…And She Laughs At The Future

And She laughs at the future… I heard that Proverbs scripture in church this week. It spoke to me, but in a melancholy sort of way. It spoke to me of who I was not. What I am not capable of. I felt that deep in my soul because that is not always how it was, I am not who I was. I not only laughed at the future, I embraced it with open welcoming arms. I am a planner. I planned our future in detail. I loved looking forward to the next year, the next holidays, the next birthday, the next stage of … Continue reading

The Survivors Creed

Writing a new post has been challenging this week. While I ponder and type and delete and type, please have this as a resource for the hard days, or just as a way to start your day. Please save this to your phone for yourself or for a friend who may need it. I made this for my own phone to gaze at on the days where I forget why I need to keep fighting, believing and hoping. Love to you all. Jennifer Taken from “Gone But Not Lost, Grieving The Death Of A Child”  by Weirsbe, David

Loss Of A Child: Surviving The First Days

Loss of a Child. One of the beautiful and amazing things about the human spirit is that during the most horrific of circumstances, we can still look upon the faces of those we love and that powerful transcendent emotion rises above all else.

You’ve just received the news that is every parents worst nightmare. The news that was never supposed to visit your doorstep. You have lost your child, your flesh and blood. You would die 1,000 times for this child, yet, that has no bearing in this new reality. You wish God would take you as well and end this nightmare. The urge to go be with your child is a stronger force than anything you’ve ever felt before. You need to go to him but you can’t. The pain in your body is unbearable, like no pain you have experienced before. It’s unique and awful … Continue reading

Surrender For Peace

I could not feel God in the slightest. What I did feel was an enormously lonely void from where He used to be. The very idea of God not being here and not being who I always knew Him to be was an emptiness so vast in and of itself, it was hard to comprehend. It wasn’t on purpose. I was not willingly turning from God. I just could not find him. And yes, I blamed him. I was reeling. Truly, like at any moment I would fly off into space. Like in the movies when the astronaut is trying to … Continue reading

Family Ink

From the onset of our tragedy it was incredibly important to me that our family heal together and stay connected. We all had very different experiences surrounding Aiden’s loss and are experiencing very distinct healing pathways, as expected. From day #1 I was crazy instinctual about gathering my remaining chicks ( it doesn’t matter how old they are ), pulling them in close and walking through this as a family. I needed my boys near me. I still do. As I have mentioned before, we were experiencing a true existential crisis. One I never would’ve imagined until I was in it, so I understand if you … Continue reading

Find Rescue From The Bad Days


I’m not going to lie, it has been a rough couple of weeks. We had such an unexpectedly good week after dropping N off at college, deep down I knew the other shoe would have to drop. It was a big shoe and it dropped Monday, on what would’ve been Aiden’s first day of 7th grade. I knew it was coming and I was a little anxious about it, but had no idea it would be as difficult as it was. I think I was still celebrating how well our first week of empty nest went that I didn’t see this coming … Continue reading

Liebster Award!

I had the most exciting thing happen this week! I had the honor of being nominated by Jonathan Bodice of Jonathan’s Studio for the Newbie Blogging Liebster Award! It is my first blogging award and am excited to pass along this little blessing to other bloggers so they too can feel the boost I do today. The blogging community is pretty cool and this is one of there reasons why. I really want to thank Jonathan for giving a blog like mine, with such heavy subject matter, a serious look. That says a lot about him and I hope you’ll visit his blog. What … Continue reading

Celebrate The Victories

celebrate the victories, fighter

We spent our first official night as Empty Nesters and I am excited to report that we are OK! Both of us. For those of you who are familiar with this blog, you know that “empty nest” has much more significance to us since the death of our youngest son. Our treasured, precious son. ( My gosh every time I write those words it still makes my heart skip a beat and my breath come short ) It was not supposed to be this way. We are trudging through the very early stages of grief from a tragic loss and now have … Continue reading

