One of the things I want to do with this blog is to be able to go back and find posts I made on social media that I feel may have been, and could possibly continue to be, impactful to others. Learning to live through the pain and figuring out how to carry the burden of losing a child is a daily struggle. Some days are visibly tough and everyone around you can see …almost feel, your pain. There are other days where you painfully smile while your heart is in shambles, and then there are days where you really smile. You have a sense of real peace. Don’t be discouraged if the very next day you feel as though you have taken 3 steps back; focus on being able to experience the good days. Look for ways to (safely) express your pain so that you can allow room in your heart to heal. By heal, I don’t mean heal all-the-way-up “good-as-new,” I mean give yourself the permission and patience needed to face the pain and walk through it.
What I am sharing below is a post I made on Facebook on June 3rd, 2021. The interesting thing about this post is that it is a follow-up to a post I made on June 3, 2018. What I share shows the raw pain I was feeling while grieving another birthday without my son, James. How 3 years later I had learned to use the pain from that day and see the joy I swore would never come from learning to live.
June 3, 2021
My son, James, would be 11 years old, today. This isn’t intended to be a sad post so if you hang with me a sec you’ll see.
When I saw the FB memories pop up this morning and I re-read something I posted several years ago–it rang true in new ways than when I initially wrote it. I thought about what has taken place between when we lost our son in 2010 and what has taken place between 2018 and now, when I wrote that particular post.
Time is a teacher, a healer and a source of understanding. However, for time to truly heal, it takes patience and the ability to be open to receive the peace we all deserve despite unimaginable tragedy.
So, today on James’ 11th birthday I want to copy and paste what I wrote in 2018. For me, it was one of the first times I have read something I wrote about losing my son — and smiled.
His life and him waking up in Heaven at only a little over 2 months on this Earth, changed me forever.
I honestly never thought I could get to the “other side.” The side where you can smile and cry at the same time. The side where I embrace the fact that his life mattered, my life matters (and so does yours.)
We don’t have to understand the “whys;” just as long as we understand the importance of simply doing the best we can with what we are dealt. The goosebumps part comes when you see how you can use your own pain to be a source of comfort for others. No, this isn’t “pat myself on the back time,” but rather the peace that comes only with time.
(Well, a little perseverance, determination and a lot of faith played a part as well. 
)
From my June 3rd, 2018 post: “Today you would have been 8 years old. I really do believe that in ways we can’t fully understand, you are watching over me though. I believe you are there telling me not to listen when others doubt me and I believe you are there reminding me to just be me. I believe you are there helping me to be able laugh at myself and laugh any chance I can.
I had to walk up to the pain of losing you and sit there for a long, long time.
Eventually I began to slowly walk backwards away from the gut-wrenching pain. It was only then that I could see all that I have around me ……while still being able to see you.
See all that you are also a part of because you are always a part of me. You are the one who has strengthened my compassion and empathy—you remind me that we never know what someone else is going through…even when they seem just fine. You’re the push I need when I feel down and you’re that special joy in my laughter. Happy birthday my little buddy. I love you.”
You have and will help many others through these posts. The pain is real! Grief can be so similar to another’s grief and so different at the same time!
Yes! I have learned a lot over the years of surviving the loss of my son, James. I have met people who have experienced miscarriages and stillbirths, as well as those who lost their child at 12 or 19 or older. The situations may be different and the amount of time and memories you made while here on Earth may not look the same, but the heart of a grieving mother is painfully similar. The ache that never goes away; the smile that masks the pain—but also, the joy that comes in the morning. (Pslams 30:5)
Love you and I appreciate your support so very much!
Yes to everything you have written. You have explained the grief of a mother perfectly. They never leave us; they inspire us, push us, watch over us, and love us. They are ALWAYS with us. ❤️❤️❤️
Thank you so much for the kind words and encouragement! Losing a child is something that just knocks you off your feet. Whether you only had them 9 weeks or 30+ years–you are left feeling helpless in not being able to protect them and keep them safe any longer. It has gotten easier, only with time and prayer, to rejoice in the fact that James is in Heaven and being “protected” more than I could even conceive of here on Earth. I think it’s only human of us, especially as mothers, to feel a forever-void that we must learn to fill with sharing our experiences and finding other hurting hearts who relate to loss of this magnitude. I truly believe healing comes when you find the human connection to survival.
Thank you for following my new adventure and being a comforting and reassuring voice reminding me to take this plunge and go all-in with what I have always wanted to do. Write to reach others.
Love you!
Wow! Every word is so true. Grief really does change your life. It has made me enjoy quiet time. I have been reading grief books ever since I lost Wes. It has definitely brought me closer to God and trusting his word. Grief hurts and it is a journey that one must travel alone and at their own pace. I can finally say after almost eight years, it is well with my soul.
Thank you for reading and all of your support! Grief is really, really tricky. I just hope I can help others try to navigate their way through and not feel so alone.