Gary Roe's Blog, page 11

How a Texas Winter Storm Reminded Me of Grief

I live in south-central Texas. Right now, it’s a mess. We’re freezing.

It hardly ever gets below freezing here. Shoot, I have two palm trees in my backyard. Over the last five days, we’ve had single digit temps with sub-zero wind chills.

Where you live, this might be the usual fare for this time of year. For us down here, this is unheard of.

You’ve probably heard of our power grid failures. As much as 80% of my county has been without power. Many have been without heat for days. Many do not have water either. Communities have set up “warming stations” where people can go (if they can get there) and escape the cold and darkness for a little while.

This could be the worst winter storm in Texas history – and it’s reminded me of the grief process.

The Storm We Weren’t Prepared For

See if the following statements remind you of parts of your grief journey…

This situation has never happened before. We didn’t expect this. We weren’t prepared. Intensity of the storm stunned us.

Things we counted we counted on failed – things that we had no control over. We were thrust into an unwanted, unwelcome, and difficult (even dangerous) situation.

We’re dealing with this unexpected, harsh reality as best we can. Our usual routines are gone. For many, life has become about survival. 

We’re finding ways to communicate with those around us who are experiencing the same thing. We listen, attempt to encourage one another, and help each other as we can.

We get no assurances about when power will be restored. We do what we can, with our focus being to take care of ourselves and each other. We wait expectantly for warmer weather. We know this will not last forever.

Have you experienced any of these things in your grief journey? If so, feel free to share. Reply to this email. Vent. Ask questions. We all need to express how we’re doing and what’s happening inside us.

The Ongoing Grief Storm

Losing someone we love – and loss in general – can create a harsh, even debilitating storm. Unlike the current upheaval in Texas, our grief storms last far longer than a week.

Though our personal grief storms are all different, we’re in this together. You are not alone, though many times I know it feels that way.

Be kind to yourself. Be patient with yourself and those around you. Do what you can to take good care of yourself. We need each other. We need you.

P.S. On a much lighter note, I have a new book coming out in a few weeks. Stay tuned for more info soon.

The post How a Texas Winter Storm Reminded Me of Grief first appeared on Gary Roe.

What we wish others knew about us and our grief…

The following article is adapted from Please Be Patient, I’m Grieving: How to Care for and Support the Grieving Heart. This book includes what many of us wish we could say to those around us about what loss is like, what we’re going through, and how they can support us through this. If you’ve ever felt misunderstood or frustrated by others in your grief process, you’ll be able to relate…

“The pain is deeper and more intense than I could have imagined. It rattles my soul.”
—Maggie

Loss is painful. It can be traumatic, even devastating. How we handle another’s heart is important, especially when they’re hurting. You can care for and support them by acknowledging and respecting
their pain.

FROM THE GRIEVING HEART…

I’m hurting. Something traumatic has occurred. Someone I love is gone, and they’re not coming back.

I don’t know how to do this. It’s like I’ve been hit by a bus, and I’m lying flat in the middle of the road, watching the sky go by.

The world speeds on, oblivious to my loss. I watch but can’t seem to enter in. It’s as if someone pushed the pause button on my life. My world has suddenly changed, forever.

I’m stunned. I’m hurting. My heart is crushed. Grief can be heavy. And yet, I can’t fully accept it somehow. This can’t be real.

I know this is confusing for you. It’s confusing for me also. You’re probably wondering what to say or what to do.

You can come sit beside me in the road, if you want. You don’t have to say much. In fact, you don’t have to say anything at all. Your presence is worth all the words in the world right now.

I probably won’t say much either. Don’t expect much out of me. I won’t be myself for a while. In fact, I may never be the same again. This is something we’ll both have to grapple with, but now isn’t the time for that.

Sometimes all I can do is lie here and breathe. I won’t be here forever, but it’s where I am today.

This is hard. It hurts.

I don’t know how to begin, so I’ll just stumble forward and hope my seemingly random thoughts and emotions will make some kind of sense to you.

Thanks for reading this. I know this is strange. It’s weird for me, too.

Please be patient with me. I’m grieving.

