Back When I Hated Gardening

Back when I thought I was Super Mom, I hated gardening. Period.

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I liked fast results. I liked maximum gain with minimal time put in. I liked twice the profit with half the work. And plants don’t grow overnight…

“An utter waste of time!” I thought.

Tilling.

Fertilizing.

Buying topsoil.

Scooping, shoveling, back breaking work.

Spending more money on seeds and plants than I would spend at the grocery store.

Planting.

Watering.

Pulling weeds.

Rocks, Aphids, more watering, more weeds…Ugh. I give up! Not worth it!

Until a couple years ago.

When someone dear gave up on me. When the enemy began to whisper lies: You’re hopeless. You’re not worth it. You’re not worth fighting for. You’re not worth loving. You’re not worth their time!

I then came to my garden to work in silence. And I felt peace.

Why did I start to love gardening?

Because God gently spoke to my heart while I worked. He said, “You are worth caring for! See how you care for this garden? This is how deeply I care for you!” And it became to me the most accurate picture of what God does in our lives: He literally finds a patch of land (our hearts) and slowly begins to work the soil.

Gardens all look different. Some have huge rocks, others are full of clay. Some are overtaken with weeds, others have disease. Some may even have a rattlesnake or two. But God never sees a life where he just throws up his hands and says: “Nope! I give up! This ones just too much work! Not worth it.”

We have infinite value to God. 

Let me say it again: You have immeasurable worth.

You are worth loving.

You are worth saving.

You are worth His time and care.

You are worth it to Him.

And so in my garden, I peacefully work. Often I think the fruit it bears isn’t worth the time. I could probably buy it for less from the store. But then I think of his tenderness and love and I say to myself: “If this garden reminds me of Him, then it’s worth it.”

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It’s Not Ok

Some days can be exhausting as a mother, believe me, I have five kids – I KNOW. And while many times I enjoy the energy and giggles (…ok more like shrieks and screams) in my house, sometimes it just WEARS on you. I know. I sometimes just want to sit in my room in silence and lock all the doors. I GET IT.

But the other day I had a conversation that literally caused me to choke back tears, not because I didn’t relate in some form to the mother, but because I realized at that moment how horribly mean us mothers can be.

Yesterday I was talking to another mom about how her Christmas Break had gone –  and I kid you not, she gave an exaggerated sigh, rolled her eyes and said in a loud voice, “My kids are driving me CRAZY!! They are SO annoying! I just can’t wait until I can give them back to the school to deal with! Like I love them, but I need them gone!”

Stunned at her boldness, I quietly managed out the words, “Oh, that’s too bad.” And looking at my shocked expression, she softened her tone and gave me a smile, “Oh it’s not THAT bad, but it will be nice to have them gone so I can sit in peace again.” And I nodded, regaining my composure and smiled back, “I understand.”

Truthfully though, that conversation has haunted me all day. It broke my heart. Because one thought plagues me…what if her child had overheard her?

What if any child had overheard her?

I can’t imagine the pain of overhearing my own mother say that about me. Luckliy, I grew up in a much different time, where mothers simply didn’t say such things about their children.

Now, that same day, my six-year-old son came back from his Sunday school class with a picture in his hand. On the paper he held there was a question: “What makes you happy?”

His response? “Mom and Dad”

The contrast of those two moments are forever burnt in my memory.

Mothers, it’s okay to have hard days. It’s okay to break down in tears. It’s okay to need space. It’s okay to leave the room. I TOTALLY understand.

But you know what’s not okay? Saying hurtful things about your child. PeriodEven if you’re joking around.

It is OUR JOB to pour out unconditional love on our undeserving littles, not the other way around. But more and more I see the roles being reversed and children loving their parents unconditionally, while their whiny parents complain about having to put up with them.

This is not okay.

I’m so far from perfect, it makes me want to cry. Often I have to go back to my kids and apologize for hurtful and careless things I’ve said…again and again and AGAIN.

But more and more our culture is getting callous to these mean hearted “authentic outbursts.”

Let’s not become callous to them. Let’s not find them funny. Please, let’s just not go there. Because under each tiny child is a soft, tender heart – yearning to be loved by YOU.

So watch your words carefully, Moms, for the sake of your little one who – when asked what makes them happy, responds ever so sweetly: “My mom.”

I Just Can’t

One of the biggest mysteries to me when I first got saved was how God could actually change who I was.

I always thought: but isn’t it actually me who is changing myself? Aren’t I the one making the decisions to change?

