Tag: missing

Still At a Loss for Words…

Today is Dominic’s birthday. He would have been thirty-three if he lived.

I find as the years roll by it becomes increasingly difficult to “age” the person I last saw into the person he might have become. Oh, I can guess-but that’s hardly worth doing since we all know life rarely follows a straight path.

And that’s what defies language and steals my breath. On milestone days especially, I’m not only mourning what I have lost but also what I will never know.

❤

It would surprise my mama most of all that on this day I’m at a loss for words.

I regularly embarrassed her with my non-stop commentary as a child. I told stories about what I heard and saw (and what my young mind THOUGHT it heard or saw) to anyone who would listen.

But I realize now there are moments too sacred, wounds too deep, experiences too precious for words.

Either you are there and share it-or you’re not-and can’t imagine.

This is one of those times.

Dominic would be thirty-three years old today if he had lived.

Read the rest here: At A Loss For Words: Another Birthday Without You

Truth: You Can Only Hold On To What You Refuse To Let Go Of

I wrote this post after hearing a radio interview in which the guest said, “You can only hold onto what you refuse to let go of” in reference to clinging to what was truly important in life.

It struck a chord deep in my heart because as the weeks turn to months and then to years, I’m realizing I must hold onto every bit of Dominic that I can.

Because no matter how much I wish it were different, time has a way of washing our minds clean of things we don’t cling to with both hands.

Those hours before I planted one last kiss on my son’s forehead, I held his hand.  

I nodded at the people filing past to pay their respects with my arm tucked behind me, desperate to cling to my child.

Read the rest here:  You Can Only Hold On To What You Refuse to Let Go Of

Flashbacks

I originally shared this years ago-when grief was newer and nearly every day meant tears.

I’m stronger now and better able to carry this load called “child loss”. But if I’m honest, the missing is greater, the longing keener than it was in the early days when memories were still fresh and easily retrieved.

Still, there are places and things that draw my heart right back to the fresh faced little boy, the smart aleck teen, the ambitious, courageous and accomplished young man that was Dominic.

❤ Melanie

Every room holds memories.  Every footfall echoes past days.  Every window frames some precious vignette in my mind’s eye.

Inescapable.

Most days I’ve learned to turn down the volume.  But today it would not be denied.

Read the rest here: Flashback

My Season of Grief: How a Heart Marks the Days

It’s different for every heart.

But each of us who know child loss have a season of grief.

It’s so much more than “just” the day our child left for Heaven.

For me, it starts in November and runs through the end of May-fully half of

every.

single.

year.  

Read the rest here: Season of Grief: How a Heart Marks the Days

Proms, Graduations, Weddings Make Me Miss You More

Loss is not a single event.

That’s especially true for child loss.

We carry, birth and raise children expecting them to outlive US not that we will outlive THEM.

From the first cute bow in her hair or his first awkward toss of a football, we begin to dream of where time, talent and hard work might take these little ones.

So when death cruelly robs our hearts not only of the physical company of our child but also of the dreams we had for him or her, it’s more than a double blow.

Because we cannot escape all the reminders that blaze across our social media feeds or the advertisements shouting at us screaming, “He will never wed!” or “She will never graduate!”.

So if you are struggling, you’re not alone.

❤ Melanie

Almost anyone you ask anticipates that Thanksgiving and Christmas, two family-centered holidays, are difficult days and seasons  for bereaved parents.

And they are.  

Especially for families that enjoyed special times around the table, unhurried visits reminiscing about years past and traditions that reinforce the unique heritage of their shared history.

But this time of year is also challenging for me and many other parents who have lost a child.

Read the rest here: Graduations and Weddings and Trips, Oh My!

I Know Exactly What I’m Missing

Wednesday was nine long years since Dominic left for Heaven. It’s hard to wrap my mind around the distance between the last time I hugged him and now.

But I can still feel the shape of where his shoulders would fit in my arms.

I know exactly who I’m missing-and I miss him every bit as much today as the first moment I learned he wasn’t coming home.

❤

When I imagine something I’ve never actually experienced-even when I might say “I miss such and such” -it’s not the same as when I’ve had something and it’s been taken away.

I can only miss the imaginary in an ephemeral, insubstantial way.  I miss what I once possessed in a tangible way.

I know exactly the size and shape and sound and substance of the person that SHOULD be here but isn’t.

