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Our Dark Thoughts in Grief

Our actions are based on our emotions. The way we are acting (or reacting) to the death of our child is based on our emotions. Our emotions run very deep. There is so much pain. There is so much confusion. There is darkness and a feeling of hopelessness. That is normal and natural.

But I believe with everything in me that is not where we have to stay.

My emotions are driven by my thoughts. I can think things like I will never get past this or I will always feel this way. I know some parents even have the thought I don’t want to get past this, which is usually because they equate the pain of grieving their child with remembering their child. They are afraid if they quit hurting so much, they will forget their child.

This is a perfect example of how your beliefs drive your thoughts. If you believe that staying in your pain will keep the memory of your child alive, then you will continue in that emotional state of despair. You will not be able to live a life of peace, hope, and fullness (which includes living a life of meaning and purpose again, not in spite of your child’s death, but because of his or her life).

I’m trying to get you to believe that maybe, just maybe, it is possible to get past this suffocating darkness—to think if others have, maybe I can too.

I remember exactly when I grabbed hold of that belief; it was a turning point for me. I was standing in the cemetery, crying at my daughter, Becca’s, grave. I stood there and looked around at all those other tombstones.

I knew many of them were for children or young adults because I had spent many hours walking around reading the tombstones, including the dates, and figuring out how old they were when they were buried. I thought about how every single one of those tombstones had a story of the people who were left behind, who had grieved and mourned. Every one of those tombstones represented someone’s pain and loss.

It suddenly hit me that all these people (including those who had buried a child) somehow managed to get through it. And somehow, I could too. That realization planted a tiny seed of hope that I didn’t have to stay in this dark place, which gave me what I needed to slowly start working my way out of the black pit.

Believing the truth is just as powerful as believing a lie.

People do what they do, based on their feelings, because of what they believe. Most people live mainly out of their feelings, and feelings do not always equal the truth. To put that a different way, just because I have feelings about something, no matter how strong, does not mean my feelings are necessarily based on the truth.

To change your behavior, which is driven by your emotions, you must know and understand the truth. It is truth that will set you free. However, it can be a messy and painful process.

When God created us, He did an amazing thing. One of the ways He made us in His image is by allowing us to think our own thoughts. He does not control our thoughts, even though He could. He allows us to think He is the evil one.

I remember times when my kids blamed me for something and were angry at me when I wasn’t the one who caused the pain, or my decision was based on something I could see that they could not. It’s the same way with God. He allows us to have our own thoughts, even if we believe a lie about Him. That is how much He loves us. He doesn’t force us to trust Him or love Him. He lets it come from our own choice and our own thoughts.

Don’t let the enemy take the greatest pain and darkness you have ever faced and turn it into a lie that God doesn’t love you, or that He has turned His back on you.

One of the best ways to get out of the enemy’s sticky web is to still your soul, quiet your own thoughts, and ask God to give you His thoughts. You need to be transformed—totally changed—by the renewing of your mind (Romans 12:2). Allow God’s thoughts to speak softly to you in the depths of your being to set you free from the turmoil. Sit quietly in His presence, letting His thoughts reprogram your thinking.

What you focus on is what you will grow. So, if you continue to focus on the pain and loss, it will grow until it is ready to consume you and overtake you. But if instead you think about, focus on, and give thanks for what or who you still have, that is what will begin to grow, and eventually it will bring you out of that deep dark place.

You may not think so right now, but you can get to the place where you celebrate your child’s life, instead of being stuck in the pain of their death. The question is: Where are you rooting and grounding your thoughts? If it can happen for me, and countless other pareavors who thought that was impossible, it can happen to you.

Do you need help with your thoughts? Are you looking for a connection that will give you hope? Let Laura send you her Weekly Word of Hope, delivered each Wednesday. (Your email address is safe with GPS Hope.)

