Tag: love

Life Happens

I know I’m not telling any of my regular readers anything new, but life keeps rolling on and the waves keep rolling in whether we grant permission or not!

A little over two weeks ago, on Sunday, September 14th, my father suffered a serious stroke.

I live four hours away and had asked a near neighbor to check on him because he didn’t seem ok when we talked that morning.

He was definitely NOT ok and this dear friend got him quickly to the hospital.

I was already on the road headed down to Florida when I received the call confirming it was a stroke.

My unbelievably vibrant, active, very involved nearly ninety year old dad suddenly couldn’t remember anything. He partially lost vision in his right eye.

His body is strong and able but his mind has betrayed him.

He often doesn’t remember his own name, much less mine. He can’t read. He can’t recall my mama.

Thankfully, he is able to navigate well enough within his own home to do necessary daily hygiene tasks like dressing and brushing his teeth.

It’s been an unbelievable and brutal change.

I’ve been here with him night and day since it happened-my own life suspended to handle the details of his.

Strangely, so many things I learned in the early days after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven have come in handy:

  • Boundaries
  • Setting priorities
  • Keeping things simple
  • Writing down EVERYTHING
  • Ignoring negative inputs and concentrating on the positive
  • Asking for help
  • Accepting help
  • Admitting when I’m overwhelmed

It’s going to be a long journey and one with a lot of tough terrain.

But something else I learned when Dom left us was this: God’s mercies are new every morning. It’s more than alright to admit defeat and go to bed, trusting the morning light to bring fresh hope and renewed strength.

My family has been amazing! The children have stepped up and filled gaps I could never fill on my own. My husband has graciously managed so many tasks I usually handle at home.

Friends have called, messaged and sent cards. (If you’d like to send one, you can find the address on my personal FB page.)

I’m not sure when I will be able to return here full time but hope to keep some posts coming.

In the meantime, may I ask for your prayers?

Specifically pray for:

  • Papa to regain as much function and memory as possible.
  • For all of us to be filled with grace and not with frustration.
  • For wisdom as I figure out how to manage two households and still make time for the beautiful blessings of children and grandchildren.
  • For me to develop a new rhythm respecting this new reality.

Thank you.

You are my most precious friends and most kind community.

I appreciate you. ❤

Grieving a Child: Raw Emotions and Healing

I hid this post in my draft folder for months before I published it the first time.

It seemed too raw, too full of all the pain inside my mama heart to put out in the wide world for everyone to see.

And then it was time (like now) to change the flowers on the place where my son’s body rests and I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, “THIS IS NOT ALL THERE IS OF MY BOY!” I wanted to stop people on the street and make them listen to his story, to give away a piece of him for others to carry in their hearts.

Read the rest here: My Child Existed. He Matters.

Nothing Easy About Death

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

Grief, Like Love, Lasts a Lifetime

At first grief felt only like sorrow and longing and brokenness.

Then it felt like confusion and anxiety and despair.

A little further along this journey it mostly felt like apathy.

Now it feels like love.

It’s the same love that helped me hold on when I was face first in the toilet every morning for seven months. Morning sickness with Dominic lasted nearly the whole pregnancy! With two young children already in our home, it was one of the hardest seasons of my life.

It’s the same love that demanded they bring me my baby when they whisked him away due to “concerns” after birth. Twenty-four hours later, c-section or no c-section, I told the nurse I’d be marching my butt down to the nursery if they didn’t bring him to me right away. (It was a different time-no real “rooming in”.)

It’s the same love that worked with my frustrated little boy to make his words sound clear and correct. Slow down, hit the hard consonants, be precise in how you form your lips. He grew up to give the undergraduate address when he graduated from UAB in front of thousands.

It’s the same love that listened when he told me his troubles, his fears and his dreams. So, so many nights he’d come in, flop down backwards on my bed and proceed to talk until I was just about to drift off to sleep.

It’s the same love that held his hand as people walked by expressing condolences.

It’s the same love that kissed his cold cheek before they lowered the casket lid. Told him, “Good-bye” and walked upright from the sanctuary.

I refused to dishonor his brave life by giving in to my personal fear.

Grief is really just love.

Dominic has been my son since he sat safely in my womb.

He’s still my son.

My love is not diminished because I can no longer touch him.

Love lives.

Forever.

Sunday Prayer for a Grieving Heart

Father God,

I long to be enveloped in the sweet peace and safe cocoon of Your people.

But my heart feels oh, so isolated by this great grief it carries inside!

I take my place in the pew and am distracted by the intact, happy families surrounding me. Every bit of chatter about last week’s activities and this week’s plans reminds me I can no longer whisper a reminder to or share an inside joke with my missing child.

Help me come-broken as I am-and offer what’s left of me to You.

Open my heart and apply the Balm of Gilead to my wounded soul.

Speak courage and comfort to my spirit.

Lead the people You call and assemble to practice compassion and to actively reach out to the ones who struggle just to show up.

Thank You for seeing, hearing and loving me even when I feel unseen, unheard and unloved.

Amen

Choosing to Lift the Cup of Sorrow

See, here’s the thing: to the outside world, my son’s death happened at a single point in time.

