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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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Our Grief is Like…

 

There are many ways to illustrate what our grief is like after the death of our child. Here are the four that I seem to relate to the most.

  1. The loss of our child is like having an amputation. Part of our very being has been cut off from us, and we have to figure out how to live with that piece of us missing.

I had a front row seat to this, since our daughter, Becca, had her little left leg amputated when she was only 3 years old, due to cancer in her bone (osteogenic sarcoma). Read her story here. She “recovered,” but her life was never the same.

There was obviously a major scar because she only had a stump instead of her leg. She didn’t look like the other kids. She couldn’t run and keep up with them. She had limitations. Every day she woke up with the reminder that her leg was missing, and every day, sometimes multiple times a day, she had to be determined not to let it stop her from still having a fulfilling life.

With Becca gone now, there are constant painful reminders of that fact. I don’t look like other parents. I have a hard time keeping up with life sometimes because of my limitations.  Every day I have to be determined to not let her death keep me from having a fulfilling life with those who are still here.

If my three-year-old daughter could figure out how to live with a piece of her cut off, then so can I! She was the greatest example of anyone I know, who persevered and didn’t let something like an amputated leg keep her from still having a wonderful life for the twenty-nine years she had here on this earth.

  1. Grief is like carrying a large sharp rock in your pants pocket. At first you are very aware of it, as it bangs against your leg with every movement. It might even cut and bruise your leg, making it more painful.

After a while, you are aware it is there, but it doesn’t bother you as much. Then you move on to times where you consciously forget the rock is there as you go throughout your day. But whenever you reach into your pocket to grab something else, as your hand feels the rock, you remember…

Sometimes you bump up hard against something, and that rock cuts or bruises you again, and you are back to walking tenderly, waiting for it to heal.

There are times you will put your hand in your pocket because you want (or need) to feel the rock. Some of those times you will even pull the rock out to hold it and look at it, but it eventually goes back into your pocket.

Even if we change pants, the rock will always go with us, into the new pocket.

  1. Grief is like the ocean waves. You feel like you have been shipwrecked and there are huge waves crashing over you with no mercy. Every time you try to come up for air, all you can do is get a quick gasp, only to be tumbled around by another wave crashing over you. When you think you can’t take any more (multiple times), the waves start coming further apart. At least now you can catch your breath.

Eventually the waves aren’t as big, making it easier to get back to the top when you get thrown under them.

Calm waters eventually come, but there will still be waves and storms that send you swirling, being thrown underneath the water again, leaving you gasping for air. But each time, you get better at maneuvering through them. You also know they will stop at some point and the calm waters will come once again.

  1. Grief is like carrying a backpack of rocks up a mountain. At first you can’t move under the weight, as you look up to where you need to go, believing it is impossible. With much effort and struggle, you begin to slowly inch your way forward.

After a while, you are able to stand up and take some steps, even though you often stumble backward and fall down under the weight of the backpack. As you continue to struggle, eventually, you discover to your shock, that you are walking up the mountain. It’s hard, but you’re doing it.

The backpack of rocks becomes easier to carry as your strength builds. However, there are times you need to take a rest. Some rests are relatively short. Others take longer because you are once again feeling the full weight of what you are carrying.

The longer you climb, the easier it gets, and the fewer rests you seem to need. But you will always continue to have the backpack of rocks to carry and have the effects of it.

I have also learned that there are no “stages of grief” after a deep loss, like the death of one’s child. As an FYI, the five stages of grief were presented by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross for those who are terminally ill. They are the stages a person works through upon receiving the news that they are going to die. It was not for those who are still here after a loss.

So, with that, I have one more analogy.

Our grief is like a very tangled up ball of yarn and each of us has our own individual mess of yarn to untangle. I have knit since junior high, learning through 4-H, and have dealt with more tangled balls and skeins of yarn than I could ever count! There have been times the tangle was so frustrating that I quit trying and just put it away for another time. There have also been times I literally cut the yarn into pieces, trying to get it untangled (which made for a lot of ends to have to knit together)!

