Grief is too heavy a burden to carry alone...

... especially when that grief involves the loss of a child.

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”

— Washington Irving

“Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.”

— Vicki Harrison

“Deep grief sometimes is almost like a specific location, a coordinate on a map of time. When you are standing in that forest of sorrow, you cannot imagine that you could ever find your way to a better place. But if someone can assure you that they themselves have stood in that same place, and now have moved [forward], sometimes this will bring hope.”

— Elizabeth Gilbert

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

— Psalm 34:18 NIV

We never thought that we would be here - in this fractured moment of time, living a life that is so broken that parts of it will never make sense.

How can my child have died?

How can this be real?

Why?!

Yet here we stand, without some of the people whose simple existence had brought us joy and purpose. Our arms are without the children who we had dreamt about and planned for and carried in our hearts.

Time.

Time once had a path that we thought we understood, one which stretched before us in endless possibilities and with so many plans.

We didn't step naively into parenthood - we knew that life here on earth was flawed and far from perfect, that hardships would arise, and that sickness and pain would be present from time to time, if not often... but loss like this hadn't been on our radar. Pain like this wasn't even fathomable in our dreams of what would be and where life would take us.

And yet... here we are.

Friend, we are so sorry that you find yourself here with us, living life after the death of your child or children.

We too are broken in ways that we hadn't even realized were possible.

Days have stretched into weeks, weeks into months, followed by years for some... and the gaping holes that once held life in our hearts now only hold memories and questions of what could have been... and we are broken in ways that no glue can fix, that time will not erase, and that we can hardly understand.

Some days... (((dare we say it? ))) ... we pray that we won't wake up because it is too hard to keep living.

. . .

... but Hope.

For some, Hope is a stale word, something that has sat on a back shelf in our minds for so long that there's dust that covers its existence. Hope is so far gone that no amount of convincing and scrambling can grasp it into being, almost to the point that the word barely exists any longer. And we want to SCREAM because we HURT and it is TOO MUCH.

For others, Hope is a glimmer from afar, something with so faint a trace that we can barely see it... but it is there, in a distant field, calling out to us in whispers of encouragement... begging us not to forget it is there, begging us not to let go.

And for others still, Hope is a reality, something that came about slowly, despite us and because of our faith, pursuing us when we were not strong enough to pursue it ourselves. Promised by Word and deed by a Heavenly Father whose heart broke with ours the day we lost our children. This Hope is claimed by us in desperation when we have nothing left to cling to other than our faith.

Hope - an impossibly lost cause, a glimmer in the distance, or a daily reality that pulls us though.

It is different for everyone, especially for grieving parents.

But for every single one of us, Hope is present.

Whether it is buried deep within anger and forgotten, or whether it is present in a loud and clear way on a daily basis, Hope is a part of every single one of our hearts.

It is what keeps us alive.

It is what keeps us breathing and eating and moving one slow step forward into each following day.

Hope is there even when we cannot see it yet or when we refuse to acknowledge it.

It is one of the most beautiful gifts to humanity.

In grief, emotions can affect us physically and mentally, creating a cloud impossible to see through. Our bodies can fail us as much as our minds can, and it takes courage and immense energy some days just to wake up.

But a beautiful part of being human, even in the midst of grief, is that we are surrounded by community.

There are those of us who love to reach out, love to be held, and are easily encouraged and inspired by others.

And there are those of us who cannot stand the thought of leaving our houses, whose anxiety or depression have built walls that separate and isolate us from the people who live outside of our homes, and even sometimes - the people who live with us.

Regardless of our temperament, or our desire to interact with others, or what our bodies and minds are able to handle, Hope can be found in community.

There are people surrounding us - standing outside of our walls - who want to help, even if and when we don't want them to. The awesome part of it all is that it is OUR CHOICE in how we react to community and when we react, in how we view our glass and whether we aim to once again try to fill it.

The key point in it all is - we have to make the first step.

We have the honor and responsibility to choose the direction that we are going to aim our feet, and we get the choice of when and how we plan to move forward in our grief.

Grief - it will always be there.

Our pain exists as a direct result of our love.

The bigger our love is, the bigger our raw and jagged scars of pain will often be.

Time will change our grief; it will mold our pain into a million different forms, each with something new to be learned... but we will always grieve. We will always miss our children. We will always feel pain.

But we will also always have the choice of what we will do with our pain.

We can choose to harbor anger and despair and suffer deeply in our own minds, slowly drowning in grief or alcohol or self-pity...

... or we can choose to acknowledge that although our circumstances are out of our control and that our children did die, that it is up to us to decide how we will move forward and continue to live life without them.

We will never move on... but we can move forward.

Living is still possible after the death of our children. It is going to be different, yes, and difficult. But it is also going to have moments of beauty.

Beauty doesn't just exist in happiness and perfection - it can also exist despite pain and suffering.

Beauty can come about when we least expect it, when our words help others to heal and when the sharing of pain brings about shared comfort and understanding.

Beauty can be found in the cliche of a sunny morning in spring, when a bud pops up out of the snowy ground and reminds us that life can still exist even after the longest of winters.

Beauty can be found in the tears of a friend when a story is shared and a hand is held and the burden of grief is lifted ever so slightly by another.

Beauty can be found in the moment that we realize that we are not alone, that we never were, and that we have the ability to reach out and be heard.

And thus, we have been gifted with the idea of Blue Water Hope. Even in the midst of grief, we can find healing. Even on the darkest day, we can find light.

If only we reach out toward Hope.

My friend, you have got this.

Reach out - even if it is painful, even if thinking about the child or children you have lost breaks open a protective wall that you built around your heart years ago in order to survive, you will survive this too. Only this time, you will have help, someone to listen, others who understand, and Hope in the near future.

Reach out - even if you are angry, and you want to yell and lash out and accuse and hurt - we will listen! We are here to acknowledge your anger with you and help you to find a way to heal, because you deserve it. You deserve to be heard and to heal, because you matter just as much as your child does. Please, don't forget that! You matter just as much, and you are still here!

Reach out - even if you don't have the words, and we will sit in silence and be with you or pray with you for as long as you need. In time, the words will come - they always do - and with them you will find healing.

Every single one of our stories is different, and yet every single one of them has the same foundation - our children lived, our children are loved, and we are loved.

We are here for you. Reach out.

“Memories saturate my heart and the story of you spills from my eyes.”

— Grace Andren

“When the heart grieves, the soul makes a promise. Love will never leave you.”

— Angie Weiland-Crosby