New Year's Resolutions for Bereaved Parents

As bereaved parents, we know that some days are going to be difficult ... our child's birthday, their Heaven Day, Christmas, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Thanksgiving, etc.  But another time that can be just as hard (or harder) is New Year's.

For some, there may be a sense of relief that a painful year is coming to an end, but for most, the thought of facing their first (or yet another) whole year without a precious child can be incredibly difficult.

I've never been much of a New Year's resolutions kind of person, but a few years back I put together a list of ten resolutions for myself that I like to review each year about this time.  I've posted these before, but I've tweaked them just a little bit and thought I'd share them again.

1.  I resolve to ... Look forward to the future and not spend time agonizing over the "If Onlys". These things are in the past, they cannot be changed, and it is a waste of my time and energy to be consumed by them.  These thoughts draw me away from doing the things God wants me to be doing today.  And I believe that it dishonors both my child and my Lord when I remain stuck in the past and refuse to move forward.

2.  I resolve to ... Extend grace to those who inadvertently add to my pain by making well-meaning, but inappropriate comments.  And I refuse to replay those hurtful words over and over in my mind, thinking about all the things I could have or should have said, that would have put them in their place.  I will remember that I, too, have said unintentionally hurtful things in my own clumsy attempts to comfort others.

3.  I resolve to ... Extend grace to those who avoid me, or who are clearly uncomfortable talking to me about my child.  They're just afraid.  They don't want to add to my pain, so it's easier just to steer clear of me.  I will remember that I have been that person, too.

4.  I resolve to ... Help others understand what I need from them.  If I need to talk about my child, I'll explain to them that it helps me to talk about her, even if it does make me cry.  If I need to be alone for awhile, I'll ask them to respect my solitude.  If I just don't have the energy for chit-chat and smiles, I'll explain to them why.  If I need to celebrate holidays in a different way, I'll discuss it with them ahead of time.  If I don't know what I need (which happens a lot!), I'll even tell them that.

 5.   I resolve to ... Be patient with myself.  Grief takes time ... much more time than I ever realized before.  I will give myself all the time I need, and not try to rush it (even though others may try to rush me along).  I will be gentle and kind to myself and the fellow grievers in my household.

6.  I resolve to ... Find some joy in every day.  There's a difference between happiness and joy.  Happiness is dependent upon circumstances, and happiness can be pretty scarce sometimes.  But joy is God-given, and it is possible to still have joy even in the worst of circumstances.  And it doesn't have to come from big things.  It can be found in little things ... dew on a spiderweb, the sight of your favorite pet greeting you at your doorway, the sparkle of sunshine on the water, the feeling of pulling on a pair of new warm socks on a cold day.  I resolve to look for and appreciate those things.

7.  I resolve to ... Be grateful for the 17 1/2 years I had with Hannah.  I would rather have had her and lost her than to never have had her in my life at all.  And when I consider the fact that I haven't really "lost" her, but in fact, I will spend eternity with her ... the gratitude just overflows.

8.  I resolve to ... Recognize and rebuff the attacks of Satan.  He knows that I'm vulnerable right now, and he would like nothing more than to destroy my witness and to tear my family apart.  He wants me to believe his lies -- that I'm somehow responsible for my child's death; that God is punishing me for some sin; that if only I had had more faith or if I had prayed more, my child would still be here today.  I refuse to allow Satan to have a foothold in my life.

9.  I resolve to ... Depend upon what I know to be true about God, and not on what my feelings are telling me.  So much of the time, my feelings and emotions are completely out of control and unpredictable.  I can laugh and cry and be angry and happy all at the same time.  I can be fine one minute, and sobbing the next.  And I may not even know what triggered the meltdown.  My feelings will lie to me (See #8), but God's Word always tells me the truth.  To keep this resolution, I must spend time with Him, and be intentional in prayer and Bible study.

10.  I resolve to ... Remember that I can do none of these things on my own.  I have no power within myself to keep even one of these resolutions.  It helps to talk to other moms and dads who understand what it's like to miss your child so desperately.  It's great to know that I'm not alone in this thing ... that I'm not the only one who struggles with these things.  But even more than having the support of other bereaved parents, it is critical that I lean on my Heavenly Father for strength.  Because it is only in Him that I can find the strength to keep these resolutions.

"And He has said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.' Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ’s sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong."  II Corinthians 12: 9-11 (NASB)

Never-Ending Christmas

Hannah Joy, Christmas 1992

Do you remember being a little kid on Christmas morning? The excitement of tearing into those presents with the shiny paper and sparkling bows?  The thrill of new toys, games, clothes, books?  Do you also remember that feeling of disappointment when the last gift was opened and Christmas was "over"?  I don't know about you, but I always looked carefully around the tree to make sure there wasn't just one more gift that maybe I had overlooked.  After all, I had looked forward to this day all. year. long.  It couldn't be over already!  And do you remember how quickly the newness wore off of the things that brought so much excitement under the Christmas tree?  It wasn't long before they were broken, or used up, or grown out of, or simply weren't cool anymore.  The "after" of Christmas can feel very empty.

The things, the experiences, the stuff of this world will never satisfy.  That's because we were made for another world.

Where the shine never wears off because Christmas never ends.

Where every day is better than the one before.

Where all our tears will be wiped away.

