They say time is irrelevant in Heaven. Eternity is simply eternity. But for this mama's heart, time is very, very real. Thirty-five years ago I got to meet the little brown eyed, brown haired baby and eleven years ago I had to kiss him good-bye. A mama's arms are made for holding her child, not her child's memory.

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.

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.❤

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.

Jealousy is a green-eyed monster and I want no part of it. I have to focus on the gift and not the loss.  I can't always do that.

I long to be a burden bearer for my friends and family because I know what it is to carry a burden. So I ask the hard questions.

when my son died suddenly in an accident and a deputy came to my door,  it changed me.  It modified who I am and who I will be.

I miss my child. I miss the family we used to be. I miss being blissfully ignorant of exactly how awful death is.

that’s what child loss does to a mama’s heart.  It shatters it into pieces so tiny and so fragile. And the pieces never make a whole.

The longer since his leaving, the more I feel I need to have it together in public. My tears are inexplicable to those who've forgotten,

I’m waiting for the day my tears will be redeemed.  Waiting for the restoration of what the enemy has stolen, for faith to become sight.

It’s different for every heart. But each of us who know child loss have a season of sorrow. It’s more than “just” the day our child left.

My son is not a number or a statistic or only a memory. He is integral to my story, blood of my blood –part of my life.

I lean into the Word of God and trust in, rely on and affirm the victory of Jesus Christ. But I still GRIEVE.  

 I walk in two worlds–on earth and in heaven.  I savor the sweet joy of the “now” but ache for the even sweeter joy of the “forever”.

Joy and sorrow both dwell in my soul and I cannot reveal one and hide the other.  I may laugh and cry in the same moment.

So many people think grief grows smaller over time.  But that’s not it at all.  Grief occupies exactly the same space in my heart.

Why is it, when we need them most, many friends-and I mean really, truly FRIENDS-just can't hang in and hold on?

A letter to family and friends that can help them understand (a little) what it's like to face holidays after child loss.

Change is hard on everyone. But it's harder if you don't have important conversations.