For the profound wounds of life, there are no quick fixes.  There is no easy healing. We endure because God through His Spirit lends us strength. We make it through because Jesus promises to redeem and restore. And because friends remind us with their presence that God is near.

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.

It would be helpful if the world could just stop for a day or a week (or a year!) when your heart is shattered by the news that one of the children you birthed into this world has suddenly left it. But it doesn’t. Immediately all the roles I have played for decades are overlaid by a new role:  bereaved mother.  This role is more like a foggy blanket that obscures and disorients me as I struggle to fulfill all the roles to which I’ve become accustomed.

There are so many ways child loss impacts relationships! And every. single. relationship. gets more complicated.   When your heart is shattered, there are lots of sharp edges that end up cutting you and everyone around you.  It’s pretty much inevitable that one or more relationships will need mending at some point..

It cannot be overstated:  holidays are extremely hard after loss.  Every family gathering highlights the hole where my son SHOULD be, but ISN’T. There is no “right way” or “wrong way” to handle the holidays after losing a child. For many, there is only survival-especially the very first year. These days also stir great internal conflict:  I want to enjoy and celebrate my living children and my family still here while missing my son that isn’t. Emotions run high and are, oh

Know that this is not what I would have chosen. Child loss happened TO me. It is out of my control. And the calendar pages keep turning.  Every holiday season means another year gone without the companionship of the child I miss. I want to continue to embrace life, to enjoy my loved ones, to make new memories. But I need your help to make it happen.

I know that all these suggestions require additional emotional energy when we feel we are already tapped out.  We are already carrying a load that can crush a spirit-it seems unfair that we have to initiate the conversation, offer alternatives and give grace. But they do not understand. And they may not know where to start. We have to remain focused on the goal:  Surviving the holidays.

For grieving parents, it takes some thinking, some planning and some preparation to meet both extended family’s expectations and extra responsibilities at Thanksgiving and Christmas while carrying a load of sorrow and pain. One thing I am learning in this journey is that even though I wish someone else would blaze the trail for me, I’m going to have to do it myself.  And because every major milestone is overflowing with emotional booby-traps, I have to plan ahead.

Most parents feel a little stressed during the holidays. For bereaved parents, the rush toward the “Season of Joy” is doubly frightening. Constant reminders that this is the “most wonderful time of the year” make our broken hearts just that much more out of place.  Who cares what you get for Christmas when the one thing your heart desires–your child, alive and whole–is unavailable… Here are some practical ways family and friends can help grieving parents during the holida

One of the gifts grief has given me is that I just do not have the energy to keep my mask on straight. So I’ve decided to take it off. And I find that when I do, people aren’t horrified, they are relieved. Because that means they can take theirs off too.

I can go from tearful to joyful in a heartbeat too.  I am even more grateful for the children that walk the earth with me.  I try harder to be present, to listen, to lean in and love more fully. The broken me is a more compassionate woman who knows the value of a minute spent with someone you love.   I’ve learned to shift the weight of grief to one hip and make room for other things.   It’s hard.   It’s going to stay hard.  But with God’s help, I’m strong enoug

It IS frustrating AND exhausting.   But I am learning (slowly, very slowly!) that it is oh, so much better! Instead of energy spent on being wounded and trying to hide it, I’m learning to speak up, own the wounds and suggest ways to prevent them in the future.  

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.

We are rapidly approaching the one year mark of launching the official ministry of Heartache and Hope-a formal recognition of work I'd been doing among the bereaved and those who love them for nearly a decade and I wanted to give a brief update on how things are going.

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 bu

While I certainly had no real idea in the first hours or even weeks what losing a child entailed, I understood plainly that it meant I would not have Dominic to see, hold or talk to. I wouldn’t be able to hug his neck or telephone him.   He wouldn’t be sitting at my table any more. But the death of a child or other loved one has a ripple effect.  It impacts parts of life you might not expect.  As time went on, I was introduced to a whole list of losses commonly calle

“Yay You!” to every heart that chooses to persevere even when it’s hard or uncomfortable

I know Jesus is my Shepherd and I never doubt His companionship.  But if I’m honest, as much as I lean into that truth, it’s oh, so helpful to have a living, breathing human being walk with me. So when a friend reaches out and takes my trembling hand it calls courage to my heart. When we huddle together in the dark places, waiting out the storm of grief or doubt, it gives me strength to carry on. Never, never underestimate the power of presence.

I wish I could help those outside the child loss community understand just how much it takes for me and everyone like me to do what has to be done. We aren’t being lazy or overly emotional or “making too much of nothing”. We live in a different world than the rest of you.

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.