Here on earth we are put together in families. Our loved ones become inexpressibly precious to us. We live in intimate associations. One gets so close to mother and father, wife or husband, sons and daughters, that they literally become a part of one's very life. Then comes a day when a strange change comes over one that we love. He is transformed before our very eyes. The light of life goes out for him. He cannot speak to us nor we to him. He is gone and we are left stunned and heartbroken. An emptiness and loneliness comes into our hearts. We brokenheartedly say "That the one whom I loved is dead." It is such a cold, hopeless thing to realize. Then, out of the very depths of our despair, comes that marvelous declaration of our Lord: I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. John 11: 25,26

Then we know! We know we have not lost our loved ones who have died. We have just been separated, and as long as we live there will be an empty place left in our hearts. To some extent, the loneliness will always be there. But when we really know that one is not forever lost, it does seem to take away, a little bit, of the sorrow. There is a vast difference between precious memories, loneliness, the pain of separation, on the one hand, and a sorrow that ruins and blights our lives, on the other hand.

Hope these words are of comfort to you my friends. Please, please know that you are always on my mind and in my heart and prayers. My hands are not better yet, in fact the left one is very numb right now, so it is hard to type. But even though I can't write every day as I did before, I think of you every day. In Christian Love, Melissa

Not now, but in the coming years, it may be in the better land: we'll read the meaning of our tears, and there, some time, we'll understand.

The spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,

Because the Lord has anointed me to

Preach good news to the poor.

He has sent me to bind up the broken-

hearted,… to comfort all who mourn,…

to bestow on them a crown of beauty

Instead of ashes, the oil of gladness

instead of mourning, and a garment of

Praise instead of a spirit of despair.

Isaiah 61: 1-3

God will heal our pain. He will heal you.

He will guide you as you reaffirm yourself

without your loved one in the new life

he has given you in Christ Jesus.

Dear friends, I am sorry for not visiting

Daily, as I have in the past. Please know

that I have not forgotten you or your loved

Ones. I am still having a lot of pain in my hands,

arms, and neck. I am to have surgery on my

Wrist March 13th. Maybe then I can type

again without my hands going numb.(wish it

was my heart that was numb) Again, please

know that you are always in my thoughts,

heart, and prayers. In Christian Love, Melissa.

Loving Savior, today I lift up my friends who are grieving.

Give them strength when they feel weak; and when they feel alone in the long chilly night,

surround them with a warm blanket of your love and their good memories.

Like armor, may this prayer protect them from all harm.

May the wind blow their burdens away little by little,

so that they experience the freedom of joy once more. I

am confident that just one solitary prayer will make a

difference in their lives and in mine. Amen.

I remember you always in my prayers. Romans 1:9

Christmas is over...

The New Year's almost here.

The tree lights are darkened...

I sure do miss you, dear.

The stockings are empty,

And so is my aching heart;

Yet, I need to tell you

Before the New Year's start.

I'll always love you.

You're always in my prayers.

If ever you need me,

My thoughts will be right there.

Although there is distance

Between us, I can smile;

Because I can hold you

In my heart, for just awhile.

I realize God gave me

This gift... I know it's true.

The gift that He gave me

Is all my love for you.

I don't know the reason

God gives and takes away.

I just know, this season

I turn to Him and pray.

"Bless all my loved ones...

The ones for whom I care.

Keep them in safety,

Until I can be there."

I know that God loves me,

And, so, He loves you too.

And, so, in His season,

I send my faith to you.

"Many of us, between the start of this holy season,

and the end, find ourselves filled with sadness,

missing the ones who cannot be with us.

We all have our list of bittersweet memories,

and the hardest day is the day after all the festivities,

when we realize how much we missed the missing.

To them, I dedicate this poem."

Remember me in your heart, your thoughts and your memories
Of the times we loved, and the times we cried
The times we fought and the times we laughed.
For if you always think of me, I will never have gone.

For many of us, grief at the holidays is an oxymoron. Holidays are supposed to be happy, fun, joyful, overflowing with bonds of love. Grief casts a painful, somber, dark shadow over the holidays, shrouding the happy memories of past celebrations.
We grieve because we loved. We formed an intense attachment to our child. Attachments, connections, once the glue that held our life together, have now been broken by the death of our child. We yearn to have our child close to us again.
Now that part of who you were together, as a family, is dead. Your own identity is changed.
Death is never in season. The end of a child's life is never "on time." Among the many connections we may make with the timing of a child's death, holidays seem to serve as markers of the event.
When Blake died I automatically connected his death to the nearest holiday, his birthday. The "first" holidays are an offensive reminder of the death. For some, "firsts" simply mean the first time they experience a holiday, anniversary, birthday, or other special occasions rich with memory and tradition without their child.
But for me, as well as some of you I'm sure, I am experiencing the emotions of "firsts" holidays ( and other special days), during the second year of my grief because of my initial shock, numbness, or tendency to deflect my grief during the first year following Blake's accident.
Holidays are, for most, special times of the year. They come with the regularity of the calendar. We look forward to them, wanting to make each one special and significant. They are usually times away from the pressure of daily work, times for family and friends to gather together, times for reflection and celebration. Thanksgiving Day turkey, a Christmas tree, and the Fourth of July, etc., tend to raise us above the humdrum of life in order to renew and revive. But the holidays will be different for us this year. Grief has ripped from us the uncompromised joy and celebration. The firestorm has hit.
FIRESTORM! That is what death is like. And the fuel of that fire are the feelings associated with holidays.
Grief is tough enough, but Christmas comes (or other holidays), grief becomes all the more difficult. After all, this is supposed to be a happy, joyous time. Grief is the antithesis of joy and is associated with emotions of sadness, emptiness, and loneliness. And now add to your list of "special days" the anniversary date of your child's death. It is a FIRESTORM!
Just think about what happens in a forest fire. When the fire finally subsides, the only thing that remains is charred black earth with no apparent life, no apparent beauty, no apparent hope. How could this barren ground ever support life again?
Death, like a forest fire, devastates, destroys. Death seems to leave nothing but ashes in its wake. Landmarks are destroyed. A sense of hopelessness overwhelms. We are not for certain whether we can find our bearings again. How will we ever navigate this darkness?
Death, like a forest fire, leaves ashes…ashes of loneliness in the absence of our child. The challenge of the firestorm, I think, is to accept its presence. The devastation is real. We can't deny it, not for long. Holidays intensify the pain and add another layer to one's grief. The special days fall short of what they imagined to be. Death has removed our child from our life. A very meaningful relationship has vanished like the morning dew. In the middle of the celebration, we are reminded how closely attached we were and are to our child, now gone. The firestorm has blown across the prairie of our life. A holiday celebration makes you face the reality of your child's death all the more directly. It is difficult for us to say the words dead or died. It's as if they refuse to be shaped easily by our tongues.
Yet in the middle of the traditions of food, family, and friends, and all the activities associated with the holidays, we have an empty chair, a place once filled by our child, a reminder of our loss.
I guess, in our journey to the "other side of grief " We have to work toward accepting the reality that the death of our child did occur. Death seems at one and the same time both real and unreal. How often do we say to ourselves, "But this can't be happening to me!" But the death did happen.
The loneliness and deep pain threaten to engulf us at any given time. Our heart and soul feel burned to the core.