But eventually, whatever I was working on was finished and it brought joy to whomever it was intended for, including myself. One thing I have noticed, is that over the years I have gotten better at untangling the messes, and don’t have to cut it into pieces anymore.

Grief is hard work. Fortunately, it does get easier, even though we will deal with the pain of our loss for the rest of our time here on earth.

If you feel like you haven’t gotten very far and that you should be further along than you are, don’t allow yourself to get discouraged. You will get there, as you continue this unwanted journey, one step (or one tangle) at a time.

Whatever you do, don’t compare where you are to anyone else, especially those who have never experienced the death of their child! You are untangling your own messy ball of grief, and it is unlike anyone else’s. There is no right or wrong way and there are NO time limits!

Do any of these illustrations resonate with you? Let me know in the comments below. Also, maybe you can find a tangible item (or a picture) and put it somewhere you can see, to remind yourself that even though it might be really hard right now, as you keep going, eventually it will get better.

One final thought: You might want to share this, so that others around you can get a better understanding that our grief is like…

 

 

 

Do you struggle with guilt from your child’s death? We would like to send you the eBook, Ten Tips to Overcome Guilt. Just submit your name and email address below. You will also begin to receive a Weekly Word of Hope for bereaved parents (which you can easily 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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What I Learned in Hindsight that Might Help You

~ by BJ Jensen

Hindsight is a good teacher.  If I had to relive those first special dates over again since Jay died in 1995 (I pray I will not ever have to), I would approach them differently, utilizing some of the following bits of wisdom gleaned over time:

I would not expect everyone to remember Jay’s birth date or death date like I do.

I see now how I set myself up for feeling more disappointment or failure.  Those dates cannot possible mean as much to other people as they do to his own mother.  It is not fair on my part to expect that.

I would voice my thoughts or concerns that jay’s birthday or “birth into heaven” date was coming up and that I was feeling fragile or sad or lonely.

It has not been fair of me to want people to “read my mind” and guess why I’m blue.  Personally, I don’t know any mind readers, and don’t think I will ever know any.  It would have been more appropriate for me to tell those I wanted to share my heart with.  I would have saved me more grief when they didn’t remember.

I would have planned special things for those special days instead of thinking that I should sit at home by myself and cry.

A walk on Jay’s favorite beach at sunset with a friend, or a picnic at Jay’s favorite park with some of his friends would have helped me remember some of the good times instead of focusing on the bad.

I would have done something nice for someone who was feeling lonely or sad or didn’t have a friend – a trip out to lunch or to a movie.

I would have focused more on the good memories instead of the hurtful ones. 

When I focused on what I didn’t have, it produced unhappiness and discontent.  When I focused on what I did have, it produced gratitude.

I would have realized it was okay for me to cry and it was okay to desire to have Jay back, even though it held me captive in selfishness. 

It was okay – but only for a time.  I then had to make a truly hard decision to focus on helping others less fortunate.  The more time I spent focused inwardly on myself and the loss of our son, the more I seemed to spiral downward into the pit of self-pity and despair.  I had already spent too much time there and hated the darkness.  I now know I would have helped myself recover sooner and with less stress if I had spent more time focused outwardly.

I would have joined a support group sooner.

I would not have isolated myself from the very ones who wanted to help me.  My family of origin had taught me to segregate myself from others when I was sad.  However, I now believe we are made for community and for helping each other through the tough times.

We try to honor our son’s life by doing the best we can with the rest of our lives. We sometimes ask ourselves the question, “Would our choices and decisions in our lives today make Jay proud of us?”

We treasure memories of Jay and allow ourselves to reminisce, get nostalgic, and be thankful for the time we had with him, even though it wasn’t long enough. Whatever time we had with our departed child would never have been long enough.