LOSS HURTS

Losing a loved one is painful and traumatic. It can wound the soul and crush the heart.

We lose parents, siblings, relatives, friends, co-workers, and even children and grandchildren. We lose people to death, divorce, moves, disasters, or illness. We can lose them in an instant, or we can lose them over time.

Unfortunately, loss is a huge part of life. How we deal with it makes all the difference – both for ourselves and those around us.

Your grieving relative or friend is hurting. Their “normal” is gone. The disappearance of someone they love is affecting them deeply.

Change has hit their heart and life. You may not feel or understand it, but their pain is very real. It really feels as if they’ve been hit by a bus. Life is no longer business as usual for them.

They need people who will be with them through this. Grief is lonely, but no one should have to endure this spot in the road alone.

Helping them may be different than you think. They need people who will hear their heart and meet them where they are. And where they are is different for every person.

They’re hurting. They’re supposed to be. Acknowledge and respect their pain. They’re getting hit over and over again. Venture out and sit beside them in the middle of the road. Your presence can be more comforting than you realize.

Adapted from the award-winning bestseller Please Be Patient, I’m Grieving: How to Care for and Support the Grieving Heart. Check out Gary’s interview on the Author’s Show about the book.

Question: What do you wish others knew about you and your grief at present?

The post What we wish others knew about us and our grief… first appeared on Gary Roe.

Pacing ourselves while grieving…

Grief is a more like a marathon than a sprint. The process is arduous, painful, and exhausting.

Those of us who are grieving know this all too well.

When we lose someone special, our worlds are altered forever. We bump into more loss and change almost every day.

Today’s brief post, taken from Heartbroken: Healing from the Loss of a Spouse, deals with the importance of pacing ourselves on this exhausting grief journey. No matter what your loss, I think you’ll be able to relate.

Grief is ongoing.

“I’m glad that’s done,” Rebecca sighed as she climbed into the car. “The service was wonderful. It honored Rick in every way.”

Rebecca sighed again before continuing. “The funeral is over, but the loss isn’t. The grief is just beginning.”

Rebecca was right. The loss is permanent. Rick cannot be replaced. He occupied a unique space on the planet and in Rebecca’s heart.

The memorial service may be over, but your grief isn’t. Not by a long shot. And everything counts: memorial services, anniversaries, and birthdays; candles lit, letters written, and balloons released; memories shared, photos posted, and stories composed. These add up, and help heal your heart over time.

This isn’t a sprint, but a marathon. Pace yourself. Take your heart seriously. Breathe.

“Grief is a marathon. I’ll remember you, and pace myself well.”

Grief has its own timetable.

It’s different for each person.

Grief will not be rushed.

Adapted from Heartbroken: Healing from the Loss of a Spouse. Watch the brief book video here.

Question: Have you found the above to be true in your grief process? How are you pacing yourself at present?

Additional Resources:

Looking Ahead: Some Grief Resolutions for 2021 – garyroe.com

When Grief Makes Us Sick – garyroe.com

Principle #4 for Navigating Uncertainty: Pursue Personal Wellness – Gary Roe YouTube

The post Pacing ourselves while grieving… first appeared on Gary Roe.

Looking Ahead: Some Grief Resolutions for 2021

Recently, I did a Zoom Session for subscribers where I shared some Grief Resolutions for 2021. The response was so positive, I thought I would share them here.

Resolutions, Affirmations, Truths.

Frankly, I’m not a big fan or resolutions. I prefer to call the following “affirmations.” These are things that are true and healthy for grieving hearts. As we embrace these truths and begin to live them, our hearts heal, adjust, recover, and grow.

There are some hard truths below, but they are true nonetheless. Take your time, Read on.

I will give myself permission (time and space) to grieve.

It’s okay to hurt. Our hearts have been hit. We must give ourselves permission to grieve, because the world around us may not.

I will be honest about what’s happening inside me and express my grief in healthy ways.

Our grief will be expressed, one way or another. As we commit process and express our grief in healthy ways, we can heal, adjust, recover, and grow over time.

I will take good care of myself, knowing that the best gift I can give myself and others is the healthiest me possible.

