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Under His Wings

By Bev Leckie

When my Mom passed away, she was finally honored for her love, for her faith, and for her persistence. We grew up with nothing, but we grew up with a mom who held on to her faith in the darkness of life.

She sang in the choir, but mostly she sang to her eight children in a Brooklyn “railroad flat”, two bedrooms with four beds, bedrooms fully open one to the other, with all eight of us sleeping 2 to a bed, heads at different ends. Mom sat on one of the beds and began to sing the old hymns I still love, until we all fell asleep. She sang the songs of faith that tell me much more about my Mom and my God today than they did decades ago. And one of those hymns was almost always, Under His Wings, which was one of my mom’s most favorite songs.

As much as Mom knew and persisted through a deep depth of darkness as she fought to bring her children to adulthood, she clung desperately to her faith. She begged God for the reality of the words that she sang. She yearned for her God, and she knew the refuge He could give in sorrow. And, yes, she hid beneath His wings of love, shelter, and protection until Jesus called her home to Heaven.

When my own daughter died, my Mom would have done anything she could to protect me from the ravages of pain and emptiness, questions, guilt, shame, and the isolating loneliness that the death of a child can bring.

My Mom could do none of that, but her words of truth, in time, penetrated my grief and sent me to the God who wanted to draw me close, cover me with His presence, and in a profuse outpouring, immerse me in the faithfulness of His promises.

Roy Lessin says, “Being under His wings means being close to His heart – you are not only sheltered, you are loved; you are not only secure, you are cared for; you are not only covered, you are reassured.”

I have said many times that what I most wanted in my grief was to know with absolute certainty, that my God is right here – to know that I am not alone, and to know that my emptiness and my tears are softened and quieted by a presence that can come no closer.

God’s faithfulness, though, embraces both me and my child. It is a forever faithfulness, a faithfulness of redemption, and a faithfulness that transcends from temporal to eternal. It is a faithfulness consistent with His heart of love for both me and my child; a faithful love that longs to embrace both me and my child in the eternal perfections of Heaven; a place where my child can not only dance with Jesus, but some day, I too, can dance with my child.

And while I wait in the temporal, God’s redemptive faithfulness brings beauty from the ashes of tragedy. As I rest beneath the sheltering protection of His wings, I will also find that my child is not forgotten, and the light of my child’s short life can still shine.

 

Under His wings, under His wings, who from His love can sever? Under His wings, my soul shall abide, safely abide forever. 

 Thank You, thank You, precious Father, for the faithful warmth of Your embrace.

(Related Bible reading: Psalm 91:4)

 

Bev Leckie’s life has been a miracle of grace as she has watched God transform a childhood and youth of dysfunction, abuse, and wrong choices, and then the death of her daughter after a full term pregnancy, into outreaches of compassion and understanding.

She has served alongside her pastor husband for almost 50 years in both South Carolina and California.  Having a heart for women, she has mentored those with abusive histories, and then found Umbrella Ministries, giving her both comfort and a connection through which she could share the comfort God has given her with other grieving moms.  And through it all, God has allowed her to write, ultimately focusing primarily on devotional writing for women, those who grieve or struggle in other areas, and those just called to do life. To contact Bev, email her at bleckie@sbcglobal.net.

 

Do you have a difficult time finding things that bring you comfort? We have put together a list of thirty ways on how to bring yourself comfort and take care of yourself after the death of your child. We know God is the ultimate comforter, but it can help when we know how to give Him something to work with and to flow through. 
Let us know below if you would GPS Hope to send you this list. You will also begin to receive a Weekly Word of Hope, that is easy to unsubscribe from if you no longer want to receive it.

 

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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Our Grief is a Full-Time Job!

It can be exhausting trying to explain to family and friends why we don’t want to (or can’t) celebrate holidays and special events like we have in the past, especially when they just don’t get it. Friends and family who mean well, can even insist that joining in the celebrations and festivities is just what we need. They tell us it is the best thing we can do to “get back to normal.”

Insert loud “wrong answer” buzzer-sound right about now!

Here is something that might help to explain our grief, if not to others, at least to yourself.

For those first few months up to two or three years, grieving the death of our child is like having a full-time job with overtime! It consumes us. It takes everything we have, whether we want it to or not. It drains us, leaving us to feel like there is just no way we can go on.