 I think part of the reason we become so confused about the concept of God changing us, is that we confuse obedience with a legalistic form of trying to attain our own righteousness apart from Christ. Obedience is really quite simple, while attaining our own righteousness is impossible.

On one hand, sometimes God will command us to do something that we can do, it’s just that we don’t really want to. Any example of this is when God prompted me the other week to shut down my Facebook account. Sure, I had about twenty good reasons to listen, from privacy issues, to wasted time…but on the other hand, there were just as many why I didn’t want to do this.

What will become of my blog? I wondered. Most of those who read it are reading it because of Facebook.

His answer? You were never supposed to be writing for them anyways…

Ok, God. I hear you. Loud and clear.

I deactivated the account. Not because Facebook is wrong, but because God saw something that needed to be accomplished in my life away from the spotlight of Facebook.

This is the one aspect: God commands, we obey.

The second one is harder though, because it happens when we recognize that our deeply imbedded habits are not lining up with God’s will for our lives. It’s these habits, these behaviours that we turn to when we’re broken and weak, tired or full of shame. This can include things such as addictions to alcohol, media, food, etc. Or it can be attitudes such as pride, bitterness or shame. It can also be reactions like anger, lying, and gossip.

Now, we can try to stop them (in other words try attain our own righteousness) but usually we just continue to fail and indulge in them all them more. Sometimes, the harder we try to stop them, the worse they seem to get. It’s these things that we are powerless to change without remaining in God. We can not do it. We simply will fail again and again.

We can not change our sinful nature. Only the work of Jesus on the cross can. If we actually think we can change ourselves, we have no business pretending that we need the cross.

A week ago, I had a picture while spending time with Jesus. We often talk about laying our sin and burdens down at the foot of the cross, but the picture I received gave me so much more insight into God’s grace.

Here is the picture: I was sitting on a picnic blanket covered in garbage. Not just wrappers and empty soda bottles, but the real rotten, disgusting garbage – representing my sin. The stench of it stung my nose and the horror of the fact the it was all sitting out like this in the open, where everyone could see it brought me into a panic. I quickly scooped it all up so that it was hidden within the blanket and I held it over my shoulder like a sack, looking desperately for a place to get rid of it. I couldn’t carry the load much longer it was so gross and heavy too. In the distance, I saw the cross and I knew what I had to do. Wearily dragging along my garbage, my sin, I came to Jesus. But instead of setting it at his feet, I lifted the load over my head and placed in on his shoulders. The weight of it pulled on the nails in his hands and he groaned. The garbage leaked through the bags dripping down his back. It was soiling him and causing him excruciating pain.

And it was here that the cross became unbelievably personal: MY SIN CAUSED HIM PAIN. ACTUAL PAIN.

It wasn’t just a casual moment like, “Oh hey Jesus, while you’re taking out the trash for everyone else can you take mine out as well?”

It was very real. Very personal. Very humbling. 

But the picture didn’t stop there. As I look up with shame, Jesus then calls out my name. He looks at me with eyes of love and speaks the words, “I love you, Heather. This is why I came.”

This is the view we must have of the cross. Our sin matters a LOT. It caused him pain. But he wants us to come and bring it to him. That was the whole point of the cross! Not a licence to sin more. Not a reason to cower in shame…but a reason to come and repent, to find true freedom and lasting peace!

He didn’t do this all so we could go on living in darkness like the world, doing whatever we please, but so that we could live in light, for him. ALL for him.

“But whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I’ve lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I might gain Christ.” Phillipians 3:7-8

It’s at this point where we cling to him, admitting our absolute inability to do anything good at all. In this state of weakness and clinging to him, God begins to work, which is why this confuses us so much…because God’s works cannot be explained!!! 

That’s why we call them miracles.

Salvation itself is a miracle. The greatest of them all.

We think of raising the dead, in the flesh, as being one of the “big” miracles, but in reality I think that is very easy for God to do. He just has to speak the words and life comes forth. But forgiving our sins?? That came at a great price…he had to give his very life!

It’s this ongoing work of the Spirit in our hearts that requires us to cling to him for all we are worth. If we part from the vine, we shrivel up and die. We are fruitless, lifeless, worthless – like a twig snapped off a tree. But when we remain attached to him, we grow, we flourish and we begin to bear fruit.

As much as the world tells me that I can do anything if I just try harder, the cross tells me otherwise.

It says: YOU can’t…but I can. 