But to me, his death is a continuous event.

I must lift the cup of sorrow every day to parched lips.  I must choose to take it to the One Who can help me lift it.

Jesus knows this cup.

“You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” Psalm 23:5b

I remember standing in our field with my husband at sundown one day, thankfulness and grace and mercy and wonder flooding my heart-and I whispered, “surely my cup overflows!”

Surely, God’s hand is in this, is on our lives-He has brought us to this place of blessing.

And that’s how I used to always think of that verse-the cup overflowing with goodness and blessing.

But what about when the cup overflows with sorrow?  

With pain?

With tragedy, trials and temptations?

jesus in the garden

Jesus knew about that cup.  That’s the cup He begged the Father to take from Him.

The cup that was bitter and hard to swallow.

He prayed three times, He sweat blood and He battled His flesh so that His spirit could conform to the Father’s will.

And in the end, He submitted Himself to the Father’s plan.

He was obedient, even to death, even to death that He did not deserve, did not HAVE to suffer, did not WANT to suffer.

I have buried a son.

And it is the most painful thing I have ever had to bear.

It’s a burden I never anticipated and it’s a burden of which I will not be free until I join him in Heaven.

There are some parents who have suffered the loss of multiple children. Or who have suffered child loss and other difficult life circumstances.

If my cup is full and overflowing, theirs is overflowing still more.

Where to take that full cup?

Where to find the strength to carry it, to drink it to the dregs?

When my heart screams, “No more!” and my body cries, “I can’t do this!”, I look to my Savior for the model of how to carry on.

Only in Christ, Who Himself bore the cup and Who drank its bitter fullness can I hope for strength and redemption.

The One Who knows my pain can carry my pain.

The One Who lives again will breathe life into my heart.  

The One Who redeems what the enemy has stolen will turn my mourning to dancing.  

cup of blessing

This cup will not always overflow with sorrow.  Around the banquet table at the wedding supper of the Lamb, it will once again be full of joy.

You make me know the path of life; in your presence is unbounded joy, in your right hand eternal delight.

Psalm 16:11 CJB

Fellow Grievers- Love BIG, Love BRAVE.

I was unprepared for the many traveling companions grief brought with it.  I knew to expect sadness and despair–but what about anxiety and guilt?

I had no idea how large a space guilt would soon occupy in my thoughts and heart-guilt over what I did or didn’t do when Dominic was still with us, guilt over what I do or don’t do now.

I can do nothing to change what happened in years past.  

There is no magic time machine that will allow me to go back and linger long over his jokes or cling harder when he hugged me.

But I can choose to approach today in a way that frees me of foolish guilt and unnecessary regrets.

I can’t do everything but I can do something.

I can love big and brave and refuse to waste the days I have with the people that mean the most to me.

do what you can with what you have where you are

Lord, Make Me a Lighthouse!

There are two ways to deal with the scars pain leaves behind: try to cover them up or display them boldly.

Hiding seems the easier way so many times-because the scars are tender and the last thing I want is to invite more pain.  But it takes great effort and is rarely successful.

The edges peek out here and there and then I’m left awkwardly trying to explain how I got them and what they mean.

If I refuse to hide my scars and instead lay them open to the world, I am vulnerable, true. But I am also in a position to help others who are suffering the same pain that etched those scars in my heart.

business-authenticity

So I choose not to hide.  

I choose to be a lighthouse.  

Not because I think I can steer others clear of the rocks of loss and sorrow, but because I want them to know they are not alone.

the scars you share become lighthouses

There Is Hope in Every Scar

Sometimes people ask, “How can you cling to Jesus when He could have saved your son, but didn’t?”

I give the same answer Peter gave, “Lord, to whom would we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

He is light and life in the Valley and on the hilltop, in the fire and in the flood.

He will redeem every tear and restore every thing the enemy has stolen.

My scars tell a story: Yes, I’m wounded but I’m still walking. I’ve been hurt but I’m healing.

There’s hope in every scar.

Suffering is but a moment.

This is not forever.

Jesus is.

Hallelujah!

Able to Look Forward: A New Season in Grief

For a long, long time I couldn’t bear to see a monthly calendar.

I didn’t want to be reminded that time refused to stand still for my broken heart and I hated there were no more “Dominic” events to scribble in on the blank squares.

Around the third year I was able to once again mark major events like birthdays, holidays and short family trips. But it was even longer before I was able to truly look forward with excitement to those things.

Eleven plus years, multiple family changes, a pandemic, retirement and two grandchildren have reshaped my heart so that I’m genuinely thrilled to prepare and participate in most things from family meals to “Granny Camp” , quarterly Bereaved Mom Retreats (next one in just over a month!), and my oldest child’s fortieth birthday celebration in a couple weeks.

I’m not forgetting nor minimizing Dominic by diving into these events with gusto. In fact, I’m sure he would approve.

So I’m entering a new season of grief-one which makes room for current joys and celebrations while still holding space for Dominic.

I can be present and participate without reserve.

I am making memories with those who are still here.

Enjoying every moment. ❤