GPS Hope

by 2 Comments

Strength and Stability After Child Loss

After the death of our child our world has been completely shattered and we desperately need strength and stability. In our heads, we know that comes from God, but in our hearts many of His promises can now seem very distant.

Isaiah 61:3 is a familiar verse to many of us, which tells us that God will give a crown of beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, and a garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. But did you know there is more to the verse?

It goes on to say, “… that they will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified.” (ESV)

I broke this verse down into four parts on a recent episode of the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast, on how I see this applying to us as pareavors.

  1. Being called oaks
  2. Of righteousness
  3. Being planted by the Lord
  4. God being glorified (and our struggles with that within child loss)

I am just going to share my thoughts on one of those here, which is the first one; how we will be called oaks of righteousness. Some versions simply say trees, but it is not just any tree. So, why an oak tree? Let’s look at some of its characteristics.

  • It starts with such a small beginning, a tiny acorn, but it grows to become one of the largest and strongest trees.
  • The growth of an oak tree is very gradual. It can be so slow that you don’t notice it year-to-year. Then suddenly you realize how big it has gotten and how much it has grown.
  • Oak trees go through seasons. In the spring they bud with new growth; in the summer they are full of green leaves; autumn causes the leaves to change color, eventually falling to the ground and leaving a dead-looking tree through the winter.
  • It endures storms, great winds, ice and snow. It also absorbs the sun and the rain. All of this is needed to bring an oak tree to its place of full maturity.

This is an amazing picture of us. We truly can go from our place of deep grief, despondency, despair, hopelessness, and even feeling like we have died ourselves, to being like a fully mature tree, producing fruit.

It starts out so small, and that little acorn has to be buried in the ground. Breaking out of the shell and popping to the surface takes so long that we think it has died. We think we have died along with our child, and they just forgot to bury us. Plus, it can take so long to feel joy and meaning again that it confirms the darkness of our thoughts that we will never get back out into light and life again.

The growth can be so slow that we don’t think anything is even happening.

Even though there is no apparent life in us, we are just dormant for our season of deep grief.

You and I eventually become stronger through the storms, as we continue to soak up any nourishment provided. In that place of maturity, an oak tree buds and blossoms, producing fruit, and so will we, even becoming a place where others can come to for shelter.

Here is something interesting about oak trees that I did not share in the podcast episode. You can find oak trees around the globe growing in all kinds of different soil types, rainfall levels, temperatures, and elevations.

That tells me that no matter the situation of our child’s death (including losing more than one child or your only child, through murder, drug overdose or suicide, a long illness, or completely unexpected) we can get to a place of growing and flourishing again. We can still have a life of meaning and purpose, not in spite of our child’s death, but because of his or her life.

As I said, I shared some personal insights on all four parts of this section of scripture. If you would like to know the rest, listen to episode 184 of the Grieving Parents Sharing Hope podcast on the GPS Hope website, or find it on your favorite listening app. You can also listen on the GPS Hope YouTube channel here.

If you would like to hear what I shared about the beginning of Isaiah 61:3 just click the links below.

180: Can We Ever Have Beauty Again After Child Loss (with Lin Findlay)

182: God Does Not Say He Will Give Us Joy for Our Grief

183: The Heavy Weight of Grief After Child Loss (with Angelique Marketon)

 

If you would like to join thousands of other bereaved parents receiving a weekly word of hope delivered to your inbox, let us know below.

 

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.

 

by Leave a Comment

Is There Such a Thing as Grief Recovery?

Several years ago, in my searching for how to deal with my grief from the death of my oldest daughter, I came across an article called “Grief Recovery.” As I started reading it, I discovered it was for any kind of loss including jobs, moving, pet loss, death, divorce or any kind of breakup, starting school, etc.

It talked about how recovery is when we can have memories without the pain. I had a hard time reading it without getting angry. It is just impossible to compare grieving the death of a child to all these other things. I’m not saying those things are not painful and that there is not a level of grief involved, but this article was basically saying after you grieve the right way, you can move on with life and put the past behind you.

I might be able to move forward, but it isn’t by putting the death of Becca behind me! She will always be in front of me. Our children are our legacy. They are supposed to keep going when we leave this earth. Even if she isn’t with me anymore, I can’t leave her in my past and go on without her.