 

Expressions of Hope is provided by Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). The founders, Dave and Laura Diehl, travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, and bringing intimate weekend retreats to bereaved parents. Laura is also a singer/songwriter and the author of multiple award-winning books.

If you would like more information about bringing Dave and Laura to you for an event, please send an email to office@gpshope.org.

If you are interested in bringing GPS Hope to your area for a weekend retreat click here.

 

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What Do You Call Someone Who Has Lost a Child?

After our daughter, Becca, died, I knew there was no word that could even come close to describing my pain. At the same time, I wondered why there is not a word for those of us who are still here after the death of our child. Someone who has lost their parents is an orphan. My son-in-law became a widower, and of course, a woman whose husband has died is called a widow.

This started to really bother me.

I did a search to see if I could find something. Nothing came up at the time. Since then, there is a word I have seen around here and there, which I talk about on the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast (episode 216 where this specific blog came from).

When we hear the word widow or orphan about someone, we know what type of life-changing loss they have experienced. But when telling someone about our loss, it is along the line of, “Her child died.” There is no word that identifies the devastating, horrific, heart shattering traumatic loss in our lives.

When we lose a child, it changes our identity, even if we still have other children still here with us. It especially changes our identity if you have lost your only child, or all your children.

Even though all our journeys are different, when you meet someone who has lost a child, there is an instant connection. It doesn’t matter what different beliefs we might have politically, spiritually, or otherwise. There is something that pulls our hearts together because you are someone who can relate to me in a way very few others can. You know what it is like to experience this loss that is like no other loss.

I think it is important to have a word that validates the fact that parents who have lost a child through death have a weight that is extremely heavy…heavier than most will experience in this life. Not as a label to give us permission to wallow in our deep sorrow, but one that draws us together to be able to strengthen and encourage each other within our life-long club membership that none of us wanted.

So, just who are we after the death of our child? Is there a word that unites us? A word that at least implies the depth of our pain?

I believe there is, and it is the word pareavor.

“Reave” comes from the word bereave. According to Merriam-Webster the meaning/definition of the actual word “reave” is: to plunder or rob, to deprive one of, to seize, to carry or tear away.

I think those are some pretty good descriptions of how we felt when our child died.

So, if we take away the “be” in bereave and replace it with a “pa” (because “pa” comes from the word parent: a person who is a father or mother; a person who has a child (Merriam-Webster)), we get pareave.

Then when you add an “or”  at the end (indicating a person who does something (Wiktionary)) you get the word pareavor.

The word pareavor sounds like a pretty good description of what happens when our child dies, no matter the age of the child. We are parents who have been deprived of our children who were seized and torn away from us through death. We are pareavors.

Who am I? I am a teacher, an author, a podcaster host, a singer/songwriter, full time RVer; I am a wife, a daughter, a mom, a grandma, an aunt, a niece, a friend, a cousin, a cat-lover, and… I am a pareavor. A parent who was violently robbed of my daughter’s life – a parent bereaved of my child.

Let me say that I am sorry you have a reason to even consider this as an option in your life as a description of who you are now as well.

No matter what words we use, either to try and describe what it is like or to specifically identify ourselves as someone who has faced the devastation of child loss, we are still all in this together.

We are pareavors – parents who are bereaved of our child. They may have been ripped away from us here on earth, which causes tremendous pain, but thankfully, it is not a permanent separation.

This was taken from the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast, episode 216. To listen to more than what was shared in this blog, click here, or find the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast on your favorite listening app.

 

Would you like to receive a Weekly Word of Hope written and sent by Laura? Let her know below. Your email address is safe with GPS Hope.

 

Expressions of Hope is provided by Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). The founders, Dave and Laura Diehl, travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, and bringing intimate weekend retreats to bereaved parents. Laura is also a singer/songwriter and the author of multiple award-winning books.

If you would like more information about bringing Dave and Laura to you for an event, please send an email to office@gpshope.org.

If you are interested in bringing GPS Hope to your area for a weekend retreat click here.

