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.

Suffering is hard but it won’t last forever. “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” Revelation 21:4 NIV

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.