If you think that time makes a difference to a mama missing a child who ran ahead to Heaven without her, you don’t know as much as you think you know.
Time does not heal all wounds-especially the kind that shatter a heart into a million pieces.
It takes time for the wound to scar over, but it doesn’t undo the damage.
So if you are wondering why your coworker still takes the day off on his child’s birthday or the anniversary of her child’s homegoing, I’ll let you in on a little secret: Years disappear when those milestones loom large.
I’m doing this as much forMEas for anyone else-going through seven plus years of blog posts to take stock of how my grief journey has changed over time.
I thought it would be helpful to some newcomers (both to the site and to the path) and to those who’ve been around since the beginning to look back and take stock.
For those who are fresh on this road, I pray they are encouraged to know they are not alone. For those who’ve traveled far, I pray they recognize the many ways they have grown stronger and better able to carry this burden.
So here are the blog posts for this date, in order, from 2016 through 2022. When there were duplicates (because I had reposted a previous entry) I am leaving it out.
2016: Prayers I Still Pray
As I mentioned yesterday, prayer after loss is complicated for me. I wrote a post months ago The Problem of [Un]Answered Prayer that addressed this.
But I AM able to pray Scripture-especially the prayers of Paul, which are centered on asking God to strengthen others and to expand their understanding of His love, compassion, power and grace.
Obviously, this particular post is dated. But I’m including it because it was the first time I’d been asked to speak instead of WRITE about my loss. It was a great step of faith and I am thankful I did it.
My mother was gravely ill (she lived 2 more years but we weren’t certain at the time) and it was a long and arduous journey to Arkansas (not by miles but by emotional endurance).
I was able to hug the necks-for the first time- of so many fellow loss parents who had encouraged and strengthened me.
2018: Trusting God After Loss-Why It’s Hard, Why It’s Necessary
One of the greatest challenges I faced this side of child loss was finding a space where I could speak honestly and openly about my feelings toward God and about my faith.
So many times I was shut down at the point of transparency by someone shooting off a Bible verse or hymn chorus or just a chipper, “God’s in control!”
They had NO IDEA how believing that (and I do!) God is in control was both comforting and utterly devastating at the very same time.
It took me awhile to revisit the basic tenets of my faith and tease out what was truly scriptural and what was simply churchy folklore.
When I was a little girl my family made a yearly pilgrimage to the white sand and clear water beaches in Florida.
We were allowed to wade out on our own as high as our waist while the adults talked and sunbathed on shore. If we wanted to go deeper, even for those of us who were good swimmers, we had to wait for the grown ups to join us.
I have a vivid memory of one sunny day when the waves were rolling in and my six-foot-tall dad was standing neck deep in the Gulf. I was a little closer to shore and decided to join him.
My young mind didn’t do the math between my short self and his taller one and stepped off an underwater ledge into water way over my head. I panicked when I realized there was no way for me to save myself.
I write a lot about what bereaved parents (me!) wish others knew or understood about child loss and this Valley we are walking. And I am thankful for every person outside the child loss community who chooses to read and heed what I write.
But I want to take a minute to tell those of you who are not part of this awful “club” that I get it-I really do get it–when you need to put distance between yourself and me or other people walking a broken road.
We all love to think that life is a never-ending ascent toward bigger, better and more enjoyable moments.
Our children are born and we think only of their future,not their future deaths.
But I think it’s important to document my own self-doubt and my weariness.
Maybe it’s something about the heat of August or maybe it’s just the too-early appearance of holiday decorations reminding my heart another frenetic season is just around the corner.
Whatever the reason, this month seems to always be one of reflection.
❤ Melanie
It will soon be seven years since I started writing in this space and I have to say, it’s been such a blessing to share the good, the bad, the ugly and the desperate with hearts that choose to come alongside and encourage me!
But I’m tired.
I’m just not certain I can keep pumping out (even recycled) posts every single day.
This came up in a bereaved parents’ support group and I thought it was a great question: “When you meet someone for the first time, do you tell them about your missing child?”
It’s one of those practical life skills bereaved parents have to figure out.
I remember when it dawned on me a few months after Dominic left us that I would meet people who wouldn’t know he was part of my story unless I told them.
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.
This came up in a bereaved parents’ support group and I thought it was a great question: “When you meet someone for the first time, do you tell them about your missing child?”
It’s one of those practical life skills bereaved parents have to figure out.
I remember when it dawned on me a few months after Dominic left us that I would meet people who wouldn’t know he was part of my story unless I told them.
I do NOT blame you that my son and my sorrow have drifted down your list of “things that need attention”. Your life is as busy as mine once was and your calendar full of commitments and celebrations that require your attendance.
