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Four Things We Can Learn from the Mother of Jesus About Child Loss (Part 2)

This is the time of year we think about and celebrate the birth of Christ. But have you thought about the fact that we can relate to Mary through the eyes of a bereaved parent? I recently spent some time studying this out and discovered quite a bit about Mary that I had not realized or thought about, until I had a child who died.

The first two things are in the previous blog you can read here. In this article, we are going to look at the last two things.

Third observation

One of the biggest things to notice is that Mary completely surrendered to the Lord’s plans for her life, not knowing what that meant and how painful her future would be. In Luke 1:18 we find her telling the angel, Gabriel, “Behold the handmaiden of the Lord, (I am the Lord’s servant) be it unto me according to your word.”

As we already noted, I am sure Mary had no idea that her son would die a very brutal death at the age of 33, and she would be there to watch it.

I used to think, “At least Jesus rose from the dead and came back to life here on this earth. I don’t have that with Becca!” But as I was studying this out, I realized Mary still lost him permanently from this earth, because He was only here for 40 days and then He went to heaven.

The permanent earthly loss of her son here on earth was confirmed at the foot of the cross when Jesus looked down and gave his mom to the apostle John to take care of (John 19:26-27). This is also confirmation that his brothers still didn’t believe who Jesus was because the next son in line should have been the one to take care of the mother.

We may not be able to relate to Mary’s exact, unique grief, but she was a mom whose child died and left this earth for her remaining time here, which is something we can all relate to.

 

Fourth Observation

Mary watched her son die. Nothing could prevent this mother from standing by her son to the very end, no matter how brutal it was. I can’t help but think that some of you have had the same experience of being with your child until he or she took their last breath. You know what that is like to be with them.

I didn’t have that experience. My daughter, Becca, was in the hospital, with plans of being dismissed the next morning. The night of October 12, 2011 her heart was crashing, and she was fighting everyone, trying to get out of bed, yelling at them to leave her alone. Her husband told her to lie down and let them do what they needed to do and was kicked out of the hospital room. She died surrounded by a bunch of medical staff trying to save her.

I wish I had been with her, sort of… I think it has to be one of those bittersweet things. Those of us who weren’t with our child don’t have that as another image we have to get out of our heads. On the other hand, we have to fight the guilt that we weren’t there with them, feeling like he or she died alone.

Did Mary have thoughts of “If only I had…” or “I should have….”?

Did she think about the last time Jesus gave her a hug? The last time they had a meal together? The last time she heard Him laugh? The last time she was able to say, “I love you?” I can’t help but think that she did, because that is what the rest of us do.

The last mention of Mary is in the upper room with the other believers (Acts 1:14). Jesus had risen from the grave, but He had also left this earth permanently. What was that like? There must have been some intense grieving, knowing she had just gotten Him back and now He was gone, never to be here on earth with her again.

Knowing that Mary stayed with the group and was in the upper room when the Holy Spirit showed up in a big way, is an example to us that life can be worth living again. Mary knew she would see her son again. She figured out how to keep living, even within the grief.

Our children are alive also! They may not have come back for a few days after they died and then risen up in the clouds in their bodies, but he or she is alive and with Jesus! Thank you, Father that part of Your will for our lives is to reunite us with our children, never to be separated again.

I want to wrap this up by looking at a scripture that talks about Jesus’ mother in Luke 11:27-28. As Jesus was saying these things, a woman in the crowd called out, “Blessed is the mother who gave you birth and nursed you.” Jesus replied, “Even more blessed are those who hear God’s voice and make God’s message their way of life”. (VOICE)

If we take this scripture to heart, what is God’s voice to us as bereaved parents? I believe it is that we have that exact same hope as Mary. We will see our children again, and we can fight our way out of the grief. I want to encourage you not to choose to remain stuck in the event of your child’s death, but learn how to live in a way that honors the life of your child, just like Mary did.

And just like the Holy Spirit showed up in that upper room for those who were waiting for Him, I believe the Holy Spirit will show up for you. He will comfort you, and not only comfort you, but give you the strength to live out your life here with meaning and purpose, until it is time to join your child, and Mary and Jesus in heaven.