I Don’t Know Who I Am

The loss of a child can leave you questioning your very identity

The loss of a child can leave you questioning your very identity


August 9

5 months. I can’t even believe it. 5 months. My God, how I miss him. Every single moment of every day. I’m sorry if I repeat myself, but I cannot fathom this amount of time without seeing him and hearing him and touching him. With intention I remember him in life going about our house, how he would come down the stairs every morning, sleepy and wrapped up in his favorite blanket, ends trailing behind him .  And every morning I would say, “Careful buddy, so you don’t trip on that thing.” and he would rest his head on the table while he waited for his breakfast. And I would stroke his hair because I still could. I see him coming through the back door, swimming in the pool “Mom- time me!”, playing soccer (of course) and watching him sleep. He was so beautiful, especially when he was sleeping. He had these long, thick eyelashes that seemed to lay on his cheeks when he slept. 5 months without Aiden. To be perfectly honest, the time goes so incredibly slow. It feels like 5 years. Time relentlessly drags on. Dad reminded me the other day the I have a long life ahead of me. I felt dread at those words. Dread that I had a long life of feeling like this. A Long life of trying to figure out how to live without Aiden and figuring out who the heck I now am. The honest-to-God truth is, I don’t know who I am. Most of who I was, I am not anymore. I don’t recognize my life or myself.

My identity crisis started long before Aiden died, it’s just magnified exponentially since then. The moment I sold my practice I felt my entire self-identity disappear. I didn’t see that coming either. I realized very quickly how much of my “self” was tied up in my professional name and position. My self worth, my sense of purpose, my role outside the home and in the community. All that was sold along with my patient files and equipment 3 years ago. More importantly, everything related to my “Mother identity” is largely gone and that is what is so completely disorienting. Washed away somewhere, lost with Aiden and something of the past now. I was Aiden’s Mom- especially with all the other life crises going on, that is all that really mattered. It’s what made everything else OK. I remember saying those exact words to our eGroup. ” The boys are OK, so nothing else really matters.” Yes, I have older boys, but they don’t need to be mothered so much now. Boys aren’t BFF’s with their Mom’s like girls are. I know they need me and love me, but they don’t want to be mothered anymore. It’s a whole different world. “Mom” is more a noun then a verb.

I was a soccer Mom. I lived by carpools and group emails and spent lots of time in Dicks sporting goods every spring and fall for soccer shoes that could never fit past one season. I socialized with other Moms on the sidelines weekend after weekend after weekend. I am not that Mom anymore. I will never rush off with my blanket, hot tea, lawn chair and camera to another windy “spring” practice or another tournament. Ever. In one mind-numbing moment that was all gone.  I was a classroom Mom. Gone.

lawnI was the Mom with the big side yard that the kids played football in and had snowball fights in. I loved hearing the laughing and exclamations (and yes, the arguing, I mean, they were boys ) I loved the big red dirt spot in our lawn where the grass was worn away because I knew it was made by a slew of little boys doing what little boys should be doing. It made me smile. I don’t know where they all play football anymore, if they do. I don’t want to know. I just know it’s not my yard. I don’t want the lawn to grow back there. I don’t want it to stop looking like a little boy lives and plays there, even though he doesn’t anymore. Is that denial? Or will I just face that when Im more comfortable in my new role? Let the grass grow in and be OK with it?

So, who am I then? ‘Who I am not is so painfully obvious it’s difficult to see past that to the ‘who I am’, but I need to know. I need to feel that I am someone, but I feel like no one. The most important role I had was the role of being Aiden’s Mother. Without that, I’m insignificant. Yes, I know I will “always be his Mom”. It’s not the same, don’t go there. The shifting and loss of one’s role has to be one of the greatest challenges for bereaved parents to recover from and map out. It is for me. I remember very early on, sitting in the counselor’s office with Dave and the boys, still in fresh shock, and they were giving us an overview on grief- the different philosophies on how people grieve. None of it resonated with me at all until the paragraph on “adapting to a new and changed role”. I crumbled at the sight of those words. They were correct- I don’t know what my life looks like anymore. I don’t know how to construct it in my mind. The materials, the subjects, the theme- I can’t see it. Nothing is as it should be. I am not as I should be. I’m not doing what I should be.

