Tag: time

Bereaved Parents Month 2024: How Do You Breathe?

I’m ending Bereaved Parents Month by sharing this post because I still have moments when I marvel that I’ve survived.

❤

It was the question I asked the bereaved mother that came to my son’s funeral.

It was the question a mother asked me as we stood by her granddaughter’s casket, surrounded by family and flowers.

And it is the right question.

Because when the breath leaves the body of your child, and you look down at the shell that used to be the home of a vibrant, living soul, you simply can. not. breathe.

Read the rest here: How Do You Breathe?

Bereaved Parents Month 2024: Life Grows Around Grief

When days become months and months become years it’s hard to explain to others how grief is both always present but not always in focus.

I’ve struggled to help those outside the loss community understand that the absolute weight of the burden is precisely the same as when it fell on me without warning that dark morning.

Dominic’s absence, if anything, has seeped into more places, changed more relationships and influences more choices than it did ten years ago when I was only just beginning to comprehend what a world without him would look like.

Read the rest here: Life Grows Around Grief

Bereaved Parents Month 2024: Background Music

Another bereaved mom wrote that she was better able to cope now than she had been a year ago.

And thanks to Facebook memories she had proof.

Several comments down a second mom wrote something that got me thinking-when, exactly, did Dominic’s loss move from the forefront to the background?

I’m not sure I can pinpoint a day or moment when I realized that sorrow was no longer ALL I feel and Dominic’s absence no longer ALL I see.

Read the rest here: Background Music

Bereaved Parents Month 2024: Ten Things I’ve Learned About Child Loss

The first time I shared this I was trying to distill years of walking the broken road of child loss into a relatively few, easy to think about, “lessons”.

Since then I could add a dozen more but today I’ll only add one: Being a bereaved parent is not my IDENTITY but it impacts who I am in ways I’m still figuring out.

Just as being married or being female or being from the southern United States informs how I walk in the world and interact with others so, too, does having buried a child.

There’s a lot of pressure to pretend that’s not true.

But I won’t do that.

❤ Melanie

I’ve had awhile to think about this.  Nine years is a long time to live with loss, to live without the child I carried, raised and sent off in the world.

So I’ve considered carefully what my “top ten” might be.

Here’s MY list (yours might be very different):

Read the rest here: Ten Things I’ve Learned About Child Loss

Grief Journey: Why is the Second Year SO Hard

It’s not true for everyone but it is true for enough of us. The second year after child loss can be especially hard.

Numbness and the rhythm of all the “firsts” in the twelve months following Dominic’s death kept me both anticipating the shock and protecting me from its full impact.

The second year was when it dawned on me that I was doomed to repeat this cycle as long as I lived.

I was absolutely overwhelmed.❤ Melanie

I remember very well the morning I woke on April 12, 2015-it was one year since I’d gotten the awful news; one year since the life I thought I was going to have turned into the life I didn’t choose.

I was horrified that my heart had continued to beat for 365 days when I was sure it wouldn’t make it through the first 24 hours. 

And I was terrified.

Read the rest here:  Why is the Second Year SO Hard?

Say It Now. Don’t Wait. You Might Not Get Another Chance.

I try not to pull the “life’s short” or “you never know” card on people very often.

But there are lots of times I want to.

When you’ve said a casual good-bye to a loved one thinking it’s not that big of a deal only to find out the last time was The LAST Time, you learn not to let things go unsaid or unmended.

It’s never too late to begin the habit of speaking love, blessing and encouragement to important people in your life.

Even if it makes them (or you!) uncomfortable.

Maybe especially then.❤

I’m not sure when I began practicing this but I make a habit of telling people I love them even if it makes them uncomfortable.

promise me something tell them you love them

Read the rest here: Just. Say. It.

Ten Years: Child Loss Is Not a Single Event. I Wish It Were.

Child loss is not a single event. 

Of course the moment when the last breath leaves a body is noted and duly recorded because the law requires such.  I can pull out Dominic’s death certificate (what an ugly thing to have to say about my child!) and it reads:  Time of Death:  1:10 a.m. April 12, 2014.  

But I didn’t know about it until 4: 15 that morning when the deputy rang the bell.  

So for me, his death came then.

Read the rest here: Child Loss is Not a Single Event

Ten Years and Ten Things (plus one) I’ve Learned About Child Loss

The first time I shared this I was trying to distill years of walking the broken road of child loss into a relatively few, easy to think about, “lessons”.

Since then I could add a dozen more but today I’ll only add one: Being a bereaved parent is not my IDENTITY but it impacts who I am in ways I’m still figuring out.

Just as being married or being female or being from the southern United States informs how I walk in the world and interact with others so, too, does having buried a child.

There’s a lot of pressure to pretend that’s not true.

But I won’t do that.

❤ Melanie

I’ve had awhile to think about this.  Nine years is a long time to live with loss, to live without the child I carried, raised and sent off in the world.

So I’ve considered carefully what my “top ten” might be.

Here’s MY list (yours might be very different):

Read the rest here: Ten Things I’ve Learned About Child Loss

Ten Years: Remembering the Last Day Before It All Fell Apart

I fell asleep last night thinking about that Friday evening ten 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 ten 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

Ten Years: Brave Faith

I think this, next to love, is my theme song.

Lifting our hearts and hurts to God, trusting He hears us, trusting He wants to help us, is the boldest act of faith. Wanting desperately to square our feelings with truth about who He is and how much He loves us takes time, effort and commitment.

Like Jacob, we may (most probably will?!) limp after the encounter but it is worth it.

Precious struggling heart, don’t give up.

Wrestle on. ❤