Dominic running ahead to heaven.
I am not the person I used to be.
I cannot do all the things I used to do.
I need to acknowledge that. I need to let go of unrealistic expectations that only drive me to distraction and despair.
I’m freeing myself to lean into the life I have NOW by admitting it’s not the life I USED to have.
I’m not giving up.
I am letting go of excess emotional baggage.
But I’m holding onto hope with both hands.
I cannot speak for others but in my case, it seems that I did not lose Dominic all at once.
In fact, I’m still losing him.
Bit by bit, a little at a time, nearly molecule by molecule, his mark on my life, my walls, my world grows smaller.
Of course the space he occupies in my heart is safe-a mother’s heart grows larger with each birth and never shrinks again!
But in the physical world, the observable world, the world outside the safe sanctuary of my own soul-his presence THERE is fading.
And that’s it’s own brand of grief that must be recognized, felt, mourned and laid to rest.
Every time Dominic SHOULD be here but ISN’T means another memory made without him, another photograph with a missing piece, another family milestone celebrated a bit more quietly because his booming laughter doesn’t join the chorus.
Every decision that would ordinarily involve consulting all four children’s schedules and desires is one more opportunity to count down two, skip one and go to my youngest. I never can remember that there are only three phone calls or texts to make. My heart hurts each time I don’t check in with Dominic.
Odd pieces of mail come in his name-leftover from mass mailing lists that have not yet been purged of deceased individuals. Still a little shocking, always sad, I carry it up the quarter mile to the house and lay it on top of the pile of other things that prove he once walked the earth.
Digging through the toolbox in the garage for a screwdriver and there’s that funny little part he took off a car years ago and tucked inside the drawer-just in case we could use it for something. I smell the grease and gas and feel him near.
Then my mind drags my heart back to reality and he’s gone again.
Dozens of moments make me miss him anew.
I’m not delusional.
I know he has run ahead to Heaven.
But my heart holds on to every shred of physical connection as long as it can.
And then he’s ripped from me all over again.
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. ❤
I’m a kinder, gentler person than I was before Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.
It’s a high price to pay to learn to walk more grace-filled through this life.
I’ve come to find out that every heart has a story. Every heart is carrying a burden.-perhaps not the same as mine, but a burden nonetheless.
And what causes the most pain in this life (next to the burden itself) is when another person runs over my heart without thinking about the burden it may hold inside.
So I have purposed not to do that to other people.
I certainly forget sometimes-in the heat of a moment, in the rush of daily life, when driving behind a car that just won’t go any faster-but it’s becoming a habit more and more.
I try to look-really look-at the person in front of me to see what might be hiding behind her eyes.
Is she a young mom working a retail job and trying to make ends meet? An older man still working because his Social Security check runs out before the month does? A teen driver frightened to make that left hand turn across traffic? Someone fighting addiction or just out of cancer treatment? A heart that is lonely because she doesn’t have any close friends or a kind voice welcoming her home each day?
The list is endless.
I am committed to offering the tiny bit of life and light I can to each heart I meet. And that’s how I think about them-as hearts inside fragile bodies-not as obstacles in the way of me accomplishing a task.
I will do my best not to cause pain.
It’s my daily offering.
It honors the price I’ve paid to learn this lesson.
thelifeididntchoose 