 

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Why Couldn’t I Save My Child?

Written by Alicia White

January 29, 2020, was the scariest, most traumatic, life altering, and darkest day of my life and my family’s life, as we lost our seventeen-year-old daughter, Hope, by suicide. Not expecting or ever imagining our sweet, beautiful, Jesus-loving girl to ever take her life, finding her was an immediate out of body experience that left me with the darkest of dark images that are engraved into the depths of my mind and soul.

The torment of the guilt, shame, failure, and “should of’s” and “would of’s” robbed me of peace, and for moments, still does. Along with questioning my self-worth as a mom and family minister who had given her whole married life to raising our four kids in the ways of the Lord and teaching them how to have an intimate relationship with the Father, I questioned my very foundation of belief in Jesus. What I thought I knew about Jesus was abruptly and painfully ripped out from underneath my feet. What remained were questions of the Father’s protection, His word, His sovereignty, and His love.

As the wrestling intensified and I tried to find my footing again, I began to hear the Father speak to me: “Alicia, I am inviting you into a new place of trust. The trust I am inviting you to will shift your entire perspective of My truth and My kingdom. This higher place of trust will demand everything to be consumed at the altar. There will be nothing left in your hands. Are you willing? It’s the road to your healing that I am offering you.”

Abraham and Isaac

This place would be known as abandonment as I began my journey of the road less traveled. In today’s Christian culture, abandonment is not a term we hear much. It seems to carry with it negative inferences and images that we become uncomfortable with very quickly. Surrender is the term preferred, written about, sung about, taught on. At first glance they sound synonymous with each other. Although they do have similarities, they are also much different from each other.

Those tender first steps we walk with the Father as He beckons us to the cross come from a place of surrender. Here we find an exchange of the heaviness of life to the light yoke of Jesus. We find the love of the Father stretched out on a cross meant for us, but Jesus took our place.

As parents, the image of surrender fits inside the story of Abraham and Isaac. Abraham, in an authentic desire to obey and please the Father, takes his child by the hand and goes up to the mountain of sacrifice. Did he do it with a knowing in his spirit that the Father really would not take his son? We do not know. But we do know that he went through the motions of being a good father and parent and surrendered his son into God’s hands. For Abraham, surrender and obedience came with a ram in the thicket. God had provided a “way out” of the imminent death of his child. Abraham’s reward was to hold his promise (his son) in his arms for the rest of his days on earth.

As children of God, we shout out with sounds of joy as we pat ourselves on the back and say, “I surrender all,” as if we have made our walk up to the mountain of sacrifice as well. But what happens when that ram never reveals itself; when the cross is made for you and not Jesus?

What happens when you take your child by the hand and lead them to the foot of the cross and find out you do not get to hold your promise for the rest of your days? What happens when you look in horror at an altar that is marked with your child’s death and the reality that there is no ram to sacrifice instead as a way out?

The More Difficult Way of Abandonment

Abandonment. This is the longer and deeper walk on the road less traveled. Abandonment is to relinquish the right and ownership to what I hold most dear to my heart. Abandonment is to hold no desire or feeling of ownership of a thing or person, willingly giving up all rights and responsibility to another.  One who is fully abandoned to the Father has no desire for ownership of their life or the things they even love. Abandoned children of God do not have a desire to take back what was never theirs to begin with. There is no power struggle between deity and man in this place of holy abandonment.

Abandonment requires the release of all BUTS. We all have BUTS that are some of our best kept secrets of unrelinquished control over our life. They hide in the depths of our soul keeping our flesh in a place of comfort and security. If we dare to unmask them in a place of honesty and vulnerability, they sound a bit like this:

“Take my life, Jesus, BUT not my job. Do what you want, Jesus, BUT do not make me do that. I give you my marriage, Jesus, BUT I am not the one that needs to change. I give you all of me, BUT don’t let me get sick and die.”  And let us be , honest moms and dads, the biggest BUT in the room for us is, “Jesus, I give you my children, BUT keep them safe and from harm’s way.” BUT when the Father takes away your BUT and what you believe contradicts truth, what foundation will you stand on?

