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.

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

I will confess: I’m no better at this than the first set of holidays after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven. Every. Single. Year. has brought changes and challenges on top of the empty chair round the family table.

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.

I’ve discovered that self-control is not a limitless commodity.   Now before my Bible believing friends remind me that it is part of the fruit of the Spirit, I want to say this:  it sure is!  And because the Spirit of Jesus lives inside me I can promise you I am more self-controlled than I would otherwise be. BUT… When every single word, action, thought and feeling has to be reined in every waking moment, there is not enough self-control this side of heaven to do THA

I've seen physical, mental and spiritual healing at every retreat.   Some moms have said they haven't slept this well since their child went to Heaven. One mom told me she never made the connection between her faith and grief until this weekend. Every mom has come away strengthened for the lifelong journey ahead of her and better equipped to share the light, love and life of Christ as a broken but beautiful vessel for the Lord.

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 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.

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.