I am the mother of four children.  My son was 29 years old when he passed away. He would have turned 30 in August.  I also have two sons who are 26 and 23 years old and a daughter who is 21 years old.  I haven’t shared very much about them because most of my blog posts are about my journey through the loss of a child.  My feelings reflect my own heart and I have wanted to be respectful of their privacy.  I would love to share with you how proud  I am of all my children. My children were very close growing up.  We did everything as a family.  Most of their childhood years involved them all playing tennis.  Our family traveled to junior USTA tournaments a couple of weekends a month for years.  My husband and I love those memories of watching them all play tennis.  I think it defined us as a family for 16 years.  It gave the four of them a bond.  My daughter says that she loved...

As I approach the seven month anniversary since the loss of my son, I feel so much gratitude for the friends in my life. The friends who have helped me to get this far in this journey will never know how much it has meant to me. They have taught me how to be a better friend. I kinda feel like I am inside of a bubble.  The wall of the bubble is invisible but I feel like it is insulating. It feels safe in here.  Have you ever seen one of those inflatable Sumo Wrestler costumes at Halloween?  My kids had one when they were little and I put it on once.  That’s what it feels like.  No one can see my bubble but I think they can feel it.  Some people don’t know how, or if they even should try, to get inside this bubble.  But for goodness sake, don’t be scared of my bubble.  It is safe, cozy, gentle, and as big as I need my world to be right now.  My bubble is a happy place,...

 Peace.  Love.  Acceptance.  Letting go of earthly expectations. Wow,  I let out a huge exhale typing that.  I think one of the hardest parts of grief is it’s so emotionally draining.  Emotional weight is also physically draining.  I find that if I am left to my own desire, by 6:30 pm, I am ready to call it a day.  The day is O.V.E.R. That’s how it is when I carry grief around.  There comes a point in the day where I need to unload that grief, take the weight off of my shoulders and lay it down for the night.  It is like a backpack. Some days, it is so full it will hardly zip closed.  Some days, it  has a little less in it. Sometimes I don’t even realize that I have been carrying it around that day until I take a bath and put my jammies on.  Sweet relief! I am slowly coming to some truths for myself.  I am an introspective person and in my quiet times, something will...

This Easter week has been an emotional one for me.  I’ve heard it said that the first year of “first’s” without your loved one is hard.  The first Christmas, the first birthday, the first Mother’s Day, etc.  During the Christmas season, the pain of that was missing him being part of the family traditions. But the emotions this week have been a different type. On Wednesday, I began thinking about Maundy Thursday, the night of the Last Supper.  I was contemplative on Good Friday, the day Jesus carried His own cross to the top of the hill. I imagined His suffering as He was crucified.  I thought about Him wrapped in linen and placed in the tomb on Saturday night. I thought about His mother, Mary, as she watched powerless as He hung on the cross.  I thought about her grieving her loss but also having faith that this was what her son, Jesus, had been born to...

Since my last post I have heard from many mothers who have lost children.  As I read their stories I feel honored that they would share their heart with me.  I was so touched by their stories. Although their hearts are broken, they somehow have found peace and gratitude for the lessons their children have taught them.  They have the ability to share their love and offer encouragement to me. These children who have passed have taught us so much. They teach us to cherish the ordinary moments in life. Standing at the sink washing dishes with my other children no longer feels like a chore; it feels like intimacy and love. It has taught me that the jumble of shoes kicked off at the front door is a sign of life.  It’s taught me that sharing a meal is communion. It has shown me that the small stuff really doesn’t matter. About three months after my son passed away, I was still in...