Grief is the price we pay for love.   Grief is an appropriate and proportionate response to the death (the end of earthly companionship) of someone we love. If grief is small, what does that say about love? It can’t be both ways.   We cannot celebrate a mother’s love and then dismiss her grief.

Feeling a little nostalgic for what WAS is perfectly normal.  Most of us humans aren’t that fond of change. But children are ours for a season, not forever.   They are given to us as gifts, not possessions. For some mamas, like me, it really IS over.

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. It was a devastating thought.   I had no idea how to answer.

Good things still happen in our lives (our bucket is being filled) but losing Dominic has put a hole in the bottom of it (the bucket never gets full anymore). It’s not that we don’t appreciate and enjoy happy moments.  We do. But we can’t plug the leak of loss that saps our strength and reduces the fullness of our joy.

When each one of my children was born I received him or her as a gift from God.  I could not imagine there would be a day when I would treasure them more than I did on that day. But I do. I miss Dominic, because he was a gift from God too.

They say time is irrelevant in Heaven. Eternity is simply eternity. But for this mama's heart, time is very, very real. Thirty-five years ago I got to meet the little brown eyed, brown haired baby and eleven years ago I had to kiss him good-bye. A mama's arms are made for holding her child, not her child's memory.

I first shared this eight years ago so it may shock some folks that while I have finally tossed most of the things in my fridge that once belonged to Dominic, I’ve got a giant bottle of hot sauce I’m still using. Every time I add spicy flavor to chili I think of him. I’m not looking forward to the day it runs out because it will be one more link dissolved between the living son I knew in the flesh and the memories I have to settle for now.❤

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. And I’m still clinging.   I will not let him go.   I don’t care how many days or months or years march on taking me further from the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand or the brightness of his smile-I refuse to release my grasp.

I’m thankful this other day exists! Thankful for a day when I can think about and speak about and embrace the child that won’t be with me next weekend. Because Dominic is STILL my son.  He is still very much a part of my heart.  And I need to be able to speak that aloud for others to hear.  

I lean into the Word of God and trust in, rely on and affirm the victory of Jesus Christ. But I still GRIEVE.  

Lord, this season reminds me that whenever I am weak, You are strong. Is it alright if I grieve around You? I have to act strong...

Why is it, when we need them most, many friends-and I mean really, truly FRIENDS-just can't hang in and hold on?