In one moment, what I thought I knew about Jesus and the Father was pulled out from underneath me and the mask suddenly came off my BUT that had been there all along. After all the years we spent declaring the word over our children, pleading the blood, interceding, teaching them the Word and taking them places to encounter His presence, the worst of all darkness had just happened? How could He allow this to happen? I trusted Him. Or did I?

Are We Being Honest With Ourselves?

The harsh truth is that I trusted Him on my own terms; the BUTS stood between us. I had to ask myself that if the perfect will of the Father meant that Hope was safer received in heaven than  saved for earth, was I going to be ok with that? Could I trust the Father when no BUTS stood between us? I felt uncomfortable, I felt insecure, I felt no place to stand my footing, until I realigned my perspective with His and came to this resolve:

  • I abandon my right to Hope. She was never mine and I have no rights to her.
  • I abandon my responsibility to save her into the hands of the only One who can.
  • I abandon my rights to receive the answers to all my questions.

God’s ways and thoughts are not mine. I finally released my control to the Father and removed the BUTS. This is the journey of abandonment.

Surrender is to reluctantly give up what you take ownership in; what you feel is yours with a list of terms and conditions to go along with it. When an army surrenders to another, they do it by force or a feeling of “having to.” There is no real trust to the one they surrendered to. Surrender is not necessarily giving up your rights to the person you surrendered to. Just because a nation must surrender land to another nation does not mean they do not feel that land is still theirs.

A feeling of rights, or ownership, often creates a battle of trying to take back what you think is yours. We often do the same thing with our surrender to the Lord. We lay something down, and with a lack of trust and full abandonment in the Lord, the next day we are trying to pick it back up.

For months, I was in a battle with the Father, trying to put a demand on my daughter. I wanted her here with me. I was determined that God was going to answer the questions I had because she was mine and it was not fair. I had surrendered her to Jesus at the mountain of sacrifice and deserved her in my arms all the days of my life.

Giving Up Our Rights Brings Healing

True healing started to come when I decided to abandon to the Father and give up my rights to have her with me, along with not getting the answers I so wanted. The battle between heaven and earth stopped when I began to say out loud, “Father, I give up my rights to Hope, she is yours and I trust you with her.”

The strings attached to the walk of my surrender gave way to the freedom, healing and peace that I found in abandonment.

Although the pain and grief remain, the higher perspective is my gain that earth cannot satisfy. “Take up your cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24-26) was now not just a Christian cliché or my duty of obedience expecting the ram in the thicket, but a call to lay my life and the life of my family on the altar of abandonment, that we may lose our life to gain it.

I have begun the walk of abandoning my rights to have it my way, with my terms and conditions; to truly believe that the goodness of God will prevail (Exodus 34:6), and that all things work for the good of all who are called by His name (Romans 8:28).

I believe this higher walk of abandonment, this road less traveled, will become the walk to resurrection power for all of us who have partaken of His cup of suffering in such a deep sacrificial way. Vulnerability that leaves you before the cross naked, having given the unthinkable ALL, places a demand on a cloak from heaven threaded with scarlet and draped in resurrection power.

When “worthy of it all” becomes your highest worship and there is nothing left in your hands, the Father’s love and goodness will remain. Yes, the road the Father has allowed those of us who have lost a child to walk on, is a road full of pain and suffering. But I also believe it is a road of great honor and privilege that allows us to encounter and experience the Father in way that few get to. There is an intimate communion with the Father and His son, Jesus, who knows what it is like to truly give ALL. He has entrusted us to walk the road less traveled so that we may encounter His resurrection and true life that is found in full abandonment.

This is the hope of His glory; that His children would live a holy abandoned life and that their eyes would be fixed on eternity.