But each year it feels lonelier and lonelier.
Because each year fewer and fewer people remember or if they do, they don’t know how to offer that up as a blessing because it feels awkward or stiff.
So may I suggest a few things that most bereaved parents would absolutely LOVE for friends and family to say or do-especially as the months roll into years or even decades?
I first shared this post three years ago when I was approaching the four year milestone of Dominic’s leaving for Heaven.
By that time most folks who knew me when he died had relegated that part of my story to some ancient past that surely I was over by now. I’d met others who had no clue my heart skipped a beat on a regular basis because one of my children was buried in the churchyard down the road.
And even the closest ones-the ones I thought would understand forever-were sometimes impatient with my ongoing refusal to leave Dominic behind and be “healed” of my grief.
What I long for more than anything as the seventh anniversary of his departure draws near is simply this: Let me be me, whatever that looks like.
Don’t try to fit my journey into your mold.
❤ Melanie
Even in the very first hours after the news, my brain began instructing my heart, “Now, try to be brave. Try not to disappoint people. Try to say the right thing, do the right thing and be the example you should be.”
I do NOT blame you that my son and my sorrow have drifted down your list of “things that need attention”. Your life is as busy as mine once was and your calendar full of commitments and celebrations that require your attendance.
There is no way you would know it’s 69 days until the fifth anniversary of Dominic’s sudden absence.
There is no reason for you to be aware that as the southern landscape turns to spring, my heart and mind turn to death.
You plan to mark this day as a special milestone for the rest of your life.
You absolutely, positively NEVER think you will have to mark another one: the day he or she leaves this life and leaves you behind.
But some parents have to mark both. The dash in the middle is shorter than we anticipated, and our child’s life ends before ours.
So how do you do it? How in the world do you observe the polar opposite of a birthday?
Here are some ideas (shared with permission) that parents shared recently in an online discussion sparked by one mom’s very honest admission that she just didn’t have it in her to create another video montage from the same old photos to mark yet another year without the earthly companionship of her precious son:
Don’t do anything. That is an option. We do not have to draw a red circle around THAT day on the calendar, gather folks as if it’s a celebration. As one mama said, “Yes, the day they left us does not need to be ‘remembered’.” For some parents, going to work like it’s a regular day, engaging in whatever normal activities are required, ticking the hours off on the clock until night falls and the earth turns to the next day may be the very best choice. Another mama wrote this: “I have friends who celebrate a ‘heaven day’ for their son. I can’t. I just can’t. If it were up to me, I would probably go camp somewhere all alone, and not move a muscle for the entire day.”
Do something big (or small). Some parents choose this day to hold an annual “Celebration of Life”. It might take the form of a balloon release, or lantern release at home, at a park or other outdoor venue or at the cemetery. It might be lunch or dinner out at your child’s favorite restaurant or at home with your child’s favorite menu. Invite friends and family to join you and ask that they bring a photograph or memory and share. One mom said that such an event kind of happened organically and spontaneously when contacted by her son’s widow: “We went to one of [his] favorite restaurants. Told funny stories about him, talked about how missed he is, then went o his grave and put fresh flowers.”
Serve others. Did your child have a special interest in a particular charity or community organization? Maybe you can spend this day volunteering or raising awareness/money for that group. Often having something to do helps a heart from sinking into despair. If the group allows, maybe put up a sign saying, “Volunteering today in honor of __________” and attach appropriate photos of your child. Some parents whose child died from cancer or suicide or violence participate in walks or fundraisers that highlight those causes.
Encourage Random Acts of Kindness (RAK). I plan to do this one in April. It will be seven years (!) and I can barely stand it. But so many of the comments from Dominic’s friends after he left for Heaven went something like this one, “He was always doing something for someone else. Fixing their car or showing up when they needed an encouraging word.” He was known for his many acts of generosity and kindness and I feel like he lives on in the hearts of others because of that. I had cards printed ( I intentionally let his “dates” off) which I will distribute well in advance of April 12th for friends and family to leave behind when they do a RAK in memory of Dom. Vistaprint and other online publishing companies offer reasonable prices and will guide you through the process step-by-step.
Escape. Lots of us find being at home (alone or in the company of others) too hard to bear. Many received word of their child’s death at home and as the day creeps closer, the memories crowd every corner of mental and physical space and are inescapable. So sometimes parents plan a trip around this time. Go somewhere your child would have loved to go or go somewhere he or she enjoyed visiting. Take photos and post them in honor of your child if you want to.