Self-care often gets neglected when we’re stressed. Now is the time, however, to pursue personal wellness like never before. The helps us grieve well and honors those we’ve lost.

I will give others permission to not understand or support me the way I would like.

Let’s be honest. No matter what we do, many will not understand. Some people will disappoint us. We protect our own hearts when we release them from whatever expectations we had. It’s helpful to remember others’ responses are more about them than about us and our loss.

I will release offenses and forgive quickly so that my heart is not overly influenced by others’ words and actions.

Forgiveness is not for the other person. It’s for us and our hearts. If we refuse to release the offenses of others, we only give their words and actions more power over our lives.

I will guard my heart from people and influences that are not helpful to me.

Your heart is who you are. It deserves to be nurtured and protected. Not everyone or everything is helpful to us.

I will find safe people who will walk with me on this challenging journey.

We need good companions for this arduous, painful journey. We need people who will enter our world, accept us as we are, and listen well.

I will find ways to serve others and use my grief as fuel for good.

Part of healthy grieving is getting out of our own heads and serving others. If we’re willing, loss can teach us to be more compassionate and loving. When we serve others, we heal a little, thought we might not feel it at the moment.

I will cultivate peace of mind and heart and be a peace-giver to others.

We all need peace of mind and heart. When we commit to peace-promoting, our own hearts stretch, heal, and grow in the process. Even while grieving, we can make a massive, meaningful difference in the world around us. You are more important than you know.

2021: Choosing to Love, Serve, Heal, and Grow

What will 2021 bring? We have no idea. No matter what, we can choose to grieve in healthy ways that honor our own hearts and our loved one. We can choose to love, serve, heal, and grow.

We can choose to be some of the Difference Makers this world so desperately needs.

Be kind to yourself. Be patient with yourself. Take good care of yourself. We need you.

Which of these Grief Resolutions resonated with you? Take a moment and share via a comment or email.

The post Looking Ahead: Some Grief Resolutions for 2021 first appeared on Gary Roe.

When our loss doesn’t feel fair…

“This isn’t fair!” is a common statement for those who have lost someone special. Why did this happen to them, to us? We look at the world around us and are stunned. How can this be? Other people still have spouses, partners, parents, children, siblings, and friends. As the grieving heart below says, “This feels all wrong somehow.”

This post, taken from Comfort for the Grieving Adult Child’s Heart: Hope and Healing After Losing Your Parent, digs into this issue. No matter what your loss, I think you’ll be able to relate…

FROM THE GRIEVING HEART:

I know this will sound dumb, but I’m starting to realize that other people still have parents.

Now that you’re gone, I guess I think everyone should be in the same boat. If my parent is gone, everybody’s parents should be. I know – ridiculous. 

I see my friends and other people with their parents from time to time, and it’s painful for me. Their smiles, laughter, and hugs are little daggers to my heart. I can’t help but think of you. What I’ve lost and what I’m missing comes cascading down upon me like an irresistible waterfall. Sometimes, it stuns me, and I have a hard time catching my breath. 

I get sad, then I get angry. This isn’t fair. How come they still get to have parents? Why can’t I still have you?

I know everyone has to die sometime, but it feels all wrong somehow. I knew you wouldn’t always be here, but I guess my heart hoped that was a possibility. 

For now, seeing others and their parents is not a source of joy for me. It only reminds me of what is no more for me. I feel different. I’m not who I was. I feel different from everyone else, too. It’s like I only have half a heart. 

Everything seems to remind me of you. Yes, you were that important. You still are. 

When Loss Feels Unfair and Wrong…

When something we’ve had all our lives goes missing, we become keenly aware of it. An all-out search begins. Where is it? Where did it go? How do I find it? 

When someone we’ve known our entire lives departs, something feels wrong. Someone is missing who’s always been here. It can even feel like the entire world as we knew it disappeared. 

Though we know they’re gone, our hearts search for them. We see them here and there. We look for them at certain times and places. We keep waiting for them to call, text, or walk around the corner. 

Amid our sadness and pain, we begin to notice the other parents and children around us. We can’t help but stare. Our hearts hungrily take in the scenes of conversation, togetherness, and love. We feel the emotion welling up within us. Teary-eyed, we turn away and hang our heads. 

