I've gotten so good at stuffing an immediate emotional response I hardly ever cry anymore. Except that sometimes-random moments-the heavy lid I keep screwed down tight on all those feelings comes undone.  And I am helpless as the sorrow, missing and horror of child loss creeps up my spine, raises my heart rate and settles as a silent scream at the back of my throat.   A sob escapes.  The tears flow.

What objective criteria can be applied to every situation, every person, every death to determine whether someone is truly stuck in grief?  How do you take into account the circumstances of a death, the relationship of the bereaved to the deceased, trauma surrounding the event or any of a dozen other things that influence how long and how deeply one grieves a loss? Obviously there are certain signs that someone needs professional help. For the rest of us, “normal" grief c

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.

I know you don't know. I didn't know before it was ME. But I truly believe you would love to be more aware and more equipped to help my heart and the hearts of others carrying deep and heavy grief.

For all my talk of boundaries and self-compassion, I rarely manage to keep others from invading my personal space and time I (theoretically) have reserved for my own priorities. I beat myself up for not showing up or giving up or giving in when someone calls, texts or messages. I rush to fill others' buckets without recognizing my own is empty.

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.

Even though time plus doing the work grief requires better equips us to carry this load, the absolute weight of it never changes. Our fractured hearts never quite regain their pre-loss shape and life is forever altered because as long as we have breath, we will miss our child in Heaven. So having a designated month where it's socially acceptable to share about grief in general, our child in particular and whatever wisdom we've gained through hard experience is welcome r

Grief is SO MUCH MORE than sadness and missing. It is a tangled ball of emotions.

It’s the promise that God is faithful, His word is true and this life is not all there is that gets us through. But for this mama’s broken heart, a few choruses in and I’m in tears.   While I am thankful, thankful, thankful that I know I will see my son again, these hymns remind me that a lifetime may lie between here and there.

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.

I want to do better. I want to be the safe space hurting hearts need. I want to be full of grace and mercy and kindness. I know I fall short, but I’m still learning.

I believe that grief becomes sin when I choose to turn my face away from God and only toward my sorrow. If I am holding it and dragging it with me toward the foot of the cross, that’s not sin. If I turn my heart and face toward the One Who made me and trust that even in this painful place He is carrying me and will care for me, that’s not sin.

We say we want real. But we really don’t. We tune in by the millions to watch “reality TV” even though we know the drama is manufactured...

The life I see is not all the life there is.  In fact, it’s not even the best life there is.  The best is yet to come when all this pain and sorrow and hurt will be redeemed.  My heart and my family will be restored.  My tears will be wiped away and I will stand in the glorious Presence of God and Christ forever. I have a choice of what I allow to fill my broken heart.  I will not choose bitterness. Bitterness is buried with the heart that carries it.  But love lasts forever

I will be eternally grateful for God's amazing grace!

I don’t know your story but I can promise you this: God isn’t finished with you yet. I believe that each one of us is celebrated as a unique creation of our Father. That goes for our children, but also for us. I have no idea why God’s plan includes me outliving my child but He has a purpose that is yet unfulfilled for my life. What happens TO us doesn’t determine our worth-not even the awful and heart shattering experience of child loss.

Dear mama, dear daddy, give yourself permission not to try to figure out what a parent’s heart was never meant to calculate-how to live without the earthly companionship of the child you love-and just breathe.   One day at a time. One moment at a time. One breath at a time.

The people who choose to stay and offer compassionate companionship are a vital part of healing after child loss.

I work hard to find something for which to be thankful each day. I try to get outside and breathe in the fresh air and soak up the sunshine. And when I have a rainy day-whether it is literally dripping water from the sky or simply dripping tears from my eyes-I try to do something that will help my heart hold on.

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.