Living with Loss

  Some of us gathered to remember our children, it was a sad and beautiful thing. As we stood in the chill of a Florida evening and shared memories of our children, they were with us in a way. Each parent shared an item that evoked memories, stuffed toys, food, photos, or some memento and then explained why they brought that particular thing. How wonderful children are, and not just the child himself or herself, but all the joy and wonderment they bring to our lives and to our world. We are a world filled with millions of unique souls. I feel so privileged and honored to know these children in such a special way, that these parents, once unknown to me, have embraced my pain and hold me in their supportive arms. They stand beside me today, and will be with me tomorrow or a decade from now, for they walk in my shoes. I deeply care for each of them, I want to help carry their burden and share this sorrow with them. There is healing that comes from shar...

A father and daughter were commissioned today to go forth to Cuba to share the gifts of Christ through their music ministry. I saw them standing there together and was struck by how fortunate they were to be able to share this experience; that the father took time to purposely engage in life with his child. It’s difficult in our busy lives to put aside the obligations of the day and commit to being actively engaged in our child’s life. We want to left life go along like a predictable Swiss train. No worries, no real problems, children just need food and water and a little attention, then they will go on by themselves as we watch quietly from the station. But it doesn’t happen that way. Life assaults us with pebbles, rocks and boulders….denting the shiny exterior of our predictable Swiss train, sometimes even causing it to stop. It is our commitment to sharing time with our children and the gifts that result from that time that sustain us in strife and sorrow. I watched the...

Cherish 1. to hold or treat as dear; feel love   for: to cherish one's native land. 2. to care for tenderly; nurture: to cherish a child. 3. to cling fondly or inveterately to: to cherish a memory. I often walk around the house and sing.  I don't do this when people are in the house, it's a private indulgence.  I'm a rather reserved person at heart and don't feel comfortable expressing myself quite so dramatically in front of others and certainly not through singing and dancing.  But there is a freedom to singing at the top of your lungs, crying at the words or dancing with exhilaration. Sometimes Wyatt would walk inside and catch me in my personal escape belting out some familiar chorus as I vacuumed or maybe dancing like a uninhibited child.  He would stop, stare, shake his head and then crack a little grin and give a little roll of his eyes and say "you're such a crazy person." Then...

The death of an only child leaves an indelible mark on the soul. There is a vacant place in living that is never filled, never eased. I know that now; if I live to be 110, it will be true then. When your only child dies it's one thing, when your only child dies before he had children of his own, it's another thing.  I'm not saying any loss of a child is greater than another; on the contrary, they all come with unique challenges. It's just that that when life prances around shouting "look at me, look at me" with the young boy walking around the lake holding his mom's hand, grandma tucking her granddaughter in at night, graduation ceremonies and proms, tournaments, plays and recitals, weddings, new jobs, and babies, they all make it so painfully clear how my time with all of that is over. Stolen. With most things in this life we have a choice, but not this. This is not my choice. This is so different from something we choose, it's not what job to take or...

T ime turns differently for the mother of a dead child.  Time is slower, much slower, more methodical in it's forward motion. I can sit for an hour and have hundreds of amazing thoughts rush across my mind, and then, just as quickly forget all the fantastic beauty of each of them. Recalling maybe one very simple and mundane task, something like I should boil an egg for breakfast.  Everything takes more out of you when you're the mother of a dead child. This world alive with children, children's activities, children's toys, and children's accomplishments is a playground rife with danger for the mother of a dead child. Breathing in the life of the rest of the world's child-filled lives somehow makes each breath a little heavier and laced with the acerbic taste of emptiness. There is not one thing in life I can do and not be confronted with children and shown the magnificent abundance of having a child in your life and yet simultaneou...