Every time I tell the story of Dominic, it helps to keep him real.  Dom was always ready to create a funny and memorable photo! It reminds my heart that he lived, that he mattered, that he matters still. And in the telling, I am giving away a little bit of him for another heart to carry.  His light is passed to another soul that can pass it to another and another.

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.

One of the greatest challenges I faced this side of child loss was finding a space where I could speak honestly and openly about my feelings toward God and about my faith. So many times I was shut down at the point of transparency by someone shooting off a Bible verse or hymn chorus or just a chipper, “God’s in control!” They had NO IDEA how believing that (and I do!) God is in control was both comforting and utterly devastating at the very same time.

I no longer feel betrayed.   I still don’t like this life. I would never have chosen this life.   But I will trust the One Who made me to carry me through it.

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.

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

One thing burying my child is teaching me is this:  Every single person I meet is carrying a burden I know nothing about. And most are doing the very best they can to bear that load and still do life.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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...

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.