Focus on family. You may not want to be alone, but the thought of being with anyone outside your closest grief circle is overwhelming. That’s OK. Spend time with the people who, like you, are most affected by your child’s absence. You don’t have to do anything special. You can make room for them to speak or not speak about their grief as they choose. Sometimes just having another warm body in the room is enough to ward of the chill of despondency.
Flip the script. For those of us who believe that this life is not all there is, the day can be one of celebration. Our children have escaped life full of sorrow and trouble and are safe forever in the arms of Jesus, where we will also be one day. Waiting is hard, but waiting is not forever.
Simply allow yourself to feel the full force of missing and grief.“As far as his death day, for me, that is a day when I allow myself to fully feel and express the pain of my loss. It is a way to (temporarily) empty myself of all this pain, so I can breathe again to face another day. I will sit in his sweatshirt, listen to reflective music, cry a lot, talk to him, pray to God, and just allow myself to feel all the pain and emotion that everyday responsibilities cause me to stuff away.” If you can manage it, taking the day off work and giving yourself grace and space to grieve in ways that are denied so often may be the very best way to experience the day.
Here’s a list of ways some parents honor their child on this day:
Giving away stuffed toys with a card or note explaining why.
Taking goodies to first responders and/or nurses who were served their family during an accident or illness.
Handing out Bibles or books in memory of their child.
Making memory baskets for parent whose child will be born straight into heaven.
Adding to a scholarship fund or other charitable fund in honor of their child.
Placing balloons, flowers or other special decorations on their child’s final resting place.
Lighting candles, releasing butterflies, balloons or lanterns.
Placing a memorial advertisement in a local paper.
Do or don’t do whatever helps you make it through those twenty-four hours that represent another year of sorrow, another year of missing.
There is NO wrong way to mark or not mark this day.
It’s up to you and your heart.
And absolutely does not require anyone else’s permission or approval.
My body sometimes tells me I’m older than dirt while my mind plays tricks and lures me into all kinds of childish pursuits.
Mornings I creak down the stairs, holding tightly to the handrail lest I step wrong and end up in a tumble at the bottom
Midday I’m out in the woods picking up interesting bits of nature that I bring inside and set on a shelf-I still ooh and aah over empty cicada shells and help stranded earthworms back into moist soil.
Mostly I kind of plod through time taking it moment by moment except when forced to look ahead and plan for the big things like holidays.
But some days I stop and take stock of the years gone by, the things I’ve done or not done and the things I wish were different.
Birthdays tend to make me do that. And since my birthday always falls near Thanksgiving, I usually add a list of things for which I’m grateful.
I will always be glad that I chose to pour my life into my family. All grown, we still weave our lives together across the miles and in spite of crazy schedules. I have never regretted for a single moment that the one great achievement that will outlive me is my children.
Except for the one I have outlived. And that is my heart’s greatest burden.
I am so thankful for a husband who has graciously provided for our family. I never wrangled a moment over grocery money or necessary homeschooling supplies. That is a gift! (And for his unending support for my crazy livestock lifestyle-here’s this year’s birthday present.)
I have the great privilege of the ongoing companionship of my own parents. We talk every. single. day. even though we are miles apart. These last months of health struggles and Hurricane Michael destruction have forged new links in the chain of love and compassion that bind us to one another.
I have a close circle of “I’ll come over in the middle of the night if you need me” friends. I remember being on the outside looking in for most of my high school years wondering if I would ever have a really, truly best friend. In these years since Dominic ran ahead, God has given me one of the desires of my heart and blessed me with just that kind of friendship.
I have a broader circle of parents that understand what it’s like to send a child ahead to Heaven. They are a safe place to offload comments and questions that the rest of the world would neither appreciate nor comprehend. So many have touched my heart with the right word at the right time. I am overwhelmed by the compassion, grace and kindness of this community.
I write. It helps my heart. And the truly amazing and surprising thing is it seems to help a few other hearts too. I am so thankful that three years ago I followed a prompting to compose that first timid and intimidating post. Now I can’t imagine a morning where I don’t get up in the wee hours to peck away at the keyboard.
Five years ago I celebrated my fiftieth birthday with all my children, my husband, parents and a crowd of friends.
Tonight the celebration will be a little quieter but very precious.
My fiftieth year was to be a jubilee of sorts-a culmination of so many dreams in our family and in my own life.
Instead it was the year we buried Dominic, in addition to the beautiful things we looked forward to.
I’ve stopped making predictions about what a year will bring. But I haven’t stopped looking forward to the good things I know are on the horizon.
This year our family will grow again and that is a great blessing.
thelifeididntchoose 