 

Dear Seniors: We Need You

After visiting with my grandparents and my husbands grandmother this weekend, my heart was filled with love, compassion and at the same time with shame. Love at how wise, how gentle, how strong, selfless and caring they are. Compassion at how their strength and memory has faded into at times confusion, helplessness and weakness. Shame in how I’ve often forgotten these precious people who have poured SO much into their families. Shame in how little credit I have given them for the hard work they’ve endured, for the godly values they’ve instilled into their children and grandchildren. And I felt remorse at how little help I’ve offered them throughout the years, when they needed it.

They’ve missed me. And I haven’t always been there.

But surprise was mixed into all the feelings above because when I sat down with them and shared moments reminiscing I had the realization that I desperately need them too. Perhaps even more than they need me. This revelation is what brought me to writing this open letter to the beautiful seniors that live among us.

 

Dear Seniors,

We need you. A lot.

I need you. My eyes fill with tears as I write this.

I am a young Mother. I have the energy that you probably wish you still had. I am in good health, while yours may be starting to fail you. And I’m well aware that many days you just wish you could have the energy, clarity and youth that I still possess. You may be wondering what I could possibly need from you. Maybe you already know what you have to offer, but you have been so forgotten, so pushed to the side, that you no longer feel like anyone’s willing to listen.

If this is you, I’m so so sorry.

The very fact that I have to write this at all, speaks volumes on how much my generation has failed you.

How much I’ve failed you.

When you slowly lose the abilities to do the very things you trained your children to do, when your once strong back gives way, when your once sturdy hands begin to shake, it is then that we seemingly put you into a separate home, to be cared for by strangers and we forget you. I’ve forgotten you. And the sad thing is, that not only has this hurt you, it has hurt my generation as well.

Because we need each other. 

Right now I am in the busiest season of my life: Parenting. Parenting, as you may remember, has it’s ups and downs. It is a beautiful season that flies by all too quickly, you tell me.

And I know you’re right.

I need to hear these reminders because you’ve been here too once, in my stage of life. You once were also swarmed by little children and endless tasks. And in your wisdom you whisper: Enjoy it. Soak it all in. It will soon be over.

You speak words like this to me and I need them, because although you have been in my stage of life, I have never been in yours. You understand what it’s like to see children leave your home, one by one. You understand what it’s like to look back and feel regrets. You understand, looking back, what was important and what wasn’t so important. You understand what makes a marriage last, and what damages one beyond repair. You understand that people are more important than things. You understand that money can’t buy you everything and everything one day fades away into nothing. And I need you to remind me of these things, because when you do, I take these words to heart.

It’s because of words such as these that when my fifth child was born, I wanted to enjoy every moment of his growing up. And at first, this was easy. But as time rolled on, he began to cry and cry. This was a very difficult time for me. He screamed everywhere I would bring him. For almost two years I was unable to meet with people and carry on a full conversation or even participate in a church service. As a result of being so isolated, I was becoming more and more worn down. I felt frazzled everywhere I went. But more than that, I felt alone. So very alone. Sometimes all I wanted was just someone to sit beside me during a service so I could feel like I was a part of the body of Christ as well.

That is, until Mr. Steve.

Many seniors come to a place where they realize that they do not have the energy they used to (even some middle aged folks feel this way). They feel that they are not as fun or as capable as the younger generation to do service, so silently they step back from ministry, feeling like they’ve “done their time” and that they are doing everyone a favour by staying out of the way.

But not Mr. Steve…this sweet older man stepped out and decided to volunteer in the kids ministry at church. And not in just any area either…he braved out the 3s room. That’s right. He was surrounded by approximately 50 toddlers EVERY Sunday morning.

Let me tell you about this kind, gentle man, who realized that his serving time was not “done” but that he had MUCH to offer these precious children.

Mr. Steve wasn’t as “fun” as many of the other helpers. He wasn’t quick on his feet, or as energetic. He had his own way of doing things. But when Emerson came in screaming Sunday after Sunday, Mr. Steve did something that changed everything for me. He gently took my boy, flailing limbs and all, and spent one on one time with him. Every Sunday He would patiently hold, talk to, and play with Emerson, until Emerson would settle down and me and my husband could go into the service. Pretty soon Emerson became Mr. Steve’s “boy”. They would play puzzles and trains together. Mr. Steve would bring his own puzzles from home to give to Emerson as gifts. They developed a very special connection. Mr. Steve didn’t talk much, but his consistent and quiet presence was just what Emerson needed.