Until then, you might be interested in listening to the podcast series People in the Bible Who Lost a Child. Just click on each individual episode below to read the description and listen to it directly on the GPS Hope website. (You can also find each one on your favorite podcast app. Just look for the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast.)

49: The First Death in the Bible was a Son Who Was Murdered (Adam and Eve)
50: The Rainbow Baby in the Bible (King David lost an infant son before Solomon was born)
51: Three Things we Can Learn from Jesus’ Mother After the Death of Our Child
53: Trying to Find God in the Midst of Our Deepest Pain (A look at Job)
54: Why Did God Allow Me to Suffer Like This? (Job’s suffering after the death of all ten of his children)
55: From Fullness to Bitterness to Fullness Again (Naomi)
56: Reunited with Our Children (Jacob and Jairus)
57: Our Grief is the Same, Yet Different (two groups in the Bible who had children mass murdered)

 

Note: On each podcast, I announce the name, birthday and forever age of our children who are no longer here with us, the week of his or her birthday. If you would like to share your child with our listeners, just click here to fill out and submit the form with the needed information.

 

Expressions of Hope is written by author, speaker and singer Laura Diehl. She and her husband, Dave, are the founders of Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). Dave and Laura travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, including being invited to hold one-day GPS Hope & Healing conferences.

 

If you would like more information about Laura as a speaker for your next event or want more information on hosting a GPS Hope & Healing conference, click here.

 

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Five Lessons About Grief from Climbing a Mountain

A few weeks ago, the Hope Mobile (our 38-foot motor home that we live in full-time) was parked at a campground in a beautiful valley, surrounded by small mountains. As I would go walking in the mornings, a few of those times I found myself following a trail that took me up one of those mountains.

One morning I realized how my climb up the mountain paralleled several things in my grief journey after my oldest daughter, Becca, died. Here are five of those things.

  1. It’s a lot of work climbing up those mountains. And when you get to the top, it’s wonderful, but you don’t get to stay there. You must work your way back down.

The earlier we are in our grief journey, the harder the climb is and the less time we stay at the top. We find ourselves almost immediately tumbling back down the mountainside, back into the valley. With anything in life, mountaintop experiences are great, even exhilarating. But we don’t get to stay there. It is in the valley where most maturing happens and life-lessons are learned, including how much we need to depend on God to be our guide though this life.

  1. What kept me moving forward and continuing to go up the mountain was not being able to see the full path in front of me. I freely admit I would not have kept going if I could have seen the full path all the way to the top. I kept thinking, “I’ll just go up to that point where it curves, and I’ll probably be at the top.” And when I would turn that corner, there would be more path and I would think again, “Okay, let me get to that point up there,” and I would get there and find more path.

It’s a good thing we can’t see the full path of our lives ahead of time. We can only take a little bit at a time. But that doesn’t mean every corner we turn is bad, it is just unknown what lies ahead. If we keep going, based on what we can see, and not worry about what we can’t see, we will eventually make it all the way.

  1. The last mountain I climbed was taking longer than I thought it would. I was getting quite tired and I started hoping I would meet up with the path I was on the day before, which would be a quicker way back down. As I kept going forward, looking for that other path, I eventually found myself at the very top of this new mountain. As I looked to my right, I was shocked to see that waaaayyyy down below me was the top of the mountain where I had stood the day before. I had no idea that I was climbing that much higher!

As we keep walking on this journey, one step at a time (sometimes one breath at a time) we will one day suddenly discover that we are doing better than we ever thought we could or would. At the time though, it feels like we can’t go on and things will never get better.

  1. Quite often I was paying so much attention to the path and my steps, that I was missing the view, so sometimes I would stop and look out, to enjoy what was around me.

Quite often we are so consumed by our grief (and rightly so, especially those first few weeks and months) that we don’t see what is going on around us. There are good things all around us; things we can still be thankful for. Sometimes we need to force ourselves to put our grief on pause to look for those things.

  1. I also used those times of looking around at the view to get rested before continuing.

Grief is a lot of hard work! It can take everything we have just to be in survival mode. It’s okay to rest when you are weary, when triggers hit hard, and you don’t have any energy to do even the simplest things like take a shower or put a frozen pizza in the oven.