Eventually, our grief becomes more like a full-time job, thankfully without all the constant overtime. It usually sneaks up on us around three to five years into our grief, and we don’t even realize it at first.

Grieving the death of our child is still the greatest part of our life. It still drains us and exhausts us, but now we have times of reprieve. We can go out and do something without feeling like we are on the verge of falling apart. We can join certain activities or family events (even if we aren’t ready to stay the whole time) and have some smiles and laughs without feeling guilty. We can watch a movie and actually enjoy it, instead of just staring at the screen, oblivious to what we are watching.

We clock back in to our full-time job of grieving afterwards, but it isn’t all-consuming anymore, although we can still slip into overtime for a few days (even weeks) here and there.

Then, after several years of really hard work, we find ourselves able to go down to part-time grief. However, we are always “on call” because our grief is like an undercurrent, ready to surface in a split second. Sometimes we know there is something coming that will be a trigger, and other times we get slapped with it out of the blue with no warning, in a place we least expect it.

When that happens, we clock back in to increase our grief work time. Sometimes we are clocked in for a few minutes or hours. Sometimes it is for a day or two. And there are occasional times, when we need to go back to full-time, such as when our child should be graduating with their classmates, or a wedding happens that our child would have been in.

And yes, there will still be rare times when we go back to overtime, like the death of another close family member that triggers our deep grief. Eight years after my daughter, Becca, died, I found myself sobbing and wailing at my dad’s casket. I didn’t even do that at Becca’s casket, but when I saw the boutonniere from her wedding pinned to his suit, I just totally lost it. I even knew it was going to be there, but it affected me so much more deeply than I anticipated. I was out-of-sorts for a few weeks, having a hard time focusing and functioning. (Then seven weeks later my mother-in-law, whom I loved dearly, passed away in her sleep, which didn’t help at all!)

I am so glad to be back to part-time right now. But I know there will continue to be times when it goes back to fulltime for a while, and unfortunately, also overtime. But thankfully, that is very rare.

Where are you right now? Are you on overtime, fulltime, or part time grief? It’s all hard work, but the overtime is just outright brutal! If that’s where you are, what can you do to give yourself a short break now and then?

We can’t stop the overtime until that work project is complete, but we can and need to take as many breaks as possible, no matter how short they are. The Holy Spirit knows exactly what you need and when you need it. If you feel a prompting to do something that doesn’t make a lot of sense (obviously nothing harmful), then follow through on those promptings. You just never know how it will lift your load just a bit.

 

Do you struggle with self-care? We have put together a list of 30 simple things you can do, to take care of yourself and bring yourself comfort. Let us know below where to send it. (You will also begin to receive our Weekly Word of Hope, which 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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Year One, Year Two, Year Three and Beyond

 

Any loss takes time to process and work through. The loss of a loved one can take weeks, months, and years. The loss of a child takes a lifetime.

Grief has its own individual path for each person. We may often hear the words, “There is no right or wrong way to grieve,” and yet much of society shouts the exact opposite to those who are in deep mourning.

We are asked when we are going to “get over it,” or are told we need to let our child go and start moving forward. This can make us angry and add to the painful confusion, making one wonder, “What’s wrong with me, that I am taking so long to be able to function again?” So, we put on a mask, to keep people around us from knowing what a mess we still are, months and even years later.

What most people don’t realize, is that most experts consider the death of one’s child traumatic grief, and that up to five years can be considered “fresh” grief. And as grieving parents, we need to know this; that it’s okay if you are still barely functioning or are unable to go out and “have fun” with friends, or attend painful family events that your child should have been part of, years after the loss.

You may be interested to know that as I started hearing from other bereaved parents in the first couple of years of my journey, I discovered there does seem to be an underlying generic time-frame that many of us pareavors sort of fall into.

The first year is a painful fog, full of numbness, confusion, pain, and disbelief. All the “firsts” hit us hard. The first time he or she is not with us for each holiday or yearly family event, the first year they are not here for their birthday and of course, the first anniversary of their death.

I thought the second year would be easier, because I had already gone through everything once. As pareavors just starting out on this horrific journey, we don’t think it is even possible, but the second year of being without our child is usually worse than the first year. I hope that is not the case for you, but I want to be up front and honest that it is a strong possibility.