Some people may shrug and say, “no big deal! It’s just babysitting!”

Ummm…No. It wasn’t just babysitting.

Mr. Steve’s act of service literally changed everything for our family. Emerson began to enjoy church. He began to see it as a place of warmth and love, not of discouragement and tears. Yes, he still cried most Sundays when we dropped him off, but he settled down quickly. And no matter how sad he felt when we dropped him off, he always had the biggest smile when we picked him up from kids church.

In my own life things changed as well. I could breathe again. Instead of struggling on my own trying to survive the lonely days, I felt refreshed. I was encouraged. I felt like I was a part of Christ’s body, rather than alone on an island. I was strengthened to become the Mother my children needed me to be. It was for only an hour and a half every week, but that little bit of time was all I needed. I was spiritually renewed and I came back able to pour into others (I now also help out in the 3s room)!

All because of one senior who cared.

Dear precious seniors: You MATTER.

Maybe you physically are unable to do something as ambitious as Mr. Steve…but there are LOTS of things you can still do. Because we need you. My children need you. I need you.

I need your wisdom, your advice about marriage, about faith, about the lessons you’ve learnt. Your knowledge and years of experience are like treasure, worth far more than money can buy.

My children need your friendship, your gentle touch, your patient care.

I need your encouragement and your prayers.

We need to see you and remember that life is short, that our busy days will too one day slow down, this reminder in itself brings wisdom and insight.

We need you to remind us that when all is said in done, the only thing that will matter to us is who’s lives we touched, not how fancy our house was, or how stylish our clothes were…not whether we could afford a brand new car or whether we drove an old clunker. None of those things will matter at all, rather one question will remain: Have I been faithful to do my best?

So please, PLEASE, don’t check out. Don’t see yourself as “past your time” or “inconvenient”. Don’t fade out of our lives. Keep calling to talk or to arrange visits. Forgive us when we seem like we’ve forgotten you in our busy schedules. Be patient with us if we forget to visit. It doesn’t mean that we don’t need you. In fact, quite the opposite, it probably means that we need you to remind us all the more to slow down and take time for the people in our lives. Because people like YOU change lives.

I know, because you changed mine.

 

 

I Only Planted the Seeds

I only planted the seeds.

You tilled the ground and made it fine.

It was you who broke the hardened soil, and worked through each new line.

You added nutrition to the dust and fertilized the dirt,

Scraping every inch of earth, though your hands, they bled and hurt.

You sifted through rocks and plowed the weeds, under the beating sun.

Never once giving up or shutting your eyes, till the work was done.

I only planted the seeds.

How great I must’ve thought I was, far bigger than I am;

To think that I should be the one with the master plan.

For you caused the sun to shine its warmth, and the cool, wet rain to fall;

You kept the creatures and the bugs from devouring it all.

And yet I cried out: How unfair! I wanted to see it through!

After all my work in what I did, I never witnessed the fruit!

But really, I only planted the seed, it was never my job to watch it grow.

How hard to admit it’s up to you, harder still to let them go!

For that little seed was planted with care, with tears and with my heart!

How then could I step back and let it wither, couldn’t I play a bigger part?

“These things take time, my dear,” you spoke to me,

“Your job is done! Now let it be.”

Oh that I could see what came from my tiny, dead, old seeds! I may never really know.

For it was only my job to plant the seed, now it’s yours to make it grow.

A Mother’s Poem

I wrote a poem the other day with the purpose to describe some of the thoughts and feelings that run deep within a mother’s heart.

I know that poems aren’t everyone’s thing, however, I strongly believe that certain emotions can not be fully expressed in an article format, but only caught in glimpses of time. So I used snapshots of everyday life in each stanza to help capture the full essence of what it is to be a Mother.

A Mothers Poem

Deepest dreams come true, the best moments of life! Tiny hands reaching, stroking, hugging; my heart is melting! Pulling, grabbing, pinching; okay, now leave me alone!

Panic sets in. Where is he? Have my worst fears come true? Am I the horrible mother they think I am? There, he sits outside playing safe and sound. One quick glance calms the fears but, for just one more moment.

Heart swelling, that’s MY little girl. Pretty, smart and strong. Where did that confidence come from, or those lovely full lips? But those deep blue eyes are all mine.

Sit down for a breath and work stacks up like Jenga blocks, just waiting to come crashing down on my head. Just one more moment, just another second. Outside, the kitten just lies still while the dog devours it, until I knock on the window and save the poor soul. I guess I got up.