And if you are someone who has faced the death of your child, it is one of the worst traumas a person can go through on this earth. (You will find that experts support this, saying we are going through what is called “traumatic grief” and that five years and less is considered fresh grief for a parent who has lost a child.) You have been through a trauma and can possibly even be dealing with PTSD.

Rest is not only okay, it is what you need, in every area, physically, emotionally, and yes, even spiritually in some ways.

There is one last comparison I would like to share with you, which might possibly be the most important one.

I can show you lots of pictures I took while climbing these mountains. I can tell you some of the things God was speaking to me, but it was my personal climb. Even if you had been with me, we would have seen things through our own eyes and our own thoughts.

In other words, we can be on the same path together, and yet we will be on our own personal separate climb. I would only be able to do so much to pull you into what I was seeing and how I was feeling. I could point something out to you, but you would be seeing it through your own lens of life. You would be having your own experience. It would be with me, and yet separate from me. Some of our climb would be the same experience, and some of it would be very different.

We are each on our own grief journey. Even if you are like me and have lost a child from this earth, there is no way I know how you feel. I know how I felt after my daughter died. I know the suffocating darkness I experienced. I know how I would forget to breath and have to consciously tell myself to take a breath. I know how I wanted to stop hurting so bad and how the darkness lasted for so much longer than I thought it should.

I know how I didn’t want to live, which didn’t make sense because I knew in my head I had so much still to live for. (I had a loving husband, four other children and two grandchildren at the time – one of those being the 9-year-old daughter of my daughter who had died).  None of that mattered. My heart wanted to be with my daughter who was now gone from this earth, and I knew I couldn’t stay here if the rest of my life was going to be this painful. (I wasn’t suicidal, I just didn’t want to live any more and begged God to take me out of here!)

You see, we each have many of the same grief experiences, but it is all though our own personal journey of our personal relationship with the one who died. I know how I felt, but that doesn’t mean I know how you feel, even if you lost a daughter the same way I lost my daughter, through heart damage caused by chemotherapy.

I want to encourage you to keep climbing. If you started and found yourself back down in the valley, go again after you are rested. And even though we each have our own experience, please know that if you are a bereaved parent, we are here at GPS Hope (Grieving Parents Sharing Hope), walking with you every step of the way.

 

For those who would like some helpful ideas on how to take care of yourself on this grief journey, we would like to send you a free resource. To have Thirty Ways to Bring Yourself Comfort and Take Care of Yourself delivered directly to your inbox, just submit your name and email address below.

Note: This will connect you with GPS Hope, including joining over 1,000 bereaved parents who receive a Weekly Word of Hope email on our journey together. If you want to stop receiving it at any time, just hit the unsubscribe button at the bottom of any email.

 

Expressions of Hope is written by author, speaker and singer Laura Diehl. She and her husband, Dave, are the founders of Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). Dave and Laura travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, including being invited to hold one-day GPS Hope & Healing conferences.

 

If you would like more information about Laura as a speaker for your next event or want more information on hosting a GPS Hope & Healing conference, click here.

 

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Learning to Rest in God

“Don’t do, just be.”

This was the message I kept hearing from many different places for the first two years after Becca’s leaving this earth. I believe it is a message we all need at some point when working our way through the darkness and back into the light after the death of our child.

We all need that place where we can go to get away and rest. However, the rest we truly need to come into is not a time and a place. It is a position; a way of life. But often we must begin with the time and place in order to learn to live in that position.

That means we have to set time aside specifically to be alone in God’s presence, especially if we have a hard time believing He truly loves us after not stepping in to save our child from earthly death. We need to “just be” in the stillness of His presence, where He can speak peace to us and fill us with His extravagant love.

During that time those first couple of years, God gave me many reminders to rest in Him and His ways. It was a hard thing to do, because I could not see any light in my darkness or understand why God was allowing so much intense pain.

He would share His reminders to just “be” and rest in Him in so many different ways. He would remind me to take a breath and breathe in His love and peace. He never sugarcoated anything, but would acknowledge how difficult and steep my climb was, telling me to cling tightly to His hand, reminding me to look at Him whenever my circumstances overwhelmed me.

He knew how weak and helpless I was, and He never tired of meeting me in my place of need. Looking back, I see now how each time He would free me from a few more of my shackles, even though most of the time I couldn’t feel it.

