Every Loss Matters

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to hear the words that a child had died and not be propelled back to that fall day in October 2006. Every time a child dies and a parent finds themselves burying their child, I slide back just a little. It never feels right nor should it.

Recently I learned of the passing of childhood friend’s daughter and my heart immediately broke for her. I now know instinctively what that pain feels like. The numbness that follows where you can actually make it through the day. Then shit hits the fan about a week later and you find yourself on your knees more than you are upright.

My heart breaks easier these days. Perhaps that is because it never truly healed from such a devastating loss like a child. And your only child. Profoundly difficult. Not sure how any of us make it through. But we do. We pick ourselves up and dust off the pain and look around to see if we are still in the present. Then the real pain begins.

Each day after the passing of Brittany I felt miserable, lost and could barely eat. I lost so much weight, which I didn’t have any weight to lose. Grief hung around in my throat like a lump that would never go away. Persistently reminding me of my grief which just stayed below the surface. Always waiting to be released in a torment of tears and screams.

Damn that was a tough time. And every time I see or hear a parent beginning this journey, I feel sick. Sick like an awful feeling in my gut that knows what they are about to embark on and I feel so heartsick. It brings not only my own pain, but that of many others. No one really knows any better the ache of child loss than a mother who has born a child and lost them so very early. No one.

Now as I sit here in reflection and understand just how I have made it all these years. It’s been almost nine years. It’s because my faith is in a force much bigger than me. When I focus on me, I lose, but when I focus on God, I feel a strength that is more powerful than any drug or alcohol. It is called Grace. Grace is a precious gift God gives when we are open to receive it. God’s Grace poured over me in those early days, even when I cried, shook my fist and yelled at God because I was so mad. I did not understand what I could have ever done to deserve such a loss. But God in his graceful way, taught me very quickly that I was here on this earth for a higher purpose. Then the lessons began. I had to be a good student. And I ate it all up. I was starving for relief.

 

 

 

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Tears

Tears drop from my face like water drips from an old leaky faucet. Slowly reaching its destination and splashing it’s pain around. Tears are suppose to be healing they say – but I say they sting my eyes like daggers. I’m spent with nothing but red and swollen eyes and my heart – yeah it’s still broken. – Mal

Grief

Grief Does Not Lie

Grief writes the pain of the loss onto all the fibers of your body.

Grief speaks from the depths of your soul but often is not heard.

Grief is demanding.

Grief evolves, yet never retreats.

Grief is ugly.

Grief has no filter.

Grief hurts.

Grief is measured by days, weeks, months and years, but rarely can it  be successfully completed on a timeline.

Grief is not exclusive to a demographic.

Grief does not discriminate.

Grief is a process that no one understands, unless you are unfortunate enough to join that club.

Grief has a life long membership.

Grief can be a teacher.

Grief provides a vessel for purpose.

That is what grief is to me.

until next time,

M

 

God Carries Us Through

As promised I am beginning a series where I will blog through a book by Max Lucado. It’s called “God Will Carry You Through”. I have been on a mission to find books that I can bump up against my journey after losing my daughter so that hopefully the story, my story layered with thoughts from authored by others, will help someone. It’s been my desire since I started writing that somewhere, somehow, someone finds hope through this blog. And so it begins…..

Chapter One – God Carries Us Through

“You’ll get through this. It won’t be painless. It won’t be quick. But God will use this mess for good. Don’t be foolish or naive. But don’t despair either. With God’s help, you will get through this.”

Wow – when I read this, I initially thought those are hard words to understand when you are in the throes of grief and loss. In fact, some might just be downright offended, mad or pissed. But wait, listen – I know that while these words are hard to swallow, they are absolutely true. Not in a way you may imagine, but so true. You will get through this.

It won’t be painless. God never said we’d go through life without struggles. While I tried not to cringe while reading that and hearing me say it because you know, and I know, some people seem to slide through life without so much as a scrape and some, well they just seem to get hit over and over with life battles. So it won’t be quick. Whether you are a seasoned griever or just beginning this journey, know that somehow, some way, someone will be helped by your journey. I know this to be true.

God will use your mess for good. How do I know and how can I take comfort in that? It’s not always easy nor can I say that every day is good. I have my good days and I also have bad days, very bad days still eight years later. But I also know that through my small network of grief friends, we help each other. Our words often console one another. There are days I just want to scream at people – “you just don’t get it”. But I know my network, you my readers, some of my close friends, they get it. They understand that our connection is more valuable than anything else, except the one we lost. Through their words, their quiet silence, their steadfast dedication, and priceless extension of love, we are able to step forward.

Until next time,

M

A Mother’s Grief

Found this poem and wanted to share with you because it says the words we so often want to say but don’t.

A Mother’s Grief

You ask me how I’m feeling,
but do you really want to know?
The moment I try telling you
You say you have to go

How can I tell you,
what it’s been like for me
I am haunted, I am broken
By things that you don’t see

You ask me how I’m holding up,
but do you really care?
The moment I start to speak my heart,
You start squirming in your chair.

Because I am so lonely,
you see, friends no longer come around,
I’ll take the words I want to say
And quietly choke them down.

Everyone avoids me now,
I guess they don’t know what to say
They told me I’ll be there for you,
then turned and walked away.

Call me if you need me,
that’s what everybody said,
But how can I call and scream
into the phone,
My God, my child is dead?

No one will let me
say the words I need to say
Why does a mothers grief
scare everyone away?

I am tired of pretending
my heart hammers in my chest,
I say things to make you comfortable,
but my soul finds no rest.

How can I tell you things
that are too sad to be told,
of the helplessness of holding a child
who in your arms grows cold?

Maybe you can tell me,
How should one behave,
who’s had to follow their child’s casket,
watched it perched above a grave?

You cannot imagine
what it was like for me that day
to place a final kiss upon that box,
and have to turn and walk away.

If you really love me,
and I believe you do,
if you really want to help me,
here is what I need from you.

Sit down beside me,
reach out and take my hand,
Say “My friend, I’ve come to listen,
I want to understand.”

Just hold my hand and listen
that’s all you need to do,
And if by chance I shed a tear,
it’s alright if you do to.

I swear that I’ll remember
till the day I’m very old,
the friend who sat and held my hand
and let me bare my soul.

~ Kelly Cummings