That time you came and told me that my thighs jiggled when I ran and I laughed so hard with you, but when you left, I cried. They were once firm like yours.

Just over this wave, is another one really coming up so fast? Waiting for the calm in the storm. Another question I can’t answer, another job I won’t do. But no one else does it either, so I guess I will.

When I dumped a full bucket over you and the shock on your wet face made me laugh. Squealing, because you smiled with revenge. A small glimpse in time but forever burnt into my memory. See, Mommy can have fun too.

Am I in this alone? Sometimes. Me, and a billion others. On an island of kids. Make those smoke signals high, no one will come. Find help for yourself. If you have any idea where to start looking for it.

The girl sings softly as she wanders alone, two boys dig in the mud together, each with a stick, searching for some hidden treasures that are lost to the rest of the world. The littlest one lovingly pets that poor kitten the wrong way. And I take it all in like a breath of fresh air. The best day.

No! You ruined it! It can never be replaced! Your sticky hands, marking it forever with a piece of you. The regret isn’t the tiny fingerprints but the way your eyes dropped down when I yelled. I’m so sorry.

Is it the end of the day, or the beginning of the night? Really can’t tell anymore. What is sleep? The lights are on and off like a summer lightening storm, while the rest of the world sleeps in peace.

Peace. When the work is done, when they lie down still. Peace. When the nightmares fade and the light in the bathroom glows softly, just in case.

Sleep soft, sweet angels, Mama loves you with every aching breath.

Just Keep it to Yourself

Yesterday I was at the grocery store with three of my children. My youngest who’s three, usually sits in the cart to save me from a lot of chaos in the store as he’s a runner. This time however, he begged to walk beside me and I knew that I would have a full cart so I let him. Sure enough he was constantly running from me so I tried my best to finish up shopping quickly. I had so much food that I had to carry a bag in one hand and push the cart with the other…and with our family of seven, all that food only lasts for a week!

I realized my dilemma while leaving the store: a running three-year old, a busy parking lot…so I stopped before exiting the doors and very seriously explained to Emerson that he needed to hold on to the cart and not run as there were cars driving all around and it was dangerous. He nodded and his cute, pudgy little fingers curled around the side of the cart. We walked together into the lot, my older children right behind me, Emerson beside me and he was listening great!

But then he saw our van and he BOLTED towards it.

What his three-year old eyes didn’t see was that the van right next to ours was beginning to back out of its spot and was headed right for him. Obviously the driver couldn’t see him because of his size and I immediately let go of my cart and my groceries and ran toward him screaming his name. The van screeched to a halt a split second before hitting my little boy. By now I was in tears, Emerson was in tears and I picked him up scolding him, hugging him, and kissing him. The young lady who was driving got out, thinking that she had already hit my son, and I assured her that it wasn’t her fault and that my son was fine. She told me that hearing my scream had stopped her.

The groceries were left on the van and the counter when we got home, I simply held my precious boy. My day could’ve looked a lot different. It could’ve ended with losing him, with mourning, with funeral arrangements. But by the grace of God I get to hold him close.

In fact this is just one of MANY “close” calls I’ve had with my five kids. I could tell you about the time my oldest got lost at a park with a big pond when he was just a toddler…I was certain he had drowned. Or the time a tractor with a pull behind swather unexpectedly passed by the field beside our house while my child and his kittens were playing on it…the kittens both died, my son got out of the way just in time. I have often thanked God for the hand of protection he’s had over my children because as hard as I try, I can’t ALWAYS be there.

A generation ago people understood this. People understood that most parents would die for their children and would never put their children in a situation where harm would come to them. Previous generations comforted and cared for parents when there was loss. They understood that as hard as we try to protect our children, accidents happen. Tragedy strikes and NO ONE is to blame. They understood that the death of a child is not the time to start spewing off “whose fault it is” or “safety precautions” or most definitely not the time to start the dreaded “I would’ve never” speech.

Enter social media: a superficial platform of entitled millennials hidden behind the safety of a screen. Where internet trolls and cold-hearted foe really care less about the child or the family’s loss and pain, but they come for the newest story to comment on. Where perfect parents abound and are ready to spew their fountain of knowledge in the form of hateful comments at any and every tragic news story. If a child slips from their parents grasp and falls into a gorilla cage at the zoo, these vultures are there screaming out comments like “they should’ve shot the mother instead of the gorilla!” When a child drowns, “Where was that mother? She should be charged…I would never let…” blah, blah, blah.