Why does that happen to so many of us?

Well, for me personally, that first year I braced myself for all the “firsts,” plus I was still in that fog of trying to figure out if this had really happened. The second year caught me off guard as the fog began to lift. Round two of all those yearly events no longer had the blessing of numbness to block the full depth of the pain. When that initial shock finally wore off, it caused the weight of my loss to hit me full force, with a heaviness and darkness that left me wondering if I would ever get through it. I remember thinking how desperately I wanted the pain to end, afraid that it never would.

The third year for many of us becomes more livable. We are starting to accept the finality and painful fact that our child will never again be with us at any of these events. We are starting to resign ourselves to the fact that no matter how much it hurts, we must figure out who we are without our child. Some of us even begin to see glimmers of hope; that we can still have joy and happiness in the life we are living with those who are still here whom we love, and who love us.

After saying all of that, I also want to emphasize that we are all on our own individual journey.

Unfortunately, there many parents who are stuck in the second-year level. They take many more years to get to the place of painful acceptance, which is necessary to be able to start building their new normal in a way that brings peace, joy, love and laughter back into their lives. For instance, I personally know someone who waited over four years before they could even bring themselves to have a tombstone made for their child’s grave.

Let me say it again, because it is so important. NO ONE is on the same timetable of grieving the death of their child.

Do not look at any dates to see where others were emotionally in our grieving process and use it as some sort of a timeline to force on yourself. We are all on our own individual timeline and need to go through the process at our own speed. Yes, there are some “patterns” (for lack of a better word) that some of us seem to fall into, but don’t expect yourself to fit into that. Give yourself grace to walk your own necessary path. As long as you are putting one foot in front of the other, you will get there. (When Tragedy Strikes.)

How close you were (or weren’t), how he or she died, their age at death and so many other things all play a factor in how you grieve and how long it takes to be able to function again, much less actually learn how to live with your child being “amputated” from you.

Even within this three to five year “acceptance” range, we are all different, including those of us who are “early” or “late.” Here are what a few others have to say about their journey and this “three year” timeline:

 

  • Four years later, I still struggle with these feelings, but not on a daily basis.
  • I just passed anniversary number 5. For me, year 1 -I hardly remember anything, mainly a fog. Year 2 (for me) was worse. The numbness was gone. It was real. It was crushing. I survived day-to-day. Year 3 -I started feeling some joy again. Able to go a few days without crying. Year 4 – still painful, but more like a slap than a body-slam.
  • At first, I experienced waves of grief that crashed over me throwing me prostrate to the floor in agony. After 3-4 years it was mostly a gentle longing with times of intense pain and feelings of loss.
  • I honestly couldn’t tell you anything about the first 2 years. Year 3 things began to get a little better. Lord knows I still cry every day. Year 4 I smiled again. Real smiles not forced ones. And just over the past few months I have finally begun to feel happiness.
  • Year 2 is worse. But I am intentionally seeking Joy and now I’m halfway through the second year. I think I can see Joy every now and then although it is still a ways ahead of me yet.
  • Sadly, the only way to ‘get past this’ is to go through it!! I am broken now in a place that will never heal. But I do find that I can laugh more than I used to, but I define my life ‘before my son died’ and ‘after he died.’ The trick is to wake up every day and try to have a plan and a purpose.

In other words, whether you fit the “pattern” or not, you are in a normal place with your grief, and the right one for you.

Year one, year two, year three, year five, year ten, year twenty, the rest of this lifetime… and then comes our glorious reunion. And the best part? Each day we remain here on this earth doesn’t mean we are getting further away from our children, but that we are one day closer!

We all need to have our children’s lives acknowledged. On our weekly podcast, we love to share with our listeners the birthdays of our children. To have your child’s special and important day announced on the podcast the week of their birthday, fill out and submit the simple form below so that we have the needed information. (This will also allow us to send you our encouraging Weekly Word of Hope, which you can unsubscribe from at any time if you don’t find it helpful.)

 

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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To the Newly Bereaved

If you have recently lost your child from this earth, we know there is just no way to put into words the swirling emotions, the suffocating darkness and the crushing pain.

