love – Page 77 – thelifeididntchoose

Four Years. Today.

I remember when the first anniversary of Dominic’s death rolled around.

I was horrified that I had survived 365 days when I was certain I would not make it 24 hours.

Here I am three years later-the fourth anniversary of that awful day.

I’m still horrified on some level-it is obscene for a mother to outlive her child-completely Unnatural.

I’m also thankful-thankful that God has given me the strength to persevere when every fiber of my mama’s heart wants to give up.

Who in their right mind would CHOOSE to carry this pain?

And I miss Dominic.

I miss his voice which is increasingly hard to conjure in my mind. I miss his sharp wit and snarky commentary on political and social events. Now that I finally figured out how to tweet, I wish we could exchange comments and quotes. I miss his laugh.

I miss the family I used to have. The one that could look forward without fear of waking one morning to another member gone-poof! The family that was only going to grow, not shrink. A mother’s heart is absolutely ready to expand, but refuses to get smaller because a child is no longer present to receive her love.

I miss my rock-solid faith in a God Who promised to bless if I only followed. I am not calling His character into question-I believe as firmly today that He is weaving a good story out of every circumstance as I did before Dominic left us. But I do not receive this blow as a blessing.

I can’t.

I miss the enthusiasm I used to have for everyday events. Making things special and beautiful was the joy of my heart. I loved, loved, loved to add thoughtful touches to a meal or a moment. While I am just as committed to my family as I ever was, I rarely have the energy for these things anymore.

I miss the future I thought we would all have together. I am still so wounded I refuse to look much further than a month ahead unless absolutely necessary. The old me who envisioned grandchildren and golden years is gone.

I am utterly unprepared to declare Dominic’s “legacy”. Of course my child influenced people. That’s what we do-we interact and influence and leave a trail behind.

But that is completely different than making a choice about what to invest your life’s energy into-completely different than what one attributes to a person whose long life leaves behind actions, words and work that form a cohesive testimony to a personality or passion.

I am not hiding in a hole. I do not spend days in bed or sitting, sulking and silent, shaking my fist at the sky.

Even today I will get up, get dressed and DO what needs to be done.

But I will be mindful that one of my children is beyond reach. One piece of my heart is unavailable for me to hold.

I will cry at what I’ve lost and be thankful for what I had.

I will look at pictures of Dominic and wish photos and memories were not all that is left of my third child.

I will continue to live the life I didn’t choose.

Repost: Feet of Clay

It’s not just my feet that are made of clay! I am clay from top to bottom and I am reminded of that fact every day. I try and fail. I strive but make no progress. I want to do better, but I don’t.

God is not surprised. I do not have to live up to some impossible standard in order for Him to love me. He made me, He knows me and He loves me. Covered by the blood of Christ I am free to live in that love, to love others from that love.

God is not offended by my human frailty. He isn’t looking down from Heaven, shaking His head at my halting steps forward on this long, hard road.

He understands my fear, my sadness, my longing for wholeness.

But sometimes it’s hard for me to remember that.

Read the rest here: Feet of Clay

Lessons in Grief: Learning to Listen

I admit it: I’m a fixer.

It’s probably genetic (won’t mention any names!) but it has been reinforced by training and life experience.

When faced with a difficult or messy situation, my mind instantly rolls through an inventory of available resources and possible solutions.

And I tended to cut people off mid-sentence with my brilliant (?) plan to save the day.

But there are things you just can’t fix.

I knew that before Dominic ran ahead to Heaven but I mostly ignored it.

I can’t do that anymore.

So I’m learning to listen better. Learning to let others express the hard things that can’t be fixed so that their burden is a bit lighter for the sharing. I’m learning that silent hand holding or hugging or just looking someone in the eye instead of dodging their gaze is a great gift.

I’m learning that lending courage is possible. One heart can actually beat in synchrony with another and the duet is musical and magical strength.

I’m learning that there are too many voices shouting “solution!” and too few ears listening to the full expression of a problem.

I’m learning that often my rush to remedy is hurtful, not helpful.

I’m learning that time does not heal all wounds-there are many among us bearing injuries that may be decades old but have never been spoken aloud because no one would listen.

I’m learning that even the spoken stories need to be repeated often and with just as much emotion each time because the telling has a way of releasing pain all it’s own.

I’m convinced that if we were a society of listeners who slowed down just long enough to really HEAR other people’s stories we’d be a society with much less pent up anger, bitterness and other dark emotions.

I’m embracing the old saying, “God gave us two ears and one mouth so we should listen twice as much as we talk”.

Sometimes that means literally biting my tongue or placing my hand over my mouth.

But I’m trying not to waste this hard-bought lesson.

Need an ear?

I’m here. ❤

What Can I DO? Start by Showing Up.

