It comes up again and again-and not just for the parents facing their year of “firsts”: How do I survive December with a broken heart?
There’s no single answer or list of things to do that will suit every family.
But there are some general principles that can make even this awful reality a little easier…
Read the rest here: How To Survive December With a Broken Heart
Fellow brave and bereaved, I don’t know how you feel coming off this late-in-the-month Thanksgiving headed straight for Christmas but I’m kind of tired.
Yesterday I shared about post-holiday blues but this is something different.
I love, love, love any time I get with my family and I want to be clear that THEY do not place demands on me I find burdensome.
But…I am no better prepared to trudge through all the holly-jolly THIS year than I was the second year after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. (I don’t even count the first year when shock overwhelmed my heart.)
This far along in my grief journey many folks I rub shoulders with are either unaware that child loss is part of my story or they’ve tucked that “incident” away in some rarely accessed section of their memory. And while I do not tote my loss around like a token demanding special attention, it absolutely continues to inform how I experience every day and especially how I experience holidays.
So I wanted to share a few thoughts about THIS year-the eleventh Christmas I will celebrate since Dom left us.
Most importantly, I remind my heart that this season is only a season.
It doesn’t last forever.
I will survive this like I’ve survived every day since Dominic left us-one moment, one breath at a time.
Every family is different. Every loss experience is unique.
Some of us have busy households when one of our children leave for Heaven and some of us are long past full tables and messy teen bedrooms.
Wherever we find ourselves when the unthinkable overtakes us, it’s always hard to continue doing daily tasks bearing a burden of sorrow. So often we settle into a pattern of striving and straining through the deep mire of grief without making time for rest.
I know I did.
Goodness! I still experience seasons when grief waves steal what little breath is left from a breathless and busy life and I can barely function.
It’s then I remind my heart that self care isn’t selfish. It’s necessary.
Absolutely, positively necessary.
❤ Melanie
Looking back I’m shocked at how much I allowed societal norms and expectations to determine how I grieved Dominic’s death.
I withheld grace from myself that I would have gladly and freely given to another heart who just buried a child. Somehow I thought I had to soldier on in spite of the unbearable sorrow, pain, horror and worldview shattering loss I was enduring.
And the further I got from the date of his accident, the more I expected from myself.
Read the rest here: Self Care in Grief
I get it-you have no clue what it’s like to say good-bye to a life you’ve birthed and fully expected to outlast your own.
I don’t even imagine you can understand because I’m living it and still trying to figure it out.
But there are some things you can do to help me walk this awful and unfathomably painful path.
Please, please, please know that my child is STILL my child. He is still counted in our family’s number. She remains one of the nieces and one of the grandchildren when we diagram our family tree.
So when you talk to others or tally numbers don’t exclude them.
My last earthly child is not an “only child”. Our mother doesn’t just have “one grandson”.
I need you to say his name! I long for you to share a beloved memory without choking out the details like it’s a chore instead of a privilege.
Can we make space for tears and joy in our family celebrations?
Could you message me privately before announcing the joyous news YOUR earthbound child is getting married or having a child so I can prepare my heart for the onslaught of “congratulations” posted across social media?
It’s not that I envy (well, maybe a little) your life.
It’s just that you can’t fathom mine.
I didn’t just lose my child once at a single point in time. I lose him again every time there is a milestone or celebration or moment when he SHOULD be there but isn’t.
I’m not asking you to walk on eggshells. That’s unfair and unfruitful.
I AM asking you to learn a new way of speaking about my child in Heaven.
He still exists.
He still matters.
He’s still very much a part of our family AND yours.
Recently someone asked me for my definition of forgiveness.
It caught me off guard.
She had been sharing details of a very painful situation with someone who is clearly intent on making her life difficult “just because”.
I had to think about it.
After a few seconds I told her that at its most basic level, I thought forgiveness was completely releasing another from the debt of making things right, making amends or changing in their intentions or behavior toward me.
And then I realized it was precisely what I thought even though I’d never framed it exactly like that before.
I’ve sat with my words for a several days now and I have a few more thoughts.