Not only would He “hold” me, but He would encourage me to relax in the awareness of His presence. Some of my most precious times with the Lord were in my greatest times of weakness, just letting everything go and melting into His peace, love, and compassion. And so much peace and deep revelation came out of those times of intimacy in those first few years.

For example, I discovered so many scriptures that I had misunderstood, such as Matthew 11:28-29 where Jesus says,

Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. (NIV)

There are lots of theological teachings on what Jesus meant by this, including what it meant for Jesus, as a rabbi, to say this. But at that moment of my life, the revelation of those verses didn’t mean that Jesus would make my life easy, but that being yoked together with Him is being yoked to that place of rest for my soul; that He would help me carry this heavy burden which is impossible for me to carry on my own.

I rediscovered Psalm 23 in The Complete Jewish Bible translation, that promises to restore my inner person, and that if I pass through death-dark ravines, He is with me; and that His grace and goodness are still pursuing me every day of my life.

This is not to say at some point I got it all figured out and now continually live from a place of rest. I wish God would just speak a command and make it all better, taking away the pain and replacing it with constant peace and rest, but it hasn’t happened that way.

Learning how to live in that place of resting in God has been a process. The pain can still be pretty intense at times, making me feel like I am going backwards, losing that peace and the place of rest.

For instance, a while back, Becca’s husband dropped off four plastic tubs on our front porch. They were full of things he no longer wanted taking up space in his garage. Two bins held Becca’s collection of Snow Buddies she put out every Christmas. One had all of her cassette tapes and CDs, and one contained lots of odds and ends, such as medical items used during her last year and a half of life, and some beautiful photo scrapbooks Becca spent hours on of their family.

But the thing that left me in a crying mess for the next few days was when I discovered her wedding dress smashed in the bottom of one of those bins. My heart still hurts, thinking about it. It felt so cruel, so careless, like she was no longer wanted or to be remembered. My daughter’s life has been reduced to four plastic bins, I thought. But instead of allowing myself to go in that direction, I told myself the truth. Her life was much bigger than these four bins. However… it was another door of finality I had to painfully work through, and once again make a conscious decision to rest in who God is within the circumstance.

Learning to rest in God is a must if you want to get out of your place of darkness.

And that means spending time alone with Him. You don’t even have to talk to Him;  just “be” with Him. Don’t feel guilty about being angry with Him, or about taking lots of time to be closed in with the One who loves you like crazy and wants to get you out of the pit and onto the path of living again.

Spend intimate time with Him. Lots of it. Let Him show you the way out by showing you the fullness of Himself. If you stick with it, I guarantee you will learn to come into that place of rest that we all so desperately need after the earthly departure of our child.

Would we rather have our child back? Absolutely. But that isn’t going to happen here on this earth. So, we might as well allow God to love on us and be at work in us, so that their death isn’t wasted in our lives.

 

This blog was taken from the chapter The Bedroom of Rest, from the award-winning book When Tragedy Strikes: Rebuilding Your Life with Hope and Healing After the Death of Your Child.

This book, When Tragedy Strikes, now has a course for those who feel the need to go deeper, wanting to implement more specific and practical ways on how to rebuild their lives after the death of their child.

The course has three options, based on how much or how little guidance one feels they want or need.

  • The first option is a free mini course.
  • The second option is a full course with eight modules.
  • The third option is for those who see the value in having one-on-one guidance and interaction with author and instructor, Laura Diehl, in their grief journey as they go through the full course. NOTE: This is for a small limited group and only available 2-3 times a year.

The When Tragedy Strikes Hope & Healing Course was created to walk with and help navigate a parent who has lost a child to a place of light, hope and a life of purpose once again. It is easier walking with others who have been on this path than stumbling about on our own.

While the process of grief cannot be hurried, we can learn how to take steps, no matter how small, making sure we keep moving forward instead of remaining stuck in the pain and darkness of our horrific loss.

To find out more about the When Tragedy Strikes Hope & Healing Course, click here.

 

Expressions of Hope is written by author, speaker and singer Laura Diehl. She and her husband, Dave, are the founders of Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). Dave and Laura travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, including being invited to hold one-day GPS Hope & Healing conferences.

