Posts tagged ‘Grief’
What if you could hear your deceased parent tell a story you’ve never heard?
What if you could discover thoughts they’d never expressed?
What if you could get perspective they never gave you in life?
If a parent or another loved one left behind a diary or journal – or even letters or tales of events in story form – you’ve got a gold mine.
I also realize our perception of someone may be shattered by what is written in a raw moment of honesty, guilt or bereavement. We also may learn intimate details we don’t want to know.
Early in the project to clean out my parents’ home, I found a batch of their love letters I’d never known existed. I hesitated reading them. I feared the equivalent of walking into a bedroom and discovering my parents naked.
I decided this past weekend to declare a mid-year reset. Lots of events may force resets. Loss and death. Job changes. New homes. New cities. New phases of life. These are resets forced upon us.
And then there are those we choose. We draw a line in the sand. July 1st is my line in the sand.
“Perfect,” I thought. “The first day of the second half of the year. And a Monday. The beginning of the work week.”
I needed a reset. Saddled with bouts of depression this year, I’d languished in loss and in uncertainty about life and about myself. I’d surface for a while only to be pulled under again.
I wrote earlier this month about a long ago event of betrayal. Of pain. Of grief. Yes, I’m used to writing about grief, but not this grief, not this particular loss.
The Wonder Report published the article My Dream Didn’t Come True, and Here’s Why It Was the Best Thing to Happen I began the story with the moment I realized I’d lost the man I loved. Forever. He probably did not consider his action a betrayal, but I did.
I typically write about loss associated with death. So what does this incident that happened 20 years ago have to do with my writing and my journey of loss?
Could it be that those “little” griefs along the way prepare us for the “big” griefs?
That’s what this relationship did. In many ways. Not just at the end point. Read more
Our sense of security is often rooted in our fathers. After my dad died, I called out to God spontaneously, “Send me a protector!”
Where do we find that sense of safety that we lost?
I caution not to go looking for it in a romance. That was my first go-to. I did not realize exactly what I was doing. My reasoning was that God was buffering the loss of my father with a husband-to-be, the lifelong dream of being a wife.
You can imagine the sense of double loss I felt when that security blanket was ripped from my life, too, a year after my father died. Read more
I hear voices, but don’t be concerned. I don’t need medicine. I don’t need a psychiatrist.
You hear voices in your head, too. Our voices try to pull us down daily, feeding us messages of fear and inadequacy. They tinker with our sense of identity. They attack when we are weak from grief and stress. They attack when we are strong, too, in places we’ve left unguarded.
“I keep fighting voices in my mind,” sings Lauren Daigle in You Say, a charting contemporary Christian tune being played by secular radio stations and venues.
I’m convinced the popularity of the song is evidence of our society resonating with its message. We’re undergoing an identity crisis. We don’t feel loved. We don’t feel strong, able to meet the challenges of life. As a result, we seek out ways to patch the insecurities.
When you’ve lost your first love, your biggest fan, your highest image of womanhood, Mother’s Day is never the same again. A day set aside to express gratitude to her becomes a day of grief.
I really hated Mother’s Day the first few years. I faced Mother’s Day’s Most Difficult Moment if I did not skip church, where the pastor asked mothers to stand to be honored. It was salt in the wound as those who did not know me in our large congregation assumed I was a mother. So sometimes I skipped the whole ordeal and slept in.
Having avoided that grief trigger one year, I drove for an afternoon treat only to be confronted with the ice cream store manager suggesting I put “Mom” on the personal-sized cake I selected. I wanted to put a pie in his face.
Letting go. The term and its derivatives come up frequently in grief circles. I detest them. I cringe when I hear them used.
It’s typically thrust at us, as in, “You need to let go” or if you do this or that “then you will let go.” Or we ourselves decide our healing is in “letting go,” thus we strive to stop crying, or obsessing, or feeling. Or we strive to release a loved one’s clothing. Or their car. Or their home.
It seems so long ago that I sold the house where I grew up, the place where my parents died. I suppose that means my life has been filled with other pursuits for a year, but do not assume I did not miss the place. In fact, I’ve grieved letting it go. You can learn more about surviving this process in Letting Go of Where You Grew Up
How should we respond when well-meaning people say things that injury us? Has anyone ever delivered any of these platitudes, clichés or other expressions meant to comfort you as a griever?
“I know how you feel.”
“Time heals all wounds.”
“God must have needed her more.”
“You can have more children.”
“She’s in a better place.”