This weekend another family joined the ranks of the bereaved.

A beloved son left for heaven in a car accident.

The mama’s best friend messaged to ask what she could do to help this newly broken heart.

It made me dig deep in my memories for who did what in those first hours, first days and how it made a difference in our family’s ability to hold onto hope and to stumble forward in the heavy fog of grief, pain and sorrow that enveloped our hearts.

My friend was already committed to showing up and sitting silently and lovingly with this child’s mother. I didn’t have to remind her of the power of compassionate companionship.

She was going.

She was staying as long as it was helpful and necessary.

She was coming back as many times as needed.

And that is a gift!

I remember the morning I got the news and as the sun was coming up, a truck pulled down our lane. It was Robbie-our “adopted” son. As soon as my oldest son (who was in WV at the time) got the call, he called Robbie. Because he knew I would be able to bear Robbie’s presence and accept Robbie’s help. I cannot describe the relief I felt when he came to the door-another shoulder to help carry this burden until we could gather all our family together to lift it in unison.

And after him came a couple we had known since the kids were little.

Both rushed to our doorstep to offer companionship, practical aid, listening ears and simple reassurance that though this was NOT a dream-oh, how I wanted it to be a dream!–I was not going to walk this Valley alone. They stayed until my husband, son and parents had made it here. I will never, ever, ever forget that gift of unconditional love and time offered just when I needed it most.

Others came. Some did practical things, brought necessary items, helped me begin to think through next steps. But many just sat with me and my children as we waited for my husband to fly in and my parents to drive up.

I cannot overstate how important SIMPLY BEING THERE was!

Thinking back on that time, I dug up some other very practical “first few days” things friends and family can do:

Bring disposable plates, cutlery and plenty of paper goods (toilet paper, kleenex, napkins) along with extra trash bags.
Place a notebook and pens near the spot folks might drop off meals or other things and ask that they write their names and what they brought inside. My daughter did this for me and while I was often unable to acknowledge it at the time (or unaware of the blessing) I had a record that is dear to me still.
Set up an online meal planning/scheduling group. Make sure to note allergies or special food needs because while it’s wonderful to have food provided, it’s not helpful if the family can’t eat it because of dietary restrictions.
If there are unwashed clothes belonging to the childDO NOTwash them in an attempt to help out. It may sound awful to anyone who has not buried a child, but nearly every mom I know wanted something with her child’s scent still on it. I have a few things of Dom’s that are in a sealed plastic bag. Every so often I open it and inhale what’s left of his fragrance. Smell is such a powerful memory stimulant.
Begin to collect photographs from online sources, friends and family so that there will be many to choose from if the family wants to make a video for services.
Bring disposable Lysol wipes or something similar for quick clean ups in bathrooms and the kitchen. Discreetly tidy up whenever possible or necessary.
Do NOT move papers, piles of mail, etc. without the family’s permission. It may seem like a good idea at the time to make things neat for visitors, but it will be a nightmare later! My brain is nearly empty of details for most of the first month after Dominic left us. I depended on routine and familiar spots to remember where important items might be for the first year. If something had been moved, I could not locate it, no matter how hard I tried. If somethingHAS to be moved, place it in a box-clearly labeled-and attach a prominent note on the refrigerator or someplace like that indicating where it is.
Just sit and listen. Or just sit in silence. Whatever is most helpful to the bereaved parents and their family. Loving presence kept me anchored to this world when all I wanted to do was float away somewhere the pain couldn’t find me.

Compassionate companionship makes the difference between a heart holding onto hope or letting go and falling into the abyss.

Trust me.

I know.

“Don’t Dwell on That!”

Why is it “dwelling” in one instance and “remembering” in another?

Who gets to decide whether I’m taking out a cherished memory, holding it, stroking it and reliving it because it’s all I have left or I’m clutching the past, refusing to let go?

I will be the first to admit that mulling over past offenses is probably the last thing I need to do. Especially if I’m trying to forgive them. That’s not helpful nor is it healthy.

But there’s a difference between THAT kind of thinking and the kind of thinking every bereaved parent does about his or her missing child.

When Dominic ran ahead to heaven, there was a sudden, horrible and unchangeable end to new experiences, to making any more memories, to another conversation, picture or text.

All I have of my son is whatever I had saved up to the moment of his accident.

And it is not enough.

It will never be enough to fill up the spaces of what my heart wishes I had.

He lived for nearly 24 years. But I can’t withdraw those memories like cash and “spend” them, day for day, for the next 24 years.

It doesn’t work that way.

So I have favorite moments, like we all do, that I pull out over and over. I cherish them like precious stones or rare coins. I hold them, stroke them, tell the stories behind them and hug them close.

Not because I can’t “move forward”.