 

If you would like more information about Laura as a speaker for your next event or want more information on hosting a GPS Hope & Healing conference, click here.

 

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Finding the Real Us

Growing up, one of my favorite stories was The Velveteen Rabbit. In fact, I named one of my own stuffed bunnies Velveteen, and would often sleep with it at night. (I memorized a list of all my stuffed animals, and gave each one a turn sleeping with me, cuddled in my arms, so none of them would feel left out. I can still run through that list in my head, almost fifty years later. I will spare sharing with you the names of my 13 cuddle-mates…)

Just a few years ago, I found a beautiful condensed “read-aloud” version of the book, so I purchased it to be able to share it with my grandkids. When we moved into the Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) I had to go through a life-time collection of two shelves of children’s books, deciding which ones to get rid of and which ones to keep. Only eight of those books found a place in our house on wheels, and that copy of The Velveteen Rabbit is one of them.

In case you aren’t familiar with the story, this little “fat and bunchy” stuffed bunny with spotted brown and white velveteen fur and pink sateen ears, becomes a boy’s favorite toy, which he talks to, plays with, and of course cuddles with each night. The bunny thinks he is real, because the boy tells the nanny his beloved bunny is real when she thinks he is making too much fuss over a toy. Eventually, the boy becomes sick with scarlet fever, and the well-worn and much-loved bunny is taken with the bedding to be burned. A real tear trickles down the face of the bunny, which immediately grows a flower with a fairy in it. Because the bunny was so loved and was real to the boy, she turns the velveteen Rabbit into a real live bunny, to live with the others he met earlier who made fun of him for not being real.

Looking back, I had no idea what the meaning of that story would have to me, after the death of our oldest daughter, Becca.

Let me share an exchange in the nursery between the wise old Skin Horse and the Rabbit.

“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day…

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you… It doesn’t happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time… Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real, you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.” (The Velveteen Rabbit by Marjorie Williams)

There are several similarities in this story, to my journey of being a pareavor  (a parent who has been bereaved of my child).

• It reminds me that working through our grief is a process; a journey. And it definitely doesn’t happen all at once. It takes a long time… years, as a matter-of-fact.

• “He hasn’t got any hind legs! He doesn’t smell right!” the wild rabbit exclaimed, jumping backwards. “He isn’t a rabbit at all! He isn’t real!” This is the reaction the live rabbits had one day when Rabbit was on the ground while his boy played. I don’t know about you, but many of us feel like the people around us just don’t get it. They don’t validate our loss, because we are so different than they are. They hop away and leave us, not understanding why we are the way we are.

• It is a story of going from being ugly to being real; from being who I was, thinking I was “real,” to being who I am now, on the other side of the suffocating darkness after Becca’s death. As I came out of the darkness and back into a place of hope and light, I began to see myself differently and I began to see others differently, along with a depth I didn’t have before. And that is a good thing.

• The Velveteen Rabbit is also a story of hope. He went from a place of devastation and being thrown away as useless to becoming real. I certainly felt devastated and totally useless. I felt like my soul died when my daughter died. But I didn’t stay that way. And you won’t either.

In order to become “real,” like the velveteen Rabbit, we have been taken through a very ugly place. And just like he was taken to a community of other bunnies, we are a community. We are a bunch of broken wounded people, doing life together. We are now traveling with each other on this journey, where we can learn how to become our best self and to become more real than ever before, within the pain and deep earthly loss of our children, not in spite of their death, but because of their life.

The book ends with the boy playing outside the following spring, seeing a rabbit that looks very much like his stuffed bunny that was destroyed.

But he never knew that it really was his own Bunny, come back to look at the child who had first helped him to be Real.

Our children gave us a great gift. The gift to become truly real. I know so many parents who are much further on this journey than I am, who have said they would not want to go back to being the person they were before their child died.

Why would they say that?

Because our child changed us. Both their life and their death.

We tend to look at how dark our life became after their departure, but there are also ways we have grown and are growing (or will grow), because of our brokenness. For me, I tend to not fret over the smaller things as much as I used to. I am much more aware of the present moment, knowing that is really all I have. My compassion for those who are hurting is way more than it ever used to be.