“So no wonder we don’t give up. For even though our outer person gradually wears out, our inner being is renewed every single day. We view our slight, short-lived troubles in the light of eternity. We see our difficulties as the substance that produces for us an eternal, weighty glory far beyond all comparison, because we do not focus our attention on what is seen but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but the unseen realm is eternal,” 2 Corinthians 4:16-18 (TPT).

I pray you put on the lenses of eternity and learn to live from heaven’s perspective. The suffering of this world becomes so much dimmer with each step you take, and total abandonment becomes much easier. We will also realize that what we could not “save” our child from, is entering into their eternal home of glory ahead of us.

Some of this was shared in Laura’s recent interview with Alicia on the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast. To hear that conversation, and to have Alicia pray over you, click here.

Do you struggle with guilt, blaming yourself for not being able to save your child? This is not from God, and He wants to release you. If you would like help, let us send you Ten Tips to Help Overcome Grief. (This will also put you on our list to receive a Weekly Word of Hope that you can unsubscribe from at any time.

 

Expressions of Hope is provided by Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). The founders, Dave and Laura Diehl, travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, and bringing intimate weekend retreats to bereaved parents. Laura is also a singer/songwriter and the author of multiple award-winning books.

If you would like more information about bringing Dave and Laura to you for an event, please send an email to office@gpshope.org.

If you are interested in bringing GPS Hope to your area for a weekend retreat click here.

 

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Trusting God When It Doesn’t Make Sense

I recently had Linda Dillow as a guest on the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast. Linda and her husband, Jody, served eighteen years on the mission field, with most of them being behind the iron curtain during Communism, working with leaders of the underground church. Linda faced many dark and frightening circumstances during that time.

They now live in Colorado. During the height of the COVID pandemic, she found herself fighting a different set of dark and frightening circumstances, as she had two daughters battling cancer on opposite ends of the country. Because of rare genetics, one will have this cancer monster hanging over her for the rest of her life, and the other only lived for a few months after being diagnosed.

Linda has had to go back to what the Lord has taught her over the years, digging even deeper into what it means to trust God when something so painful as the death of our child does not make sense.

How Often Have You Studied the Book of Habakkuk?

Habakkuk is a small, often overlooked book in the Bible, but it is one we can turn to when faced with painful circumstances that do not make sense. Linda has turned to it many times over the years, but especially during this time of painful turmoil.

We first find Habakkuk crying out to God to deliver the nation of Israel from their wandering away from Him which had led them to a place of violence, depravity and injustice. The book opens with him crying out, “How long, Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen?”  (Sound familiar?)

God’s answer of deliverance made no sense in the natural mind, because it was to send the most brutal nation in the world at the time, to take over and rule the nation of Israel, even removing them from the Promised Land God had led them to, taking them as slaves into Babylon.

God’s “cure” certainly looked much worse than the disease. Because Habakkuk knew the character of God, God’s solution baffled him. But instead of getting angry at God and demanding answers to his whys, he waited. He waited to see how God would answer him.

Not only that, but Habakkuk did something amazing. He said he would also wait to see how he would answer when God corrected him! (Habakkuk 2:1)

What???

As I already stated, Habakkuk knew God’s character, which meant he also knew that he was looking at God’s solution through his own eyes of humanity when it didn’t make any sense. Why would God make it worse, instead of better? He wanted to see what God saw. Habakkuk was asking to see the end results instead of the immediate pain and suffering they were going to have to go through that made no sense whatsoever, as the answer to his prayers.

The Question “Why?”

Let me say this again in a different way, because it is crucial for us to understand what is happening here.

Habakkuk did not ask God “why” because he thought God was wrong and was demanding that God explain Himself. He asked why because he knew that he was wrong in not trusting what God was doing and wanted God to correct him. Instead of being angry and blaming God for making things worse, he invited God into his thoughts by saying, “I don’t understand what You are doing, but I know that You are right and faithful in all things. Please speak to me and correct me so that my thoughts line up with your thoughts, even in the horrible pain of what you are allowing in my life.”

