One of the things even the most uninformed person understands about loss is that the first birthday, the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas and all the “firsts” after loss will be hard.
But one of the things no one tells you about is that a heart will mark the “lasts” just as much.
The last time I saw him.
The last time I spoke to him.
The last time I hugged his neck and smelled the unique fragrance that was my son.
Read the rest here: A Whole Series of “Lasts”
Bereaved parents hear lots of things from folks who truly do wish to bring comfort but often miss the mark by a mile.
One of them goes something like this, “Well, at least you have your other children (and/or grandchildren) and they need you!”
Now, if they gave it a bit of thought, they would know right away that’s at best an uninformed remark and at worst, a very painful one.
Read the rest here: No Substitute for My Missing Child
I have always loved candles. Something in the flickering light speaks to my heart.
It’s one of my favorite parts of early evenings-watching the candles I light on every flat surface cast a soft glow and chase the darkness.
Even a small light offers hope.
Read the rest here: Remembering the Missing: Four Candles
Today is my birthday.
And while I am truly grateful for another trip around the sun, since Dominic left us it’s not a simple celebration of life lived and the hope of years to come.
The last birthday I had with an unbroken family circle was a lovely surprise party for my fiftieth held in Dom’s apartment.
Seven years later and it seems a lifetime ago.
So when I wake up to another sunrise and take inventory (as those of us who reach a certain age are wont to do) on the anniversary of my birth, I count losses as well as gains.
And I wish, wish, wish that old wives’ tale about blowing out candles in a single breath were true.
Because other than the continued health of my surviving children, there’s only one wish worth the air I take in and out of my lungs-something Dominic can never do again-and that is for him to have the privilege of blowing out the candles once more.
It’s not only HIS birthday that makes my heart ache.
It’s mine.
I would have gladly traded my life for his.
But I wasn’t given that choice. ❤
One of the hard lessons I’ve learned in child loss is that while gratitude is important, and helps my heart hold on, it does not undo grief.
I truly look for and rejoice in every good thing, every tender moment, every smile, hug and bit of laughter shared with those I love.
But I can never stop looking for Dominic’s face around the table or longing to hear HIS voice in the chorus of chatter from the other room.
❤
Oh, how I wish it were different!
The odd bits that break my heart-
The moment my three living children are in the family room, joking and laughing-but his voice is so obviously missing.
The moment I say to one son, “Have you texted your brother?” and don’t have to give a name, because there is only one brother left to text.
Read the rest here: The Odd Bits That Break My Heart
As families gather around tables and in backyards to celebrate fall birthdays, Thanksgiving and (soon!) Christmas, my heart longs even harder to hear Dominic’s name.
Of course I remember him-he’s my son-and of course others do too.
But it is especially helpful this time of year to have friends and family speak of him aloud.
Read the rest here: Let Me Know You Remember
Just a couple of days before Dominic left us, I and another one of my kids had a fuss.
He was frustrated and stressed and I was vulnerable and stressed and a few stray words ended up hurting my feelings.
I said, “I can’t talk anymore now”, and hung up the phone in tears.
He was sorry and I was sorry and we immediately exchanged texts and let the feelings cool so we could resume our conversation the next day.
He sent me flowers.
They were still beautiful when he came home to bury his brother.
Read the rest here: Speak Your Peace-You May Not Get Another Chance
I try to limit the time I spend perusing old photos and old social media posts of my missing son.
I’ve learned that while they remind me of sweet memories and happy times they also prick my heart in ways nothing else can.
I was looking for something specific the other day and had to scroll through Dominic’s Facebook page to find it. As I did, I began reading some of the back and forth comments under the posts and pictures.
This time it wasn’t what was said or where the photos were taken that hurt my heart.
Instead it was the tiny little time stamp underneath the words that took my breath away.
Nothing more recent than five years ago was recorded.
Because that’s when his voice went silent.
Read the rest here: I Miss Your Voice: Silent Echoes Haunt My Heart
I’ve written before about how I choose to leave some things just as Dominic left them-even over six years later.
It’s my way of maintaining physical space in our home that represents the space in my heart where only he can fit.
It’s also more than that.
As time progresses, nearly every other tangible evidence that Dominic existed is being worn away.
Read the rest here: And The Gap Grows: Trying To Remember In a World That Forgets
I spent long hours with Mama in the last years of her life.
That gave me plenty of time to mine her memory for details of stories I’d heard for years but never took time to really listen to closely.
I knew (although I had no idea how soon it might happen!) that I wouldn’t have her forever. I wanted to gather all the bits and pieces I could hold that would remind me who she was, who she loved and what made her unique so I could always, always remember.
When she left us last September I felt like I had a treasure chest of tales and precious mementos.
It wasn’t that way with Dominic.
I never imagined I’d need such a thing.
I never thought I would be the one left behind with questions about what motivated him to this or that, go here or there, what brought him particular delight or made him stay awake at night.
Time was on my side.
He was young and vibrant.
No need to dig for bits to tuck away in case he wasn’t here to ask.
I was wrong.