Our guess is that people were so wonderfully supportive for the first few days and even a few weeks. But at some point, everyone else’s life has gone back to normal, and you just want to scream at them, because your life is still at a screeching halt.

We get it.

If you have faced a deep loss before, grieving the death of your child may seem so much worse, and you think you are going crazy.

If you have never lost someone close before, you probably realize you have no grid for your grief, but you must be going crazy.

Either way, you may have times where you find you are literally forgetting to breathe, and have to remind yourself to take a breath. Your body is out of whack; your mind is full and empty at the same time. Your sleep is off. Often times you can’t stop crying, and it might even seem like everything around you looks gray and colorless. You can forget things, even as simple as how to peel an orange or find yourself panicking because you suddenly forgot how to get home from the store you have shopped at for ten years. You don’t know how you can go on living, and probably don’t want to, which makes no sense to your mind if you are happily married or have other children still here. You are barely in survival mode, and don’t think it is possible to get out of the darkness, much less to a place of wanting to live without your child, and impossible to have a life with purpose and meaning ever again.

Let me assure you, all of this is normal. Once again, those of us who have traveled this road ahead of you have felt all of that ourselves.

People who have not faced the loss of a child may tell you that you need to move on, that you need to get past it, or that you need to find a way to have closure. These are all people who don’t want to see you in so much pain, and they mean well, but to say it bluntly, they don’t know what they’re talking about.

  • Your child will always be a part of you, so you won’t be “moving on.”
  • Only having the precious memories of your child instead of your child makes it impossible to “get past it.”
  • Having your future taken from you in the love and legacy of your child means there will not be “closure.”

HOWEVER….

It is possible to have hope in the midst of your intense pain.

It is possible to have light break through the darkness.

It is possible to laugh and have joy in your life in a new way.

It is possible to live a life of meaning and purpose again.

Not only is it possible, but it is probable, if you stay connected with bereaved parents who are living in that place.

Here at Grieving Parents Sharing Hope (GPS Hope), you will find this is a safe place for all of your emotions, all of your questions, your anger, and everything else that comes with grieving the death of your child. We are not just here for you, but we are here to walk with you, for as long as it takes for you to come out the other side with all of those things listed above that we ourselves have found.

And this will not be in spite of the loss of your child, but in honor of the life of your child.

It will probably take longer than you want it to. That’s okay. You have had an amputation. A part of your very being has been cut off. Give yourself lots and lots of grace and allow yourself lots and lots of time (even if those around you don’t). You can eventually learn to live with that piece of you missing, but there will be constant reminders and new situations causing you to stumble for the rest of your life. (Some of us call them grief attacks.)

Sometimes you will be forced to give in to your limitations of grief. Sometimes you will learn how to work around it. And yes, there will be times you will be able to soar above it. There is no right or wrong way. It is whatever way works for you at that moment in time.

But for now, just rest, knowing that you are surrounded by bereaved parents who have been right where you are, and that you have our hearts, our love and our prayers.

We also want you to know:

  • You must go through this; there is no way around it.
  • There is no timetable.
  • There are no “grief stages” you have to work your way through.
  • Moving forward does not mean you are leaving your child behind.
  • Anything under five years for the death of one’s child is considered fresh grief.
  • The death of one’s child is considered a trauma, and what you are feeling and thinking is normal.
  • You will survive.
  • You are not alone!

We understand, and will walk with you, to help you find your way out of the darkness and into a place of light and a life with meaning and purpose once again, BECAUSE of your child’s life, not in spite of their death. It won’t be easy, but hang on to the hope that it can be done.

Please be sure to visit our Wall of Remembrance, and have your child added!

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 a bereaved parent, we encourage you to connect with us on Facebook.
• 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.
• Subscribe to Laura’s YouTube channel.

Expressions of Hope is written by author and speaker Laura Diehl. Laura is a national keynote speaker and also a workshop speaker for both The Compassionate Friends and Bereaved Parents USA national conferences. Laura has also been a guest on Open to Hope several times, and has hosted her own conferences, a virtual conference and many webinars. If you would like more information about Laura as a speaker for your next event, click here.

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Five Suggestions to Bereaved Parents Who Have Been Told, “You Should be Over This by Now”

Before I share the list, let me start out by telling you to stop feeling like you owe them an explanation in the way of excuses, as if you have some kind of disease. I didn’t put this in the list of suggestions, because it is something you must do for your own well-being. Not in an angry bitter way, but as something you must peacefully resolve within yourself.