Even if we wanted to do so, the things that trigger us and remind us of our loss can come unexpectedly out of nowhere and bring back the memory, accompanied by unwanted pain once again.

I am a parent who took a lot of trips to the grave site for probably a year or more. One day while I was there, the med-flight helicopter flew over me. I totally lost it and found myself sobbing uncontrollably. Later, I wrote on Facebook about what had happened, and a friend told me it was a sign of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I guess it made sense.

The last year and a half of Becca’s life she had around a dozen ambulance rides, because of her heart issues. For many, many months after Becca passed, whenever I heard an ambulance I would freeze in panic and my mind would immediately question, “Where is Becca?” And of course, there was always the realization of where she was, and the siren I was hearing was definitely not for her.

The first year of special dates is always difficult for anyone who has lost a loved one, but for a parent who has a child missing it can be almost unbearable. For us, Thanksgiving came first and brought with it the memory of how the year before, Becca had insisted on hosting the family, even though she was wheelchair bound. Then came Christmas, Becca’s favorite holiday, and then the pain of the first time she was not there to celebrate her birthday, and so on. Eventually it came around to the one-year anniversary of her death.

Everyone grieves differently, and I wanted to be sensitive to that. Some of the family wanted to get together and celebrate her life, and others didn’t want anything to do with that. I was torn, and to be honest I don’t even remember what ended up happening that first year for her birthday or the anniversary of her death.

The part I do remember, though, is a precious memory I now share with Becca’s daughter. That first year, my granddaughter asked what we were doing for her mom’s birthday. Knowing how some of the family did not want to do anything, I suggested I come to her school for lunch on that day and bring birthday cupcakes for the two of us. She was thrilled, and we continued doing it for a few years (until she hit Middle School).

What I wasn’t expecting was to have the second year be harder than the first! I see two reasons for this. First, I braced myself for those one-year markers. I knew they were going to be hard, so I tried to prepare myself for them mentally and emotionally. The second year it was more like I was caught off guard. I’ve been through this before; it should be better this year, I thought, so all of a sudden, those dates were here, and they just hit me like a brick wall.

Second, I was still in such a fog of unbelief the first year. So as the fog started to lift that second year, the loss was hitting me with full force. By the third year, it was more like a painful acceptance, trying to figure out how to live this new life without my daughter.

I feel like I need to say this to the parents who are still in deep grief. Do not look at any dates to see where I or 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.

Grief recovery for a bereaved parent? No, not really. Yes, it is possible to get to the point where we can have memories without the pain. It happens gradually, but for the rest of our lives there will be times where the pain returns, because all we have are the memories of our child. The goal is to have that happen less and less, but it is naïve to think we will get to the point where we no longer feel pain within the memories and therefore have “recovered,” as the article I read suggested.

Like someone with an amputation, (which Becca had her leg amputated at three years old) we will never fully recover. But we can eventually learn how to live around it, adapting our life to that part of us missing.

If you don’t think it’s possible, that’s okay. Most of us thought the same thing, which is why we and others are here. We want to be that hope and light to you, like someone was to us.  So make sure you stay connected to those who are further down this path, who will always validate your painful loss, and share your memories, whether they come with tears, or a smile.

Do you find it hard to find ways to find comfort in grieving the death of your child? We would be happy to send you our list of thirty suggestions to bring ourselves comfort. Just submit your name and email address below.

 

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.

 

 

by Leave a Comment

Barbara Bush and the Day We All Look Forward to as Bereaved Parents

I was not aware until the passing of Barbara Bush that she and President George H. W. Bush had a daughter who died from leukemia at three years old, on October 11, 1953. That means First Lady, Barbara Bush, was one of us.

This was back when little was known about cancer. They were told to take their daughter, Pauline Robinson “Robin,” home to die and make her happy in those two-three weeks she had left to live. They didn’t. They fought, by taking her to a relative in New York who was a doctor at a leading cancer center when cancer was barely understood, where she lived for another seven months. They fought for her life when no hope was given.

We get it…

It was shortly after Robin’s death that Barbara’s hair started turning white, which she attributes to her daughter’s illness and death. She was only 28 when her daughter died. Barbara Bush was known for that white hair, but it came at a high price. We change when our child dies, not just emotionally, but it takes a toll on us physically.