And because Becca had life, there are things she did that taught me something or showed me the way to being a better person, such as watching how she had a way of accepting everyone (whether she agreed with them in life choices and opinions or not) and how she was able to bring so much laughter while she was deathly ill her last 18 months. And watching Becca live life with only one leg and not letting it limit her, gives me motivation to push through my own difficulties instead of giving in to the obstacles that come my way.

How about you? Some of you may not have gotten to this point yet, because your child’s departure is still too fresh and your grief is still very dark and deep, but is there something you like better about yourself now since your child died? Is it easier to let go of toxic relationships? Are you more aware of what is really important in your life now? Are you now easily able to say “no” when people ask you to do something, when before you always said “yes?” Do you no longer feel guilty about putting your own needs first?

Here is another thought. We often talk about how we are forever changed because our child died, but I want to ask: How are you different now because your child LIVED? What are the new lenses your child’s life gave you, helping you to see the world with a different view than you had before?

As the wise old Skin Horse said: Once you become real, you can never become ugly again.

I would love to have you answer in the comments below this blog. What have you gained through your child’s death? What did your child’s life teach you?

We would like to send you the MP3 download From Pain to Purpose. This is a message Laura Diehl has given at several churches, sharing how God has a plan to take the deepest pain of the loss of your child, and restore your life to one of meaning and purpose once again, if we allow Him to.

 

Expressions of Hope is written by author, speaker and singer Laura Diehl. She and her husband, Dave, are the founders of Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). Dave and Laura travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, including being invited to hold one-day GPS Hope & Healing conferences.

Laura is a national keynote speaker and has also been a workshop speaker for events such as The Compassionate Friends and Bereaved Parents USA national conferences, along with being a guest on radio shows, podcasts and other media channels such as webinars with Open to Hope.

If you would like more information about Laura as a speaker for your next event or want more information on hosting a GPS Hope & Healing conference, click here.

 

GPS Hope exists to walk with grieving parents through the suffocating darkness of child-loss, guiding them to a place of hope, light and purpose.
 We also support families, friends and coworkers who want to know how to support these parents both short and long-term.

 

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How Do I Do It?

I am guessing that reading the following sentence will make you want to move on to something else, but I beg you to please read this all the way through because there are so many who desperately need you to understand them. July is National Bereaved Parents Month. There, I said it, now please stay with me to the end of this blog.

Up to this point, I have not even mentioned that fact, even though we have a national ministry to grieving parents. Why haven’t I? Because there are no words to describe what it means to be a bereaved parent.

I can’t put words to the agonizing and tormenting darkness of the pit we were hurled into. Or the gut-wrenching pain of having our child amputated from us with no anesthesia.

There is no way to share how this emptiness never ever leaves us, or how there is a permanent gaping wound that doesn’t even scar but is something we have to constantly nurse and give attention to.

We can’t explain in a way that makes sense why we can’t come  to family events, or “get back to normal.” There is no more normal for us, ever, while we are on this earth. We are now a “before” and “after” person.

Everything is now bittersweet, and quite often more bitter than sweet. We want to celebrate the graduations, the weddings and the precious new births and join the family holiday festivities. And we do, in our own way. But each life event is another slap-in-the-face reminder of who isn’t there and should have been. We can’t help but feel the aching emptiness. And being in a happy place surrounded by people who are celebrating, doesn’t necessarily make us feel better like some people tell us it will, but often just compounds the grief and brings it all back.

When you have a child go away, maybe to camp, or to stay with grandma for a couple of weeks, or go on a mission trip, or head off to college, or move across the country for a job, your heart aches. You won’t be able to be part of their lives on a day-to-day basis. We get it, we really do. It is a valid issue. But please know that it is hard for bereaved parents to hear those around us lament about their child being out of their presence for a while, because you still have access to them through the digital highway. And at some point, you will be with them again. We have none of that. Period. For the rest of our time here on earth.