In an instant everything I knew to be true, everything my physical and emotional body has learned to understand as true and safe and sure- was no more. The death of a child is so unnatural, so out of the natural order of life. So very, very wrong. A true existential crisis that leaves you spinning and wandering into territory unknown. Hostile and frightening territory.

I know this will take time. Time I don’t want to face. I mean, who would?

As of Friday, I will have an empty nest. Seriously, now. After this. Realistically, this is going to get worse before it gets better. To think otherwise would just be foolish. I blinked my eye and my home, with voices in the yard and music blaring down the stairs and yelling at the x-box (and each other), and constant comings and goings, is going to be still. Just like that. It was only mere moments ago! Still and quiet and I don’t know what I’ll do. I have been blessed for so many years to have so many wonderful, important, beautiful and significant roles that I am lost without them. I never had to wonder who I was or what I was supposed to do. Never.
The only thing I feel led to do to reign in this battle is to confirm what I know; I’m an overly protective and anxious Mother who is deathly afraid of losing another child. A Mom who would give anything to keep her middle son home just a little while longer, however, I am a Mother. I am a sad wife who is so overwhelmed with her own struggle she doesn’t have much left over for her equally broken husband, however, I am a wife, and we have always been a team. I am a sister with brothers who love me. I have a father every girl should be blessed to have, who is helping to understand this by reading every word of every post and talking with me about it and encouraging me to keep writing.  I am a daughter. I am a friend who feels like she saps the blessed life out of all her incredibly supportive and loving girlfriends, however, I am a friend. I almost deleted my blog today because it also seemed useless and insignificant, however, I am a writer and I don’t want to delete my blog. I want it to help someone, someday. God has given me this call and so I will write. Nancy, from one of my favorite blogs, An Intentional Life  wrote to me to today, confirming what was already heavy on my heart.

“I encourage you Jenn… keep your words coming, even when they are messy raw and hard. Your story and your courage to keep showing up will bring hope to another… and sometimes in that moment it will be enough.” 

Tell Your Story

Tell Your Story

I can keep showing up. I know I can do that much. Thinking this could bring hope to another ignites purpose in my heart again. Blessed purpose and even more- blessed hope. I wish that purpose and hope didn’t come and go like the wind, but it just does. I am not tethered well yet. Do I wish more than LIFE that “who I am” could have been a DIY blog or a Food blog? Heck yeah. But it’s not. I am so grateful I read Nancy’s post on finding time to create “sacred spaces in your life.” Oh my gosh. Those times like this, where I can sit with myself and pour my heart and tears into words are truly sacred. They are healing and they honor my son. If this truly is something I am supposed to do, then I know God will drop it into someones life who need it. I wish I could physically be there with those Moms, but they have my heart and my words.


If I can allow and push my mind to look beyond this cloud of tragedy, confusion and life-clutter for a minute, I can see something. It’s better and good and it’s promised and I want to trust in it. Trust.

It sounds so easy.

Trust God for it.

Trust God again.

I see who I was and who I can be again. If He makes all things new, then I will be a new me. Scarred and different, but new. I knew love and happiness and security for so long, I can at least imagine it again and I can start to thank God for it again, in faith.

Just a little faith,

mustard seed faith.

I can do that. I will keep believing against the grain.

  • Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
    Luke 12:6-7 NIV


  • I praise you, Lord, for being my guide. Even in the darkest night, your teachings fill my mind. I will always look to you, as you stand beside me and protect me from fear. With all my heart, I will celebrate, and I can safely rest. I am your chosen one. You won’t leave me in the grave or let my body decay. You have shown me the path to life, and you make me glad by being near to me.
    Psalm 16:7-11

…and my favorite

  • Because what you hope for is kept safe for you in heaven. Romans 8:28

The Cloak Of Grief

Cloak of Grief

I heard an analogy that grief is like a cloak that you can never take off, but rather must wear for the rest of your life. Some days the cloak is light and you don’t feel it much and some days it’s so heavy it’s hard to move or breathe. There is no perfect analogy to explain this, but “the cloak” can at least help explain the constancy of grief. The person you are grieving is constant, never ceasing, in your mind- morning, noon and night, causing physical discomfort at best and inexplicable torment at worst. But there, always. My … Continue reading