Tag: child-loss

i see you…

Like other holidays, and really any day for that matter, I have a new perspective on Mother’s Day. For years, Mother’s Day has been complex for a lot of different reasons. I have an amazing mom and 3 beautiful kids, but there are things that are and have been hard. Since Paxton died, the complexity of this day has deepened.

It’s another day of both/and…joy and sorrow…happy and hard. This is a snippet of the Caring Bridge post I wrote the first Mother’s Day after Paxton left.

I love that there is a day to celebrate moms.  I also realize that for a lot of women, Mother’s Day isn’t happy.  For some it’s heartbreaking…hopeful…hollow…helpless…heavenly…hopeless…heavy…heroic…to all of  you, I see you.  Whether your Mother’s Day is happy or horrible, I see you.

To all my fellow moms, you are amazing.  You are needed.  You are loved.  I pray this day is happy for you, but it’s okay if it’s not.  You are still a rock star and worth celebrating.🧡

I’m guessing today is challenging for a lot of mamas. Some of you have already lost your mom. Some of you don’t have a great relationship with your mom. Some of you are struggling as a mom. Some of you are longing to be a mom. For some of you it’s multiple things or all of the above.

Whatever today holds for you, I hope you feel honored. I hope you feel seen. You are worth celebrating.

to the one who wishes her mama was near

to the one whose mama is no longer here

to the one whose mama causes harm and tears

I see you

to the one who is only a mama in her heart

to the bonus mama who plays a big part

to the struggling mama wherever you are

I see you 

to the mama whose precious babe was born sleeping

to the mama who’s laughing and the mama who’s weeping

to the mama whose children have wounded her deeply

I see you

to the mama who finds it hard to let go

to the mama whose children are walking a prodigal’s road

to the mama who refuses to lose hope

I see you

to the mama who chose to relinquish her child

to the mama who puts on a brave smile

to the mama who hasn’t seen her kids in a while

I see you 

to the mama who has children not hers by birth

to the mama who has babies no longer on earth

to the mama who is carrying overwhelming joy and devastating hurt

I see you

to all of you mamas I just want to say 

Whether today is happy or hard, dreaded or embraced 

I see you, for you I hold sacred space

and I honor you this Mother’s Day

the Refuge…THE Refuge…

Safe in his father’s arms

Chad and I spent last weekend at The Refuge in Hot Springs.  It’s the main location for While We’re Waiting, a ministry that offers support groups and free retreats for grieving parents (www.whilewerewaiting.org).  The Refuge is a sacred place where our childrens’ stories are honored, their names are spoken and our grief is gently shared.  But, while the Refuge in Hot Springs is a beautiful, safe place for parents with hurting hearts, it’s heartbreaking that we need a place like that at all. 

Sunrise over the Refuge
memorial walk at the Refuge
Paxton’s memorial paver

A refuge is only needed when there is danger or distress.  We have to choose to seek refuge.  But taking refuge in a storm does not take the storm away.  Sometimes, we still get wet.  Sometimes we still suffer damage.  And sometimes, while our lives are spared, the landscape never looks the same.

The only true shelter in a storm isn’t a what…it’s a who.  God is THE Refuge.  He doesn’t take the storms away but He promises to hold us, walk with us and comfort us in their midst. In order to take refuge I have to choose to seek Him.

I can feel a storm approaching and the waters are starting to stir.  One month from today is Paxton’s 14th birthday.  It will be the 4th time there will be no presents to open, no one to sing to and a birthday cake that will never have more than 10 candles.  May 3 is Bereaved Mother’s Day and May 10th is Mother’s Day…two more days that celebrate the beauty and the agony of being a mama to children on Earth and children in heaven.

The reality is, there is always a storm on my horizon.  I have to choose to take refuge in THE Refuge every day…sometimes every hour…sometimes every breath.  And while there are still storms, THE Refuge promises to hold me, walk with me and comfort me.  He promises me that one day I will be in the safest place of all.  One day, the damage will be restored and I will see Paxton again.  One day, the Refuge will no longer be needed because THE Refuge will make all things new.

I’m battered by

the wind and rain

grief

and pain

I’m hanging on

tossed by the sea

in danger of

crashing on the rocks

and sinking

seeking harbor

in the waves

from the hurt

from the hard

seeking refuge

for my broken mama heart

the storms still rage

I struggle every day

help me seek You

THE Refuge

the only place

I’m truly safe

I speak a new language…

I took two years of Spanish in high school. I also took one semester of Spanish in college. I can speak and understand some Spanish, but only un poco. I have never been bilingual…until now.

Since Paxton left, I have become fluent in a new language. Unfortunately, it’s not one of the Romance languages. It’s also not a language I chose to learn and one I never wanted to speak. It’s the language of lament.

The dictionary defines lament as a verb meaning to mourn aloud: wail.

Mark Vroegop, author of Dark Clouds Deep Mercy, defines lament as “a prayer in pain that leads to trust”.

My definition of lament is:

a LAnguage MEaNT for suffering.

There is no other language that describes the angst that comes from having your child’s birth certificate and death certificate in the same place.

There is no other language that describes the ache of not only missing what was, but missing what should be.