The mother should be shot? For taking her kids to a zoo? She should be charged? With what, may I ask? For having the worst flippin’ day in her entire life? For not being Captain America? What would this help the world? Would it bring justice? Would it bring her beloved child back? Would it “teach” her or anyone else a lesson?

Actually, yes…it would teach us all a lesson! You know what it would teach us? That in our moment of greatest need, tragedy and pain, people are nothing more than a ruthless mob, thirsty for more blood. It would teach us that what we all fear the most is true, no one really cares…we just want someone to blame. And you, the mother are the easiest target.

And it’s not just the commentators, it’s also the “professionals” and the “officers” that feel inclined to comment at the end of every news article things such as “this is a reminder to all of us to keep young children in arms reach when near bodies of water” or “seat-belts aren’t just there as a suggestion, they are there to protect your life!” Now, I’m not saying these things shouldn’t be said, but people, there is a time and a place! And using someone’s tragedy as a platform to spout safety rules is not the time nor the place!!!

I want to finish this by sharing a heartfelt Facebook post written by a Mother who suffered an unimaginable tragedy. I asked Ashley if I could share what she wrote with my readers because the attacks on Mothers in their moments of greatest pain needs to STOP! She wrote:

“As some of you know, I have gone through every mother’s worst fear. On June 2nd, I lost my youngest son in a horrible car accident. I was driving. I had pulled away from a gas station, checking each buckle, and I began to drive the curvy, mountainous road to my family’s house. My son was notorious for doing everything he could to unbuckle in the car…We tried five point harness seats, boosters, I believe even zip ties at one point (probably not safe either) but he always viewed it as a superhero challenge. He was a superhero because he always succeeded. On average, I would usually pull over three or four times on any given trip to firmly make him buckle up again. We were only five minutes out when a large rock rolled into my lane. I had three choices: try to straddle the rock, move to the oncoming lane which was a double line large curve with an angry river at the other side. Rock, head on collision, river. I chose the rock. I chose wrong. And yes, he had already unbuckled along with his 8 year old brother. (They were switching spots and I didn’t know.) The rock hit my axle, and sent us plummeting into the side of a cliff. Our 13 passenger van rolled and my son was instantly gone. Our lives were instantly ripped apart. The little boy who had been my pride and joy was cruelly taken from me in a matter of seconds. I remember being smashed between my console (no airbag engaged) and our three ton van. I had blood everywhere. I fought and fought and then blacked out. When I awoke, I was unbuckling my baby from her car seat (she was upside down) and working to get each child (5 of my children were with me) out of the van. When I came to Titus I worked with all my might to lift the heavy van off his tiny body. My 8 year old son was trying to help me. I could only see the lower half of his body. I rubbed his tummy and tried gentle compressions. But he was already gone. It was instantaneous, which only brings me comfort because I know he felt no pain. What followed was a blur. I refused treatment from the paramedics until they let me hold my dead son. All my children were whipped away and taken to an ambulance to be cared for. I was life flighted and sedated, for the shock made me inconsolable. It was two days later that I saw it all over Facebook. A news report reporting the death of my child as if they were reporting that the weather might change, or a new planet had been discovered. I was thankful they reported that no drugs or alcohol had been a factor. But that’s not what hurt. The readers commented the cruelest things about how horrible of a mother I was. How I deserved it. How my children should be taken from me. I wanted to punch them, shake them. Tell them how close we were, how hard I fought to keep him safe. How we had a special good night kiss and a designated McDonald’s date each week. I wanted to scream that he always told me he wanted to marry me, that I was the best mama ever. That he built me Lego ships, took naps in my bed while holding my hand with his dimpled little fingers…”

People, this is NOT okay! This NEEDS to stop. We brag about how far we’ve come from ancient times, on how accepting we are as a society, on how compassionate we are and then we turn and rip those hurting among us to tiny shreds! Instead of rescuing those who are drowning in sorrow we pull them down the whole way to make sure they don’t get back up! And it happens to EVERY SINGLE FAMILY that ends up in the news.

I don’t ask you to do this often but if you’re reading this, I’d like you to share it… because it seems that my generation needs to be reminded of something that was once just normal etiquette: when tragedy strikes, when someone loses a child, when there is a difficult situation of loss, or pain…if you can’t give any word of encouragement, love or comfort…then please, for heavens sake, do everyone a favour and keep it to yourself!