Perhaps we even want to walk up to those with parents and say, “Enjoy every moment. They won’t be here forever.” We find ourselves wishing we had more time – or had made better use of the time we had. We long for another smile, conversation, or hug.  

We become keenly aware of everyone who looks close to the age of our parent. We look for mom or dad in the faces of others. Our hearts are expressing themselves. Everything seems to remind us of them.

This is natural. We’re grieving the loss of a mother or father. Our life-web is hanging listless from the severing of one of our thickest relational strands. In many ways, we’re stunned and reeling. 

Affirmation: It’s natural that my grief will be triggered when I see others with their parents. My heart is expressing how much I miss you.  

Taken from Comfort for the Grieving Adult Child’s Heart: Hope and Healing After Losing Your Parent. You can watch the brief book video here.

Have you experienced sentiments like this in your grief process? Feel free to share and comment below!

The post When our loss doesn’t feel fair… first appeared on Gary Roe.

What will 2021 hold for us who are grieving?

I don’t know about you, but I’m glad to see 2020 disappearing into my rear view mirror.

2020 was a year of profound, debilitating grief. The sheer amount of change was stunning and crippling. For those of us who lost family members or friends, COVID added a thick, suffocating layer of complication to our grief journeys. It’s been frustrating, confusing, angering, and depressing.

I’m going to be personally vulnerable here. In general, my anxiety level is up. My sense of security and safety has been repeatedly shaken. My family (including myself) has been battered by sudden, seemingly out-of-the-blue health issues, most of them stress-related. At the time of writing this, we’re waiting on test results that could potentially throw us into even more trouble, stress, change, and uncertainty.

I feel like I’m stuck in a vice that’s slowly tightening. At times, I have trouble catching my breath. The slow, relentless grind of loss and stress is taking its toll.

Can anyone relate?  I know you can.

For some of you, what I’ve written above is nothing compared to what you’re enduring. Loss, pain, anxiety, fear, anger, frustration, confusion, and depression are everywhere.

We’ve been hit hard and repeatedly in 2020. And as we look ahead at 2021, many of us are wondering what’s coming next. We’re hoping for better…

As I lean into 2021, however, I know that I have no control over what happens in the world or even in my own family. I have influence, but not control. So I find myself asking, “Amid all these challenges, what kind of person do I want to be in 2021?”

Over 3000 years ago, wise King Solomon said, “Guard your heart, for it is the wellspring from which everything else in your life flows.” I have no control over what happens this year, but I do have a say in what happens in my heart.

I want an honest, authentic heart.

I want to be real with myself, God, and a few other people about what’s happening inside me – including my fears and concerns. Hiding never benefits me or anyone I love or care about.

I want a compassionate, loving heart.

I want to be a lifeline of acceptance, comfort, reassurance, and hope. I want a heart that see and hears the hearts of others, meet them where they are, and loves well.

I want a forgiving heart that releases offenses quickly.

I’m so limited that I can’t afford to let rude or unkind words or actions hijack of overly influence my life. I don’t need any extra baggage.

I want a hopeful, hope-giving heart.

When things appear dark, light becomes a treasure indeed. I want to be a person of hope who embraces, cultivates, and spreads hope.

Whatever 2021 brings, we all know there will be more challenges ahead. How we meet them matters – both for ourselves and those around us.

What about you? What kind of person would you like to be in 2021? What kind of heart do you want to pursue and cultivate?

Please know that whatever you’re going through, there’s always more than meets the eye. Please be kind to yourself. Accept yourself as you are in the present moment, as best you can. You’re more important and valuable than you can possibly imagine.

I’m glad we’re in this together. Grief is a lonely journey, but this grief path is well-populated.

I hope to support and serve you well in 2021. That includes emails, Zoom Hangouts, healing resources, and new books. Stay tuned. It’s an honor to walk with you.

Do you have anything you would like to share? Feel free to comment!

My Christmas Holiday Wish for Grieving Hearts…

Christmas is upon us. It’s no secret the holiday season is extremely difficult for those of us who are grieving.