There is no other language that describes the anguish of never being able to hug your child or hear their voice the rest of your life.

There is no other language that describes the agony of holding your child in your arms as his heart stops beating.

Often, the language of lament is not expressed through words. This picture of Paxton is a perfect example. You can see and feel the lament on his face. He broke his teeth doing a back flip at the pool. He wasn’t in pain…he was lamenting the fact his teeth were broken, but he was really lamenting because I told him he couldn’t get gold teeth. 😁

Wailing, screaming, wrestling, raging and sobbing are some ways that lament is spoken without words.  Lament is needed. Lament is necessary. Lament is Biblical. 

Biblical lament is trusting that God is good while acknowledging some things are not. Biblical lament is taking your complaints, your sorrows, your anger…whatever emotion you are experiencing…to Jesus without making it look or sound pretty.  Biblical lament is wrestling with God in your suffering knowing some things will never be made right this side of heaven. 

One of the best ways to support someone that is grieving, is to learn the language of and lean into lament. After my fourth miscarriage, a good friend said “if it’s any comfort, I’m mad at God for you too”. There is nothing more freeing than understanding lament is not sin. There is nothing more comforting than knowing Jesus identifies with us in our suffering. There is nothing more hopeful than knowing the Holy Spirit intercedes for us when all we can mutter are groanings too deep for words (Romans 8:26). 

I wish I didn’t know this language. I wish I didn’t have to lean into lament. It’s a language I was forced to learn, and I’ll speak it the rest of my life.

groanings

too deep for words

I need the ache to be heard

this hurts

I search for a way

to describe the pain

wailing

sobbing

screaming

why?!

I speak a new language

of sorrow

of tears

Jesus be near me

I bring my cries to the cross

He understands the cost

He knows the pain of loss

I speak a new language

of waiting

of grief

Jesus please hold me

I bring my suffering to my Savior

He understands the hard

He meets you where you are

I speak a new language

of love left unspoken

my mama heart is broken

but I know Who to put my hope in

the silence of saturday

I have been thinking a lot this week about the meaning and importance of Easter…

Good Friday is grieving what our sin cost.

Easter Sunday is being grateful for our Savior’s cross.

Good Friday is feeling the forsakenness of the Son.

Easter Sunday is embracing the significance of what He’s done.

Good Friday is sorrow over the Savior’s suffering.

Easter is rejoicing over the resurrection of our eternal King.

Good Friday we feel the devastation of His final breath.

Easter Sunday we see His ultimate victory claimed over death.

But, I’ve never really thought about the silence of Saturday.

I wonder what Mary was thinking and feeling that Saturday.  I know she fully believed her son was the Messiah.  She watched Him grow, loved Him well and trusted God’s plan.  However, she still had to watch her son die.  She still mourned His death.  She still had to bury His body.  The silence of that Saturday had to be the loudest sound she’d ever heard.

His silence did not mean absence, it was sin’s required severance.  He chose separation from relationship with His Father so our relationship with God could be restored.  Without the silence, Good Friday wouldn’t have mattered and Easter Sunday would not be possible. 

I believe with all of my heart that Jesus died  and was resurrected, and because of that, I’ll see Paxton again.  However, I still had to watch my son die. I still have to mourn his death. I still had to bury his body.  I trust God’s plan, but Easter now hits differently for me. I am grieving the need for Jesus’s death.  I am hopeful for His return.  But for now, I am sitting in the silence of Saturday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the cross taken down

one last look at his face

the stone put in place

the sacrifice made

as the Messiah laid

in that cold, dark grave

 tears flowing freely

quiet descended

a perfect life ended

relationship mended

the Son rejected 

payment for my sin

hoping for Sunday

hating the wait

immeasurable pain

unwavering faith

grieving death

grateful for grace

learning to embrace

the silence of Saturday 

spring (heart) break

It’s the last day of spring break. I have a love/hate relationship with spring break. Prior to 2023, I loved that we didn’t have to get up and be anywhere, but I dreaded the inevitable sibling arguments, complaints of “I’m bored”, and incessant requests to go and do. An ideal spring break would consist of quiet, rest and relaxation, but anyone who has young children knows that those moments are few and far between. Since Paxton left, my love/hate relationship with spring break has changed. I still love not having to get up and be anywhere but I hate the silence.

I have never liked silence. Don’t get me wrong, I love quiet and stillness, but I need white noise, music or some other noise in the background. Silence may be the absence of physical noise, but when it’s completely silent, my mental noise volume becomes deafening. It’s in the silence that the doubts, guilt, questions and his loss become unbearable.

I tried to embrace the silence Friday, but the sound was overwhelming. All I could hear was…why didn’t I do more? what did I miss? was he scared? The loudest thought that occupied my mind, and one that has been on my mind a lot lately, is that Paxton is missing out on so many things.

I’ve been so sad thinking about all of the firsts Paxton will never experience. He’ll never have a first kiss…not that we know of anyway. I would not be surprised at all to discover he not only had a first kiss, but multiple. 😂 He never got to drive, will never go to high school, will never fall in love or have kids..he was robbed of so many things! But, the reality is, those things are nothing compared to the joy of heaven. He can’t miss out because he’s in the most perfect, beautiful, peaceful place and he is living the fullest life possible.