Surviving special dates the first few years after the death of your child may seem like an impossible task. In some ways it’s like climbing a steep mountain or navigating on a churning ocean. But it can be done. So many others have had to climb that mountain or traverse those treacherous waters and are stronger for having made it to the far shore. We want to encourage you and give you hope that it can be done. That small tender shoot of hope will grow when nurtured and fertilized.

 

This was taken by permission from the book Finding Hope After the Devastating Loss of Beloved Children by Dr. Doug and BJ Jensen. Click here to find it on Amazon. (This is an affiliate link. GPS Hope will get a small percentage of your purchase by using it.)

 

Doug and BJ Jensen, are International Speakers, award-winning Dramatists, Signing Artists, Song Writers, Drama Writers, and Authors of 16 books. Dr. Jensen earned his PhD in Biblical Studies in the area of Biblical Counseling.  BJ is the Director of the world traveling LOVE IN MOTION Signing Choir and is a writer of 8 stories found in seven of the CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL books. You can contact them at Jensen2@san.rr.com or on their Facebook page: Bj Jensen San Diego.

We would like to send you a PDF of Thirty Ways to Bring Ourselves Comfort and Take Care of Ourselves. Please let us know below where to send it. (You will also join over 1000 other parents who receive a Weekly Word of 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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I’ll Love You Forever

February is a month where “love is in the air” with Valentine’s Day. Personally, I always used this day to love on my kids, since I didn’t feel like Dave and I needed a day set aside to show our love for each other.

One reason the pain is so deep after the death of our child is because our love for him or her doesn’t go away when they leave us. The love we have for our children lasts forever, which is expressed in the writing below.

Forever

My child,
Flesh of my flesh,
Soul of my soul,
Part of my very being;
I had an instant deep and fierce love when I first saw you.
My heart was yours, and I knew I would give my very life to protect you.

And yet, here I sit, with the suffocating pain and darkness of knowing I was unable to protect you from death.

So now I find that just as deep and intense as my love for you, is the deep and intense pain of my grief in living without you. And yet I know that somehow, I must.

How? How God? How do I go on with a piece of my very being gone from this earth?

And as I ask and seek for this help, God in His tender love, compassion and faithfulness reminds me that I don’t have to live without you.

You are forever in my heart and my thoughts, and forever a part of my very being; that our separation is only temporary. You have just moved on to our eternal home before me and have unpacked and settled in, waiting for me and the rest of us to join you.

This isn’t a final good-by. It is an “I’ll see you later.” When I have the thoughts that I would give anything to see you again, to hug you or hear you laugh, I realize that I will! Maybe not as soon as I want to, but it will happen!

And so, I will wait. I will wait with hope, expectancy and even excitement to see you again. Every day I am here on this earth means I am one day closer to that desperate need that I have as a mother to love on you. 

And while I wait, I will choose to live my life in a way that is full; full of love, full of peace and contentment, full of laughter. And yet I know it will also still be full of pain and longing. For I have now learned that all of these things can live inside of me together.

So, let me say I am honored. I am honored and blessed to be your mom, and I imagine and dream of our reunion someday, filled with love and joy that goes beyond words to describe it.

But until then, I will have good days and bad days. I will have days filled with happiness, and days filled with pain. And all of those days I will continue miss you with every fiber of my being.

We grieve deeply, because we love deeply. That is one of the risks of love. But as the poem reminds us, our child is forever in our hearts and in our thoughts. He or she is forever a part of our very being. Our separation is only temporary, because God, in His deep love for our child and for us, made a way for that to be possible.

Consider praying this prayer with me: Lord, my deep grief is a reminder of my deep love that cannot be poured out on my child right now. But someday we will be together again, and all this stored up love will be dumped on my child! And Father, I ask that right now, you would give my child a big hug from me, and love on them in my place. Thank you.

 

If you were to buy a little Valentine gift to show your child how much you love and miss them, what would it be? I would love to have you share it in the comments below.

 

By the way, Laura has written a song that expresses some of the thoughts above. Click here to listen to the song Together Forever.

 

 

 

 

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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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.

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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.
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