Read the rest here: Tangible Absence

Remembering The Last Day Before Everything Fell Apart

I fell asleep last night thinking about that Friday evening nine years ago when I closed my eyes on the world I knew only to open them to a world I wish I could forget.

It’s odd how these anniversaries play out-there’s the actual date (which, if I’m honest isn’t usually nearly as hard for me) plus the litany of days that lead up to the date and reconstruct the weekend that ended in tragedy.

The Friday night/Saturday morning combination bring me to my knees even nine years later.

Only someone who has endured the doorbell or the phone call can truly understand how dozens of tiny prompts create a mental, physical and emotional response that can neither be ignored nor controlled.

Every year is different. Every year brings more recent memories that don’t include Dominic intermingled with what now feel like ancient ones.

Every year has new challenges to face with a worn out heart that sometimes simply wants to fall asleep and dream it all away.

❤ Melanie

Friday, April 11, 2014:

Julian and I went to a college honors banquet and came back to the house to find Fiona home for the weekend.  I called Hector and texted with James Michael.

I turned out the light and went to sleep.  

No warning shots across the bow of life rang out to let me know what was coming.

But that Friday was the last day I spent misunderstanding the awfulness of death and the absolute uncertainty of life.

Read the rest here: The Day Before It All Fell Apart

Christmas 2022: Post Holiday Blues

It’s a paradox really-that grieving hearts can be more anxious and more sorrowful BEFORE and AFTER a milestone day, birthday or holiday than on the day itself.

That’s not true for everyone, but it’s a frequent comment in our closed bereaved parent groups.

Fearful anticipation of how awful it MIGHT be can work me up into a frenzy.

Image result for grief anniversaries

Read the rest here: Post Holiday Blues: When The Grief Comes Crashing Down

Christmas 2022: Grief Glitter, Tucked in Every Corner

I’ll never forget one Christmas when I and some other moms organized a craft day for our preschool kids at a local church.

In our youthful enthusiasm, we thought doing homemade cards accented by glitter was a good idea. Boy, were we wrong!

Those bits of metallic bliss went everywhere-in hair, on clothes, in the carpet…we spent twice as much time trying to clean up as we spent making memories with the children. Never again!

So this quote about grief and glitter really struck home in my heart.  

❤ Melanie

Every now and then I run across a quote or a meme that is perfect. 

This is one of them. 

Read the rest here: Grief Glitter, Tucked In Every Corner

Christmas 2022: Nine Years. Sigh…

When I was a little girl I never thought about how the holidays impacted the adults around me. I figured it was all about ME. Or at most, me plus my brother and Santa Claus.

I was blissfully unaware of budgets and baggage.

Now I know better.

The holidays require us to wrap more than presents. They force us to wrap all the pain and expectation and hope and heartache in a giant package and serve it up hot and ripe for dissension and disappointment.

It’s relatively easy to figure out what to put under the tree (or give for the nights of Hanukkah or Kwanzaa). It’s much harder to figure out what to bring to the dinner table or the family gathering or the we’re-doing-something-different-this-year NON-gathering.

I’ve written a lot about the holidays in previous years and I will be sharing those posts again because there is always someone who hasn’t read them or who is just now in need of them. But I wanted to add something to the canon this year-on the ninth set of holidays with one child in Heaven.

It’s not easier just because I’ve had practice.

We have yet to settle into a system that makes space for all the feelings and changes that time brings to lives and loves and hearts and homes.

I’m just as jealous TODAY of whole families as I was the first Christmas without Dominic. I’m just as likely to sit for hours wondering what, exactly, I should cart down from the attic, what I should set up in the living room, how I should honor him without making him a “saint” and when tears are appropriate or distracting and indulgent.

I don’t want to discourage anyone.

I have developed many more coping skills and ways to make it through the season than I had that first awful Christmas when every song, every memory, every EVERYTHING stung like driving snow on frozen faces.

I’m just being honest which is the first and most important commitment I made when I started sharing in this space. And I don’t want any heart who still struggles to think he or she is unusual or defective or weak or “less than” the hearts that declare unmitigated victory over grief and sorrow.

Life is life.

It’s not less treacherous because I’ve developed bigger emotional biceps as a result of child loss.

There is, in fact, a greater gap between what I expect from myself and what I find I’m able to give.

But I keep trying.

I’ll buy the presents, deck the halls, make the meals and cherish every moment I’m with the ones I love.

Because I’m oh, so aware that this Christmas may be the LAST Christmas.

A beautiful and terrible burden to bear.

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