Where all that was so very wrong in this world has been made right.

Where every empty place is filled and every broken heart is mended.

Where we will sit at the feet of Jesus with our loved ones beside us (or maybe even in our laps).

And we'll never have to worry about it being "over", because it will last forever.

All because God stooped down, reached into our world, and was born as a baby in the humility of a stable.

Grace beyond imagination.

Mercy beyond merit.

Hope beyond all expectation.

Love so exquisite we cannot even begin to comprehend.

"Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men."  Philippians 2:5-7 ESV

Thank you, Jesus.

You Might Be A Bereaved Parent ...

We bought a much-needed new car this past summer ... a Nissan Pathfinder.  Our 2007 Toyota Camry had served us well, but with over 220,000 miles on it, we just couldn't trust it for long distance trips anymore.  And as the While We're Waiting ministry continues to grow and we spend more time on the road, something bigger was needed to haul all our "stuff" around.

Our purchase included a free trial of Sirius satellite radio, and we enjoyed it while it lasted.  One station that I particularly enjoyed was one that featured brief comedy routines by stand-up comics.  As I chuckled along with Jeff Foxworthy doing one of his "You Might Be a Redneck" routines, I began to wonder what a "You Might Be a Bereaved Parent" list might include.

Here's some of what I came up with ...

If you've ever laughed and cried in the same ten-second time period, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever put an article of your child's clothing in a zip-loc bag because it smells like your child, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever left an empty Coke can sitting in one place for months (or years) because it was the last thing your child drank, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you ever find yourself seeking out a seat at the end of the aisle and close to the door so you can leave a church service/concert/ball game/school event/graduation/baby shower quickly, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever cried through an entire church service/concert/ball game/school event/graduation/baby shower, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you still have your child's phone number stored in your cell phone even though you personally canceled his phone service, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever called your child's phone number, knowing she wouldn't answer, but you just couldn't help yourself, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever been dumbfounded by the insignificant things people complain about on Facebook, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever smiled and said, "Fine" when someone asked, "How are you doing?" even though it was a lie, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever tried to run away from Christmas, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever wanted to throat punch someone who said, "At least you have other children," "God must have needed him in Heaven," "You can always have another baby," or some other such nonsense, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever had to restrain yourself from typing a snarky comment to a parent bemoaning their child's first day of kindergarten/high school graduation/week away at summer camp on Facebook, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever typed a snarky comment to a parent bemoaning their child's first day of kindergarten/high school graduation/week away at summer camp on Facebook, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever stuttered around on your response when asked, "How many children do you have?" you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever lied when asked "How many children do you have?" because you just couldn't deal with the deer-in-the-headlights look at that particular moment, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever choked when the waitress asks, "How many?", you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever gotten out 4 plates for dinner and had to put one back, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever avoided an entire aisle at the grocery store because it contains your child's favorite food, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever slept with your child's hairbrush/stuffed animal/pillow, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever dreaded having a family picture taken, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever been moved to unquenchable tears when singing a song about Heaven, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever found yourself marking time by "before" and "after", you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever looked at a picture of yourself "before" and wondered who that person is, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever wondered if/how to plan a birthday party for someone who's not going to be there, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever been told, "You're so strong ... I could never be that strong," and you know that you're really not strong at all, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever heard, "I don't know how you do it," and you don't know how you do it either, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever had to make absolutely unthinkable decisions at a time when you're least prepared to make them, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever found yourself feeling completely alone in a crowd of people you once knew very well, maybe even your own family, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever wished you could just completely disappear during a particular month or months, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever been left gasping when someone posts a picture of your child that you've never seen before on Facebook, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever felt grief so heavy that it was literally difficult to sit upright, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever been jealous of older people because they're probably going to get to Heaven before you do, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you've ever thought you might be going crazy ... or are pretty sure you really are going crazy, you might be a bereaved parent.


That's a very negative list, isn't it?  And understandably so.  The loss of a child is an incredibly painful, life-changing experience.  But, that being said, it's not without some positive things as well, particularly if you have a sustaining faith in a good, loving God.

Here are a few which come to mind ...

If your focus on the here-and-now has been replaced with an eternal perspective, you might be a bereaved parent.

If your penchant for small talk has been replaced with a desire to discuss weighty topics of eternal significance, you might be a bereaved parent.

If your shallow relationships with others have been replaced with deep, rich, life-long friendships based on common bonds you wish you didn't have, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you find yourself appreciating and savoring every moment you have with your surviving children, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you find great joy in watching your surviving children grow up, because that's what children are supposed to do, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you live with a heightened awareness that bad stuff happens, and you need to make the most of every opportunity you have to spend time with your loved ones, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you find yourself with a desire to learn all you can about Heaven, because your child now lives there, you might be a bereaved parent.

If you are deeply saddened and moved to heartfelt prayer every time you hear about a parent who has just lost a child, you might be a bereaved parent.

If, because of an awareness of the fragility of life, you have a new urgency to show people the hope that is only available through Jesus Christ, you might be a bereaved parent.


If you are a bereaved parent yourself, and would like to get connected with others who understand the experience of losing a child, I encourage you to check out the While We're Waiting ministry.  Click here to visit our website, or here to join our faith-based Facebook community for bereaved parents.