Thinking back…

This year has been tumultuous. We all want to see 2020 disappearing in our rear view mirror. We’ve lost so much.

The losses of 2020 have piled up. We’ve lost routines, jobs, and finances. We’ve lost a sense of predictability, stability, and safety. We’ve lost loved ones. We’ve lost life as we knew it.

We’ve endured upheaval and uncertainty. We live in an atmosphere of anxiety, fear, distrust, division, and unrest. Anger, bitterness, and even hatred have become commonplace.

And here we are, on Christmas Eve.

Looking back, we wince and weep.

Looking forward, perhaps we hope for better. Our losses, however, can condition our hearts to be wary and skeptical.

So allow me to share my Christmas wish for myself. Call them “Christmas Affirmations,” if you will. Perhaps your heart will resonate with some of these things. Perhaps you’ll even find a few things you want to embrace along with me.

Amid a world of loss and pain, I will give myself permission to hurt and to grieve.

Amid all the negative messages, I will guard my heart and seek to be more loving than ever before.

Amid the fear, anger, and hatred, I will relentlessly pursue peace, wisdom, and understanding.

Amid an environment of accusations, suspicions, and name-calling, I will be quick to listen, slow to speak, and quick to forgive.

Amid a world of uncertainty, I will be a kind and compassionate hope-giver.

Amid a life of grief, obstacles, and challenges, I will overcome adversity and use pain and grief as fuel for good, and help others do the same.

Amid a world desperately in need of hope and healing, I will continue to heal, grow, and become a difference-maker for good, and invite others to join me in the difference-making journey.

Thinking farther back…

I think back to the first Christmas. It was a time of political upheaval and uncertainty. Economically, things weren’t good. Problems, unrest, fear, and anger were everywhere.

Amid such a world, a stunning, unexpected story unfolds.

As a result of a government mandate, a socially-isolated, economically challenged young couple journey 90 miles on foot to a small town to be registered for a census. The young woman, most likely in her mid-teens, is pregnant and goes into labor.

They desperately search for a place to stay, but the little town is already busting at the seams and has nothing to offer.
Later that evening, a child is born. His first set of clothes are rags. His first bed is an animal feed trough.

Meanwhile, a group of shepherds on a hillside outside of town are suddenly stunned by the appearance of angels. Amid the deep dark of night, they are drenched in heavenly light. Even more stunning is the message the shepherds are given.

“Do not be afraid. I bring you good news which is for all people. Today, a Savior has been born to you. He is Christ, the Lord. You will find this baby wrapped in rags, lying in a feed trough. Glory to God, and peace to those on whom His favor rests.”

At a time of unrest and uncertainty – “Do not be afraid.”

At a time when bad news reigned and the power brokers exerted control – God speaks to a motley group of shepherds and says, “I bring you good news.”

At a time when frustrated, angry, wounded people were desperately needing hope – a history-changing baby was quietly born in obscurity, “wrapped in rags, lying in a feed trough.”

Strange. Backwards. Upside down. Amazing.

Looking forward…

Put simply, tons of terrible, nasty, awful, and painful stuff has taken place this year. It’s time for something different.

It’s time for some light to shine amid this present darkness.

It’s time to hear again the angelic message. No matter how things appear, “Do not be afraid.”

It’s time for “good news.”

More light. Less fear. Good news. Hope.

I wish you a blessed, meaningful, and peaceful Christmas and holiday season.

Have a question or comment? Please feel free to share!

Wishing You a Peaceful Thanksgiving

This has been a tough year. We’ve lost so much.

Our lives have been upended. Our routines and expectations have been throttled. Our sense of safety and security has taken a hit. We’ve lost people who are dear to us. Our hearts have been rattled and wounded. Many of us are wondering when the next hit will come.

Now we face a holiday season unlike any other.

So today, on the day before Thanksgiving 2020, I find myself wishing for us all the gift of a peaceful Thanksgiving.

Even while missing our departed loved ones, may we know that giving thanks for them and all they gave to us is an important and heathy part of grieving.

Even with our losses, may we give thanks for the blessings we’ve enjoyed and experienced.