Habakkuk wasn’t looking for answers, he was looking for peace. Answers don’t give us peace. Placing the painful mess in God’s all-knowing, loving hands and choosing to trust Him to walk with us through the darkness will.

The short three-chapter book ends with Habakkuk surrendering to God’s plan, even when it brings more pain, is a way to bring about the end result of freedom and being back in a trusting relationship with a loving and faithful God.

It doesn’t feel that way in the pain, though, does it? It seems like God is anything but loving and faithful!

Even Jesus felt that way when hanging on the cross. In His pain and suffocating darkness, He cried out, “Father, why have you left me and turned your back on me?”

It comes down to making a choice. Are we going to choose that God is wrong, and I can no longer trust Him? Or are we going to choose to realize that there is no way I can understand the greatness of God because I cannot see the final outcome, and even though I don’t understand why He has allowed the death of my child to happen, knowing how much pain and darkness I would be in, I am going to continue to trust in His character and His love for me and my child.

Final thought…

The book of Habakkuk ends with him making this declaration (Habakkuk 3:17-18 NIV):

Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls

yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.

Here is verse 18 in several different versions.

  • I will rejoice in the Lord. I will rejoice in the God of my deliverance. (CEB)
  • even then, I will be happy with the Lord. I will truly find joy in God, who saves me. (GW)
  • yet I will have joy in the Lord. I will be glad in the God Who saves me. (NLV)
  • Then I will stillrejoice in the Eternal! I will rejoice in the God who saves me! (VOICE)

…And my personal favorite…

  • Counting on God’s Rule to prevail, I take heart and gain strength. (MSG)

As you read it again below, fill in the blanks with your own words Maybe even write it out as your own declaration as a reminder that you are choosing to trust Him when you cannot see the outcome.

Though the _________________________ and there are no ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­_____________________________,
though the _____________________________ fails and the _______________________________
though there are no __________________________ and no _____________________________

yet I will ____________________ in the Lord, I will ________________________ in God ____________________.

If you are not at a point where you can do something like this, it’s okay. It can take two or three years before we can begin to see any hope that something like this is even possible. Ask the Holy Spirit to help you get there, and then give yourself lots of grace during the process. It can be a long journey, and it is not one you have to walk alone.  We can walk it together.

 

 

Part of this blog was taken from the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast, Episode 195: Trusting God When It Doesn’t Make Sense. This was part one of Laura’s talk with Linda Dillow. The second half can be found here: Episode 196: A Declaration of Hope After Child Loss.

As shared above, you do not have to walk this journey alone. If you would like to be part of the GPS Hope community, the best place to start is by asking to receive Laura’s Weekly Word of Hope. You will also receive information on other resources provided by GPS Hope and can unsubscribe at any time.

 

 

Expressions of Hope is provided by Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). The founders, Dave and Laura Diehl, travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, and bringing intimate weekend retreats to bereaved parents. Laura is also a singer/songwriter and the author of multiple award-winning books.

If you would like more information about bringing Dave and Laura to you for an event, please send an email to office@gpshope.org.

If you are interested in bringing GPS Hope to your area for a weekend retreat click here.

 

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Why We Will Never Get Over It

A point of frustration for many bereaved parents after child loss is feeling like we are being judged for still missing our children.

There are some people around us who think we should be “moving on” or be “over it” by now, as if the death of our child is like a bad cold. Yes, the death of our child was an event, a moment in time. But that moment has disfigured us for the rest of our lives.

Having one’s child die is more than something bad that happened a few weeks ago, or months ago, or even years ago. The death of our child is a continual occurrence. Every morning when we wake up, at some point the realization hits us that our child is no longer here and will not be part of our day. It can feel like they died all over again.

Every event can feel like another death of our child.