Goodness!

Here I am nearly seven years later living, breathing and fully connected to the people and events in my present!

I do it because memories are a way to remain connected to Dominic.

He is as much a part of my life-unseen by others, unheard by others, often forgotten by others-as the living, breathing children that are still here with me.

So I am not DWELLING on these memories.

I am hanging on with both hands because I refuse to let one-quarter of my heart be relegated to darkness and silence because of other people’s discomfort.

I will remember.

As long as I have breath I will speak my remembrance.

I will never, ever, ever let go.

Family Tree

A cousin whom I haven’t seen in decades recently contacted my dad in order to complete a family tree he is working to compile.

It’s a noble task and one I fully support.

But when my dad forwarded the request to me (because I had details on my own son’s wedding and his wife’s birth date) it was an unexpected trigger.

Typing away I added mine and my husband’s birth dates and the place and date of our marriage.

Then down the line of my children.

Fiona.

James Michael and his bride. Their wedding date.

Dominic. I have another date for him-one I never, ever thought I would live to record-the day he left this earth for his heavenly home. My breath catches in my throat.

Julian.

My youngest son who is now older than his brother ever got to be.

My second son has no descendants. Every molecule that was Dominic is now in the grave. No representation of his humor, his talent, his face.

His unique light has been extinguished from this world forever.

I realize that these dates will be filed away, made part of a record for those that come after without any understanding of the person they represent.

Just facts on a page.

History.

Holy Week Reflections: Resurrection-Reality and Reassurance

Paul wrote, “if Christ has not risen, then our preaching is in vain [it amounts to nothing] and your faith is devoid of truth and is fruitless (without effect, empty, imaginary, and unfounded).” ( I Corinthians 15:14 AMPC)

If Jesus was just another prophet or good man or moral teacher and his body lies buried forever then there is no foundation for my hope.

But He IS risen! And I DO have hope!

“The worst conceivable thing has happened, and it has been mended…All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” ~Julian of Norwich

I’m not sure when I first read this quote, but it came to my mind that awful morning. And I played it over and over in my head, reassuring my broken heart that indeed, the worst had already happened, and been mended.

Death had died.

Read the rest here: Resurrection: Reality and Reassurance

Holy Week Reflections: Why Good Friday Matters as Much as Resurrection Sunday

Bury a child and suddenly the death of Christ becomes oh, so personal. The image of Mary at the foot of the cross is too hard to bear.

I trusted Jesus at an early age and I have lived my life beneath the shadow of the wings of the Almighty God.

But I never-not really-grasped the horror of the crucifixion until I watched as my own son’s body was lowered in the ground.

Death. is. awful.

Read the rest here: Remember: Why Good Friday Matters as Much as Resurrection Sunday

Holy Week Reflections: Be Like Jesus

I want to reach out with the same heart that my Master has for the lost and hurting and lonely and outcast.

I want it to be obvious to Whom I belong.

Today is the day on the church calendar when we pause and reflect on the Last Supper, and the last words of Jesus to His disciples.

A year’s worth of sermons is contained in John 13-17 but this week I have been drawn to just one verse:

[Jesus said] “Now I am giving you a new command—love one another. Just as I have loved you, so you must love one another. This is how all men will know that you are my disciples, because you have such love for one another.” John 13:34 PHILLIPS

The Israelites were given circumcision as the sign of the covenant. The shedding of blood as the mark of belonging.

But Jesus knew His blood would be the final and complete sacrifice required for sin. He knew the debt would be fully paid. And blood would no longer be required.

So a new mark is given, a new seal is declared: LOVE will be the designation by which others know who belongs to the Father through Christ, His Son.

I look around, and see how far we have fallen from the example and standard Jesus set for those of us who follow Him.

Read the rest here: Maundy Thursday

Blind and Broken

How do you know when you are blind?”…”You don’t…you only know afterward when you can see. The blindness of the disciples does not keep their Christ from coming to them. He does not limit his post-resurrection appearances to those with full confidence in him. He comes to the disappointed, the doubtful, the disconsolate. he comes to those who do not recognize him even when they are walking right beside him. He comes to those who have given up and are headed back home, which makes this whole story a story about the blessedness of brokenness.

[Barbara Brown Taylor, Gospel Medicine]

Oh, how I am tempted to build a wall between myself and Jesus!

I keep thinking that I must be a certain way or do a certain thing to be worthy of His grace and mercy.

The checklists I create are really just a way to make myself feel better about my own helplessness.

And I am so very helpless.

There is no prerequisite to receiving grace.

He comes.

He gives.

He saves.

I am the good shepherd. I am the one who really cares for the sheep. The good shepherd is willing to die to save his sheep. ~Jesus

John 10:11 WE

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