Even in a world of turmoil, may we give thanks for the moment and for the people we love and who love us.

Even with all the COVID restrictions, may we give thanks for our current blessings and look forward knowing that “this too shall pass.”

Even with all the uncertainty, may we guard our hearts by giving thanks for the goodness of the past while looking forward to more goodness in the future (even if we can’t see or even imagine it at present).

Even with all the pain and grief, may we choose to cultivate gratitude and hope rather than indulging in despair.

Even with all the unkindness and anger out there, may we choose to love and be people who promote peace.

Even as we desperately miss our departed loved ones, may we honor them by speaking their name and telling their story.

Even as we mourn, may we express our love through our grief in ways that honor our loved ones and those around us.

Even when dark days come knocking, may we choose to be people of light, healing, and hope.

Yes, this is hard. Cultivating gratitude and hope in the midst of heavy grief can seem as impossible as a solo climb of Mount Everest in the worse possible conditions. And yet, there is no better way to honor those no longer with us than living well and using our grief as fuel for good.

Be kind to yourself. Be patient with yourself. This Thanksgiving will be different, but it can still be good.

P.S. Do you have something you would like to share or a question you would like to ask? Feel free to comment!

When Everything Reminds You of Your Loss

When we’re grieving, we seem to bump into a reminder of our loss with every step. This article, taken from Comfort for the Grieving Parent’s Heart, talks about the shock, pain, and frustration we experience when the world reminds us of our loss.

Widowed spouses see couples everywhere. Bereaved parents find themselves noticing other children and families. Grieving adult children are hyperaware of the other parental figures around them. Grieving siblings are suddenly stunned by all the siblings they see around them.

We see our loss everywhere. The reminders are continual. No matter what your loss, I’m sure you can relate to the grieving heart below:

FROM THE GRIEVING HEART:

I see other families out there. It hurts.

I see parents and children together smiling and laughing. Holding hands and skipping. Talking and playing. My heart breaks – again and again.

It seems like my heart has broken so many times that soon nothing will be left. I feel like I’m barely here as it is.

All I can think about is you.

I resent the carefree happiness of others. Just the sight of a happy child crushes me.

The world is closing in on me. I can’t get enough air. I feel claustrophobic. Danger and emotional pain seem to be everywhere. My heart is disintegrating, bit by bit.

If I can’t stand to see other families, where does that leave me? They’re everywhere. Next door. Down the street. In supermarkets and stores. In restaurants and movie theaters. On billboards and in advertisements.

As I drive along, it’s like I can feel the presence of other children in the houses along the roads. I can see them riding bikes and walking on the sidewalks, even if there’s no one there. I pass schools every day.

All the world is a reminder that you’re gone. I look for you everywhere. I miss you.

I hate seeing other families right now. I hate that I hate seeing happy children. Who am I? What am I becoming?

Awful. This is truly awful.

The heart always looks for what it misses.

After the loss of a child, just seeing other children and families can be excruciatingly painful. Every visual of a child – or a child and a parent – stabs our hearts, and the grief comes tumbling out. It’s as if our hearts are a mass of painful wounds and bruises waiting to be bumped and punched by life. 

Feeling sad, angry, and even confused by seeing other children and families is natural and common for a parent enduring the death of a child. Our precious son or daughter has been taken from us, and we’re reeling with the shock. We’re stunned and paralyzed. Our hearts are like shattered glass strewn all over the place. Nothing is the same.

We see another child and our hearts scream with pain and longing. How could this happen? Why? Why our child? Why now? Why this way? Why us?

Unfair. Backwards. Wrong. We shake our heads. No, this can’t be. Such things should not happen. Logically, we know such unthinkable tragedies do happen – every day. But not to us. Not to our child. 

This pain is unique. There is nothing else like it. No other loss we have endured or could ever face comes close. This is deep, personal, and pervasive. This was our child. Ours. 

Some days, just getting out of bed might take massive effort. Every step into the world can feel emotionally dangerous. We’re feeling our loss. This death has overtaken us and permeated everything.

