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

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.

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

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 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.

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,

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.

There is no "right way" or "wrong way" to handle holidays after losing a child. For many, there is only survival.

Since Dominic ran ahead to Heaven, I find I need even more alone time than before. But I take care that solitude doesn’t become isolation.

In the aftermath of child loss, healthy boundaries are no longer optional, they are necessary for survival.  

I am learning to take anxious thoughts captive, learning to make them live in only a corner of my mind instead of taking it over completely.

Shame tells us we are unworthy of love and belonging and that is simply a lie.