We get it…

The death of our child leaves a gaping hole that cannot ever be filled. It is bound to affect one’s marriage. Fortunately, in Barbara’s case, their marriage became stronger as they leaned on each other instead of tearing each other apart in their pain. Whether it strengthens the marriage, or tears it apart, the death of our child can’t help but affect the love-of-our-life relationship that we do day-to-day life with.

We get it…

Barbara’s son, George Jr., (President George W. Bush) was instrumental in “saving her life” after Robin’s death. At seven years old, he wouldn’t go out and play with his friends, insisting his mom was lonely and needed him. Most of us who are blessed to have other children have the same testimony – our other children are what kept us barely going.

We get it…

It affected Barbara’s relationship with God. The death of her daughter ended up pulling her and George closer to Him, trusting in His Sovereignty, knowing this life is not the end and they would see Robin again. (President Bush was known to say he expects his daughter Robin to be the first face he sees in heaven.)  Some of us are angry with God, some of us feel betrayed. Some of us immediately draw our strength from Him, and some of us do so only after our anger gets us nowhere and we turn to Him in desperation. The death of our child can’t help but affect our relationship with God.

We get it…

Robin’s body was donated to cancer research before being buried. All of us want to know that the life of our child mattered and somehow affects other lives for the better. Some of us are able to connect in some way to a cause, based on how our child died. Others put scholarship funds in place, write books or start organizations. We give gifts or have something permanently placed in a public venue in our child’s name. We are determined that our child’s life and legacy will somehow live on.

We get it…

In a fairly recent interview, memories of Robin brought joy to Barbara, thinking about Robin’s chubby little arms around her neck. But in another interview, 64 years to the month after Robin’s death, there were fresh tears. After the first few years of suffocating darkness and painful grief (Barbara said she felt like her heart was breaking and she could cry forever), we can turn a corner and start to smile at the memories and the joy our child brought into our lives. But we will never be beyond shedding fresh tears for the deep pain of missing our child.

We get it…

Barbara will be buried next to her daughter, whose body was moved in 2000 to the burial plot on the George Bush Presidential Library Grounds. I have two plots picked out for Dave and myself as close to our daughter, Becca, as I can get. We want to be close to our children, in life or death, even if we know it is just their bodies, whether buried or ashes.

We get it…

Very few of us will be like Debbie Reynolds and join our child in death even before their memorial service. (And obviously, if you are reading this, you are not one of those very few.)

We have no idea how long we have until we are taken from this earth and join our child. But each day we are here brings us one day closer. And each day here is an opportunity to live in a way that honors the life of our precious child.

I don’t believe the saying, “Time heals all wounds.” First, our wounds will never be fully healed this side of heaven, and second, I believe it is what we do with our time that brings the needed healing to not just survive, but to thrive, like Barbara Bush did for 65 years without her precious daughter.

That should give each one of us hope that we can, too. Somehow, it can be done.

One year after Becca’s death, I was with a friend I only get to see once or twice a year at the most. She took me out for coffee and just let me share my heart and cry about Becca. One thing I shared with her is how horrible I felt that I was looking forward to going to heaven to see my daughter more than to see Jesus. Her response? “But, Laura, you’ve made a deposit!”

Robin Bush

Each one of us has made a deposit. And no matter what your political views, I think we can all rejoice with Barbara Bush, that after waiting for 65 years, she finally had the day we all look forward to as bereaved parents. She is now fully reunited with her child.

 

When our child dies, it takes a toll on us physically as well as emotionally. We would be happy to send you a list of thirty things you can do to help take gentle care of yourself, no matter where you are on this unwanted journey.


You and your email address are safe with us and will not be given out to anyone.

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 at  GPS Hope 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.

Much of the information in this article was taken from The Washington Post and Heavy.com news.

by 2 Comments

Four Ways to Help Bring Peace While in the Deep Pain of Grieving the Loss of Your Child

The pain of losing our child seems to always be with us. Even if I’m not emotionally feeling the pain at the moment, it is still there. It’s almost like a physical chronic pain. There are times you are so used to having the pain that you don’t even realize you’re feeling it.

During the first few years after our daughter Becca’s death, God gave me many reminders to rest in Him and His ways that didn’t make any sense. It was a hard thing to do, because I could not see any light in my darkness or understand why God was allowing so much intense pain.

He would share His reminders to just “be” and to rest in Him in so many different ways. He would remind me to take a breath and breathe in His love and peace.