My definition may lack precision in terms of theology but it is absolutely congruent with lived experience.
It bridges the gap I (and many others) feel between what feels like real forgiveness (releasing the debt) and also still not trusting a particular individual enough to allow them in my life.
I can’t imagine a single soul walking in this world for very long without having at least someone wound them deeply. And it’s no good just trying to ignore the pain or paper it over or distract yourself from it. I eventually find it gnaws a hole in my heart.
When that happens, it’s necessary (for my own mental, emotional and spiritual health) to face it and deal with it.
That’s when the choice to forgive can release the energy that will otherwise be expressed in bitterness or anger or sarcasm or avoidance or unfulfilling and often harmful choices.
If I forgive-release another from the debt of making things right or making amends or changing in their intentions or behavior toward me-then I am no longer held hostage to what they do or don’t do, say or don’t say.
It is real and freeing.
Doing that, I can more accurately evaluate whether the individual is a safe one whom I can allow back into my life:
You do not have to allow them back in if they are not worthy of that privilege.
So, so many bereaved parents have been wounded in so, so many ways.
Sometimes by those they love. Sometimes by strangers who contributed to the death of their child. Sometimes by others who have made it difficult or impossible to do the work grief requires.
Those that inflict the wounds may be repentant or they may not.
That’s outside our control.
But we all have the opportunity to make the choice to release the debt and free ourselves of the ongoing burden of caring whether they are sorry or not.
And that is work well done.
I have to talk to myself all the time.
Literally.
There are some mornings I open my eyes and would do just about anything to be able to stay in bed, hide under the covers and wish the day away.
But I can’t.
So I recite truth until my heart can hear it. I speak courage to my own spirit.
If you are feeling weak and weary today, may I share a few of my favorites?
Read the rest here: Something to Hold On To When You Feel Like Letting Go
I hate mirrors. Not because I’m ashamed of my wrinkles or my fat hips. But because the face staring back at me now is not one I recognize.
I see someone who’s supposed to be me and can’t quite place her.
There’s a vague resemblance to the person that used to look me in the eye while I was brushing my teeth or fixing my hair.
But now, she is “other”, unfamiliar, strange in a “slightly off” kind of way.
Read the rest here: No Mirrors, Please!
I’ve written before about anxiety and child loss here. No matter the cause of death, the FACT of a child’s death seems to create the perfect conditions for a parent’s body and mind to experience anxiety, dis-ease, fear and often a sense of impending doom.
My world was rocked to its foundation the moment I heard the words, “He was killed in a motorcycle accident”.
The worst thing I could imagine had come true.
There was no protection from it happening again, no guarantee that THIS unbearable pain would be the ONLY unbearable pain I would have to carry.
I think my body chemistry was instantly transformed that morning to include rapid heartbeats, shallow breathing and a horrible creepy tension that climbs my spine and clenches its claws tightly at the base of my skull.
Before Dominic left us for Heaven I was not an anxious person.
Read the rest here: Anxiety is Awful!
I was recently told by someone that my world was tiny.
It hurt my heart.
Not because it is factually inaccurate but because the person who said it implied that distance traveled from my front door equaled responsibility and influence. If I don’t wander hither and yon, then I’m inferior. If I don’t have paid employment then whatever I do doesn’t “really” count.
I know many bereaved parents have been forced to scale back commitments, maybe change jobs or retire early, and, like me, lead a smaller life than before.
I’m here to tell you that’s perfectly OK.
Read the rest here: It’s Alright To Be Little Bitty
Since sharing this for the first time years ago, I HAVE expanded my ministry a bit. I’ve established a federally recognized non-profit and will be able to offer my time and resources free of charge to bereaved parents and those who want to support them
If you would like to join with me in ministry to bereaved parents and their families, you can make a tax-deductible donation using this link:
You know that scene in Forrest Gump where he starts running and just can’t stop?
I thought that was a funny way to deal with grief when I first saw the movie.
But now I understand it perfectly.
If I could have started running, walking or even crawling away from the heartache in those first days and weeks I would have.
Truth is, though, you can’t.
Read the rest here: Can’t Run Away
thelifeididntchoose 