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

I keep repeating the mantra, “grace and space” to myself. I need grace-from my own heart FOR my own heart– I must cut myself the slack I would be happy to extend to others. I need grace from friends and family. You can never know all the ways I ache for the life I had before Dominic ran ahead to heaven.  You could never imagine all the daily pinpricks my soul must suffer as I walk in this world and am reminded of what I’ve lost.

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.

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 know that when a friend or family member is hurting we long to make them feel better and we convince ourselves that words are necessary. But the very best comfort is compassionate presence and perceptive practical help.

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.

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.

I still struggle to remember things that used to come easily. I still hear words that I don’t always understand. I depend much more on paper and pencil to keep track of important dates, appointments and phone numbers than I used to. And I never walk away from the stove.

There is NO way to balance losing my son with any earthly blessing. I have my other children.  Yes, but I had them when I still had him.  I have my health (sort of).  Yes, but I had it when I still had him.  I have a home, freedom, food-yes, yes, yes.  But all that I had when I still had him. So you see, I can’t make it balance out.  No one can. But there is a kernel of truth in this hymn.  And it’s not in trying to pile up one side and weigh it against the other.

It seems unbearable to think ahead to the possible years of doing this hard thing.  And it is- UNBEARABLE.  If I look at the missing writ large across the rest of my life, I will crumble beneath the weight of it. Yet, I only have to live this moment, this breath, this day.

In my most desperate days, C.S. Lewis held a lantern in the dark for my heart. I’m so grateful for his absolute honesty and bravery in revealing the angst, questions and pain of great loss. I continue to quote him as proof that it’s not “just me”. Even a titan of the faith, a man who gave an exquisite apology of Christianity, was as vulnerable as the next person to doubt.

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.

Ninety miles an hour-that’s how fast my mind can go from here to there. From what’s in front of me to what’s behind me. From laughter to swallowing sobs.

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 want my heart and my words to reflect that I know this Savior full of love and mercy. Spared or not, it’s no doing of mine.