So I realized that my sadness is not really about what he’s missing out on…I’m sad because the world is missing out on him. As difficult as he was at times, Paxton was an amazing kid and taught me to look at and embrace life differently. He lived more life in ten years than some people will live their entire lifetime. I wish everyone could know the boy I knew…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~missing out~

I never knew silence

could be louder than sound

but that’s what I’ve found

since you’ve been gone

I long for chaos

unending noise

the sweetness of your voice

there’s so much

you’re missing out on

all of your firsts

that makes my heart hurt

then I realize it’s the world

that’s missing out on you

and that hurts worse

the joy and fun you brought to life

you’re beautiful smile

the sparkle in your eyes

why did I waste so much time?

what is a God kiss?

From the beginning of this unwanted journey, there were specific things that happened, words that were said and sweet reassurances given that showed us we were loved and not alone. The picture that came to mind is of a father holding his hurt child in his lap and placing a gentle kiss on their forehead. The kiss may not take the hurt away, but it reminds the child that they are precious and held steady in their father’s arms. Any time these sweet gifts were given to us, I felt my Heavenly Father holding me tightly and comforting me with a kiss. I realized that these gifts aren’t just given in the midst of tragedy, they can be seen throughout my life if I look for them. I call these moments God kisses.

I wrote this poem in honor of my sweet boy, and I read it at his memorial service.

the God kiss (written Jan 2023)

a precious little boy, who was not ours from the start,
although the first time I saw him I wanted him to be,
sitting in my car in the DHS parking lot,
wondering why God was asking this of me

as he grew every day, his personality started to shine,
and I fell more in love with each smile,
I marveled (and still do) at God’s perfect design
of that silly, beautiful child

he kept us on our toes over the years,
with his love for adventure and fearless heart,
but he taught us so much through laughter and tears
I don’t even know where to start

from dirt bikes to roller coasters, and climbing the highest tree
his energy never ran out
and at night when he slowed down and cuddled with me
his sweetness made my heart want to shout

the mischievous twinkle in his eye was oh so cute
but could make me a little bit scared,
seeing his vibrant, joyful attitude
he embraced life like no one else dared

his laughter was contagious, so beautiful and free,
and one smile from him could brighten my day
I cherish the 10 years he was here on earth with me
but I’m thankful he’s with Jesus to stay

our hearts are broken, we may never understand,
and our tears will continue to fall,
but as I look back on this journey and the son God placed in our hands,
I realize Paxton was the biggest God kiss of all

lament

Good Friday.  It was good.  It is good.  Because of Good Friday and Easter Sunday, I can have a personal relationship with Jesus and have hope that I’ll see Paxton again.  But, this year is different.  This year my thoughts are on Mary.

I ache for Mary in a new way.  I feel her physical pain as she weeps for her son.  I understand her sorrow in the midst of goodness.  I wonder if she ever asked God why it had to be that way.  I wonder if she ever just wanted her Son to live, even though His death saved all of humanity.

I now know the true meaning of Lament.  Psalm 77 says “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?  O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest”.  I know that in the second half of the Psalm, Asaph reminds himself of God’s goodness.  But, we don’t know how long it took him to write the first half.  It may have been years.  I know the truth, and I know God is good, but right now my heart laments.  This is what I wrote last night:

my soul cries out in anguish                                                                                             

my heart is filled with pain                                                                                         

my world is a little more gray                                                                                   

I’ll never be the same

my God, my God, are You there?                                                                           

I feel so all alone                                                                                                       

the valley of the shadow of death                                                                         

is now the place I roam

my eyes are full of sadness                                                                                     

my face is wet with tears                                                                                         

I reach out desperate for Your touch                                                                     

and wonder if You’re near

sorrow is my shadow                                                                                               

sometimes hidden, always there                                                                           

living life without my son                                                                                       

is a crushing burden to bear

sometimes I’m so overwhelmed                                                                           

I forget to even breathe                                                                                             

I will never understand                                                                                             

why he had to leave

I still choose to trust You                                                                                         

but I’m weary, worn and spent                                                                                 

Father God, please carry me                                                                                   

through this time of deep lament

lament

my soul cries out in anguish                                                                                             

my heart is filled with pain                                                                                         

my world is a little more gray                                                                                   

I’ll never be the same

my God, my God, are You there?                                                                           

I feel so all alone                                                                                                       

the valley of the shadow of death                                                                         

is now the place I roam

my eyes are full of sadness                                                                                     

my face is wet with tears                                                                                         

I reach out desperate for Your touch                                                                     

and wonder if You’re near

sorrow is my shadow                                                                                               

sometimes hidden, always there                                                                           

living life without my son                                                                                       

is a crushing burden to bear

sometimes I’m so overwhelmed                                                                           

I forget to even breathe                                                                                             

I will never understand                                                                                             

why he had to leave

I still choose to trust You                                                                                         

but I’m weary, worn and spent                                                                                 

Father God, please carry me                                                                                   

through this time of deep lament