Right now, the loss of our child has become the lens through which we see everything.  We must give ourselves permission to hurt – to be sad, angry, confused, and all the rest. All the emotions and all the pain honor our child. Our grief proclaims our love. The intensity of our mourning shouts how unique and special they were and are to us. 

This is unknown territory for us. Everything might look the same, but it’s not. The world has changed, forever. Each step is new. We must be patient with ourselves, breathe deeply, and do what we know to take care of ourselves today. Our child would want that. 

Affirmation: Seeing other children and parents might be painful for me. I’ll use the pain to help me grieve and express my love for you. My heart is broken, and I miss you desperately.

Adapted from the newly released Comfort for the Grieving Parent’s Heart: Hope and Healing After Losing Your Child. You can watch the brief book video here.

Additional Recommended Resources:

7 Reasons Why Grief Hurts So Much – Gary Roe YouTube

What To Do When We Feel Like We Might Explode – The Grief Toolbox

When You Miss Their Voice – www.garyroe.com

When you long to hear their voice…

When a loved one departs, we miss their hearing their voice. As we go through our days, there may be times when we can swear we hear them calling us. Our hearts can still hear and see them. This post, taken from Comfort for the Grieving Parent’s Heart, delves into this longing. No matter what your loss, I’ll bet you can relate to the Grieving Heart below…

FROM THE GRIEVING HEART:

I woke up in the middle of the night. I could hear you calling me.

Maybe I was dreaming, but it seemed so real. I’ve heard that call many times. I jumped up and started to head for your room. Then I realized I wasn’t in the same house anymore – that you weren’t here anymore. I slumped back onto the bed and buried my head in my hands.

Losing you is torture. My mind can’t seem to let go. My heart won’t and probably never will. We’re connected, so how does this separation thing work?

How many times did you call me, and I didn’t hear you? How many times did you need me, and I wasn’t there?

I wish I could hear your voice. It was good to hear you in my dream, or whatever it was. And you were calling me. That’s special. You’re special.

If I close my eyes, I can almost hear you calling me now. It’s like you live somewhere inside me. I hear you in my heart.

My heart is broken over losing you, my child. There was no one like you. One of a kind. Unique. Priceless. You were mine, and I was yours.

How did this happen? What do I do with this?

Their Voice is One of a Kind

Our loved one’s voice is special. We’ve heard it so many times that it has taken up residence in our hearts. It echoes inside us. We think we hear them calling. 

Our job as parents is to love and meet our child’s needs. When a child dies, our hearts naturally wonder what we could have done to prevent this. Was there a need we didn’t meet? Did they call and we didn’t hear them? What did we miss? 

The incessant internal questioning can be torturous. Our minds spin. Our broken hearts desperately cling to our child in any way we can. 

There is such deep connection in the parent-child bond. There is no other relationship like it. Our child is a part of us. Now they’re gone. What does that mean? How can we survive this?

We need to talk. We need to say their name and share our memories. We need to air our questions, frustrations, and confusion. We need to get what’s happening inside us out somehow. 

We need people who are trustworthy and accepting to listen and be with us in this. We don’t need fixes. There are none. We don’t need advice we haven’t asked for. We need open hearts and listening ears to exist with us in this turmoil, if only for a little while. 

When we’re hurt, we tend to isolate. Our hearts warn us that this is not the thing to do. We’re relational creatures. Our response to this loss proves that. We need solid, loving relationships right now. Where do we find them?

Perhaps we already have them? Maybe these people have yet to show up in our lives. We look around us. We trust that the safe souls we need are out there. On the one hand, we trust they will appear at the right time. On the other hand, we search for them.

Our hearts matter. We can’t afford to go this alone.   

Affirmation: Even though I’m hurting, I can’t afford to isolate. I trust that the people I need to walk with me in this are out there. I will find ways to express this grief, as best I can.

Taken from Comfort for the Grieving Parent’s Heart: Hope and Healing After Losing Your Child. You can watch the brief book video here.

Additional Recommended Resources:

5 Unsettling Ways Grief Affects Us Mentally – www.garyroe.com

Grief Soundbites: Emotional Pain – Gary Roe YouTube

When You Miss Their Voice – www.garyroe.com