He never sugarcoated anything but would acknowledge how difficult and steep my climb was, telling me to cling tightly to His hand, reminding me to look at Him whenever my circumstances overwhelmed me.

Here are four things that helped me be able to rest in God’s love for me, even in the midst of my intense suffocating darkness, that I would like to pass on to you.

1. Anytime you feel like you are sinking under the swirling waters, call out “Lord, save me!” just like Peter did in Matthew 14. Whenever I did that, somehow Jesus always reached through the storm and pulled me up out of the drowning sea of emotions, into His secure arms, where I would feel like He was holding me. He knew how weak and helpless I was, and He never tired of meeting me in my place of need.

2. Do whatever you need to do to be aware of His presence, which might include playing some worship music, or just sitting in silence in a place of nature where there is beauty and peace. Not only would He “hold” me, but He would encourage me to relax in the awareness of His presence. Some of my most precious times with the Lord were in my greatest times of weakness, just letting everything go and melting into His peace, love, and compassion.

3. Ask the Holy Spirit to show you some positive things that have happened because of the deep brokenness (no matter how small those things may be). When I was only eight months into this journey, I asked God to do this for me, and I came up with a list of eighteen things I saw Him working in me through the darkness, such as learning to become nonjudgmental (I didn’t have time or energy – that kind of thing just wasn’t important to me anymore), seeing the love and grace of God in a deep way, becoming free of what man thinks of me, enjoying being in His presence (just resting and letting Him love on me), learning it’s okay to be broken and to be a Christian and a leader, and so on.

4. Be determined to live from a place of surrender. This means we must learn to live from the spiritual part of our being—Christ in me and I in Him—and not out of our emotions or flesh. I always thought I did pretty good at that, but I have found a new level of living in it by tapping much more deeply into who God is in me. Here is something I wrote in my journal, eighteen months after Becca died.

4/21/13: This morning I just had to get to my prayer room, and there’s been such a sweetness of just wanting to be here with Him. I finally put my finger on it: it is the contentment of surrender! I almost feel guilty for not being agitated or in some sort of emotional pain, but there is such a peace and contentment—very unnatural, and yet it should be natural, and I pray it has become a natural part of my life!

I will readily admit though, that the pain is still pretty intense at times, and I can feel like I am going backwards as I lose that peace and the place of rest I am fighting to keep.

For instance, at one point, Becca’s husband dropped off four plastic tubs on our front porch that he no longer wanted. They all contained things of Becca’s that were special and important to her, along with some of her medical equipment and other not so good memory items.

It was really hard to go through those bins. But the thing that left me in a crying mess for the next few days was when I discovered her wedding dress smashed in the bottom of the last bin. It felt so cruel, so careless. My daughter’s life has been reduced to four plastic bins, I thought.

But instead of allowing myself to go in that direction, I told myself the truth. Her life was much bigger than these four bins. However, it was another door of finality I had to painfully work through, and once again make a conscious decision to rest in who God is, within the painful circumstance.

I have now learned that peace and pain can both reside in us at the same time. Whether I am consciously feeling the pain or not, an underlying peace seems to travel side-by-side with my pain. It is definitely the peace of God that goes beyond any understanding, and I am so thankful that He offers it to us and gives it freely.

I wish God would just speak a command and make it all better, instantly removing the pain and replacing it with constant peace and rest, but it doesn’t happen that way. Learning how to live in that place is a process for each one of us.

Learning to rest in God is a must if you want to get out of your place of darkness. And that means spending time alone with Him. You don’t even have to talk to Him, just “be” with Him, in your pain, your anger, or your darkness. And don’t feel guilty about taking as much time as you need to be intimate with the One who loves you like crazy and wants to get you out of the suffocating pit and onto the path of living again. Spend intimate time with Him. Lots of it.

Let Him show you the way out by resting in the fullness of Himself.

This article was taken from Laura Diehl’s book When Tragedy Strikes: Rebuilding Your Life With Hope and Healing After the Death of Your Child. Laura will be doing a live six-week deeper dive study into this book with anyone who wants to join her. Click the link below for more information or to register.

 

Yes! I am interested in doing a study with author Laura Diehl on her book When Tragedy Strikes.

 

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.

 

Recent Posts




LIKE US ON FACEBOOK

GPS Hope Page (for bereaved parents)

Events & Itinerary

BROWSEOUR STORE

guidestar