They are not going to understand. How could they? I know I sure didn’t, until I was on this side of things.

So, with that being said up front, here are the first three things that I hope will help with this struggle we all seem to have for many years (possibly even the rest of our lives) after the death of our child.

  1. Know that it’s okay to be real and lean into your pain when it grips you unexpectedly.

As I see it, you have three options. One: fight it, which is usually obvious and awkward for everyone. Two: excuse yourself and leave, either for a few moments to compose yourself, or for the rest of the event. Or option three: stay put and let those around you know that you are allowing them into a scared and vulnerable moment and the sacred space of missing your child.

There is no one right option. Each time will be different, and only you can determine which one is right for you at that moment. Just don’t be afraid to go for the third option. It might surprise you how supportive and caring someone might be, and you will have the blessing of having people allow you to share your child with them. 

  1. Remind yourself that the death of a child is considered traumatic grief, and anything under five years is considered fresh grief.

It is normal to not be okay! For the rest of your life. A part of your very being has been severed from you. You will get to the point where you learn how to live with that part of you missing, but there are going to be constant reminders and limitations in your day-to-day life. Most people seem to understand that if a person has an amputation (like our daughter Becca had her leg amputated at age three because of cancer), that person will never be the same as before the limb was cut off from them.  We have gone through an amputation with the death of our child. But for some reason, those who have never faced the suffocating darkness of child loss don’t seem to understand that life for us will never be the same, just like an amputee.

  1. Feed your spirit and your soul. 

There are so many ways of doing that. Two of them are through music and reading.

God created music to be a pathway to the soul. What we choose to listen to will affect our emotions and will either keep us in that place of deep grief and darkness, or help us see a glimmer of light and hope to take a step forward. I have made several lists on YouTube. When I find a song that makes me feel hopeful, I add it to my “hope” list, so these songs will play through when I struggle with feeling hopeless. I have a “peace” list, a list of songs that allow me to miss Becca, a list of just instrumental music, and so on.

I highly recommend that you do the same thing. Maybe have a list called, “Can’t sleep” with music (or people you like to hear teach) that you can play at night when needed. Once again, there is no right or wrong music, as long as it helps you take the steps needed for that moment with that struggle.

Maybe you aren’t a reader by nature, but reading is truly a great way to “meet” other bereaved parents who will confirm that you aren’t going crazy, that still being a mess is normal for someone who has lost a child, and that all of those things you are being accused of by the well-meaning people around you just aren’t true.

When Becca first died, I was hesitant to connect with others who were a mess like me. I thought it would make me worse. And unfortunately, there were some that I talked to who were stuck and told me I would always be a mess, and there were books I read that came across as though my life would never be worth living again. However, I refused to believe those things, and kept looking for those who would give me hope. And it turned out, they are out there. And now I am one of them, writing books to offer hope to other grieving parents who are looking for it, while still acknowledging the suffocating darkness that comes with the death of a child.

This is such a loaded topic, and we are only half way through. I hope you will look for the continuing article for the rest of the suggestions to help you deal with those in your life who think grief is a short event in time, instead of the life-long process that it is.

I hope you believe it is a blessing and a relief to know there are bereaved parents who want to connect with you, who have poured their heart and soul (and tons of hours) into writing books just for you.  I have a shelf full of these books.

The problem I discovered is figuring out things like, which ones were well written; which ones were based on things I wanted to stay away from? Which ones would bring hope instead of more despair?  So I decided to put a list of my top ten favorite books together for you, with a link to each one on Amazon, so you can find out more about it and order it if it looks like a good fit for you. Just a note: these books are all written by those who have a faith in God. Not “religious,” but raw and real in their personal relationship with God, and several of them share their anger with Him and the journey it put them on.

Expressions of Hope is written by author and speaker Laura Diehl to bring hope, light and life to those struggling in darkness after a tragedy, especially bereaved parents. If you would like more information about Laura as an author or a speaker for your next event, click here.

GPS Hope exists to bring hope to parents who have suffered the death of a child, acknowledging their unique grief with support, connection and education for them and those around them.

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