  • Getting rid of a car that our child rode in can be agonizing because we will no longer have that car which attaches us to those memories.
  • There are meals we can no longer make (or eat) because it is too painful to be reminded that our child is not there to share their favorite food with us.
  • Seeing a pair of shoes displayed in a store can send us bolting to the car in tears, realizing that we will never again buy our child another pair for a sport they were in or for special occasions.
  • Hearing a certain song come on the radio can force us to the side of the road, unable to drive because we can’t see through our tears, even after we quickly turned it off.
  • Any and every event we attend (or are even invited to) is a reminder of who is missing. It can feel brutal seeing others who are our child’s age hitting life’s milestones that we will never get to experience with our child.

The death of one’s child is considered by most professionals to be one of the most (if not the most) traumatic event a person can deal with in life. Many parents also deal with PTSD, based on the circumstances of their child’s death.

I don’t think anyone can deny that it is a traumatic experience to walk behind your child’s casket and bury them, or to bring your child home as ashes in an urn. And for those parents who found their child’s body, or many other possible scenarios, they can also have PTSD.

Most of us are not stuck in our grief because we refuse to move on with our lives without our child. We are “stuck” because of being surrounded by constant reminders of our child who should be here as part of our everyday lives, but instead there is silence and a constant emptiness.

We do eventually learn to cope, but we don’t “get over it.”

If someone has an amputation, first they must heal, both physically and emotionally, from having that body part cut off; and the emotional healing takes much longer than the physical.

Then they must learn how to function and do everything differently with that part of them missing. Even when that happens, they are reminded multiple times a day that a body part has been cut off, because of how they are forced to live differently, in a way that helps them adapt to the loss.

Some days it is easy, some days it is a struggle to stay positive, and other days it hits them full force (almost like it just took place), no matter how long ago the amputation happened.

How do I know this? Our daughter, Becca, had her left leg amputated at only three years old because of cancer, so we had a front row seat to an amputee living day-to-day life.

As a bereaved parent, we have had our child amputated from us, and everything that an amputee must go through, we do as well. However, the emotional pain is multiplied and much more intense losing an entire person who is part of you, than losing something that is physically part of you, like a leg or an arm.

Several years ago, when I was working on one of my books, I was accused by someone that I was writing it as a way to continue dragging up the past instead of going forward. Wow!  First, I was writing the book to give hope to others who found themselves in the same suffocating pit that I had been thrown into, letting them know we can find our way out. Secondly, it was not dragging up the past; it was helping me learn how to cope with living in the present and in the future without my daughter.

Studies have shown that for those who have lost a child, anything under five years is considered fresh grief. So, I am not surprised when a bereaved parent does not believe they will ever have a life worth living again. I know I didn’t believe it.

However, we do eventually get stronger as we learn how to carry the grief in a way that does not feel like a heavy darkness every minute of the day. We will never get over our loss as if it never happened. That is impossible. But we can and will get over to the other side of the darkness, able to live a life of meaning and purpose again. This is not in spite of our child’s death, but because of his or her life.

 

This blog was taken from the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast episode 194, which has more shared on this topic. You can listen here on YouTube. To listen directly on the GPS Hope website click here or find the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast on your favorite listening app.

NOTE: Some of this was taken from Laura’s book Come Grieve Through Our Eyes: How to Give Comfort and Support to Bereaved Parents. To find out more about this book, along with Laura’s other books click here.

 

Expressions of Hope is provided by Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope). The founders, Dave and Laura Diehl, travel full time in their Hope Mobile (a 38-foot motor home) to be more easily available for speaking and ministry requests, and bringing intimate weekend retreats to bereaved parents. Laura is also a singer/songwriter and the author of multiple award-winning books.

If you would like more information about bringing Dave and Laura to you for an event, please send an email to office@gpshope.org.

If you are interested in bringing GPS Hope to your area for a weekend retreat click here.

 

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