We will never have a conversation with them to hear their voice. We will never hear them laugh. We will never see their face. We won’t know what they look like two years or ten years or twenty years from now. We will never buy a birthday or Christmas gift for them. We will never hear them say, ”I love you” or be able to give them a hug. EVER… all we have now are memories of who they were…

People tell us we are so strong and that they could never do what we are doing. Well, guess what? We had no choice in this event in our lives, and we aren’t strong! There are times we literally cannot breathe. We can’t even get out of bed. Sometimes a good day is making it to the shower or fixing a meal for our family. And when we have to pour all our energy into being at work for the day, when we get home we fall apart, every single day for a very long time. (I am talking for months and years.)

I have had people tell me someone that they know lost a child a few years ago, but they are doing fine now. It always makes me cringe, because I know they aren’t. You see, it becomes our job to make those around us comfortable with our grief. We have to put on our masks and convince those around us that we are okay, because if we don’t, either people don’t want to be around us, or they try to fix us and tell us we should be doing better by now. So we pretend, so they don’t have to grieve with us.

Did you know that most experts say five years and under is considered fresh grief for a parent who has lost a child (of any age)? And that the death of a child is considered traumatic grief? We are dealing with a literal trauma in our lives. And many of us are also dealing with PTSD, depending on the circumstances, such as seeing our child die or finding their body. Those are images that play in our minds over and over and over again. And as grieving parents, we can’t help but torment ourselves with the “what ifs.”

Yes, we can, and do, at some point figure out how to live with a part of our very being amputated from us. We learn to live our lives around the grief as we daily miss our child, seeing reminders of him or her everywhere we turn. But it takes a long time to figure out how to do that, and we will always be hit with grief triggers for the rest of our lives. If you are with us when that happens, please see it as a sacred place and moment, and know that it is an honor for us to let you in. Let us know it is okay to still miss our child deeply, and show grace, allowing us the time we need to lean into the memories and the grief.

As believers in Christ, we are good at rejoicing with those who rejoice, like Romans 12:15 tells us. But we aren’t very good at the second half of that verse, where we are told to weep with those who weep. (Some versions say to mourn with those who mourn or adds “sharing in their grief.”) And by the way, I notice that God doesn’t tell us to try and fix them if they are mourning for what we think might be too long of a time. He just tells us to join them in their place of sorrow.

If you aren’t sure what to do when you are with a bereaved parent, here is something that might help.

 

Another very special gift you can give to a bereaved parent is to let us talk about our child. Ask us questions about him or her. Let us show you pictures and tell you stories. One of our greatest fears is that people will forget our child lived and that his or her life mattered.

So, to answer the question, “How do I do it?” Even though I am almost eight years into this unwanted bereaved parent journey, sometimes it is still just hanging on one day, one minute, one breath at a time. And I am thankful that I don’t have to choose to either lean on God or to fall apart. I lean on God while I fall apart. I continue to find ways to honor the life and memory of my daughter, Becca. I connect with other parents who are ahead of me on this journey who can encourage me, and I connect with other parents who find themselves behind me on this journey.

I also look for friends who allow me to be who I am now, and not try to hang on to the person I used to be. Unfortunately, there aren’t many out there. Most of them are also bereaved parents who get it.

I don’t take it lightly that you have read this all the way through, and we bereaved parents thank you from the bottom of our shattered hearts. I hope and pray that by reading this, you have a better picture of what our lives are like and can now be one of those needed friends for those of us who are bereaved of our child.

 

 

To receive two free chapters from the book Come Grieve Through Our Eyes: How to Give Comfort and Support to Bereaved Parents, and to be added to our Friends of GPS Hope partners email list, just let us know below where to send them. (Your email address will be kept private.)

 

Laura Diehl is an award-winning author, national speaker and singer. She and her husband, Dave, are the founders of Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). Dave and Laura travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests.

If you would like to receive monthly updates on their travel adventures click here and submit your name and email at the bottom of the page.

Looking for a speaker for your next event or want more information on hosting a GPS Hope & Healing conference? Click here.

GPS Hope exists to walk with grieving parents through the suffocating darkness of child-loss to a place of hope, light and purpose.
 We also support families, friends and coworkers who want to know how to support these parents both short and long-term.
  • If you are not a bereaved parent but want to support those who are, or want to follow us as we give hope to these precious parents, please connect with us at Friends of GPS Hope on Facebook.
  • If you are a bereaved parent, we encourage you to connect with us on Facebook and subscribe to Laura’s YouTube channel for grieving parents.

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