The holidays are often a difficult time after the loss of a child. Christmas time especially can be difficult when you sense most people are in the celebrating mood, but you're still just trying to survive.

The silence was the first thing that settled. Not a peaceful quiet, but a thick, suffocating blanket that pressed down on the house, on their chests, on their very souls. Clara was gone. And with her, the laughter, the vibrant chaos, the sheer *life* that had filled every corner of their existence. For weeks, the world outside continued, oblivious.

Sunlight still streamed through the windows, birds still sang, and the mail still arrived, a cruel reminder of a normal that no longer existed. For Sarah and Mark, and their surviving son, ten-year-old Leo, time had fractured. Days bled into nights, marked only by the gnawing emptiness in their stomachs and the aching in their hearts. Sarah, a whirlwind of energy before, moved through the house like a ghost, her eyes vacant. She’d trace the patterns on Clara’s unused art supplies, her fingers trembling. Mark, stoic and practical, tried to hold things together, but the effort was Herculean.

He’d stare at Clara’s empty seat at the dinner table, his fork hovering, his appetite a distant memory. Leo, tiny and fragile in the face of this immensity, retreated. He’d build elaborate Lego fortresses in his room, his only companions the plastic figures that couldn’t understand the profound sadness that permeated their world. He’d whisper to them, his small voice a fragile thread in the silence, recounting stories of Clara, his voice cracking with unshed tears.

The first flicker of *survive* came not as a grand revelation, but as a desperate, primal urge. It was a Monday morning, a week shy of two months since the accident. Sarah, staring into the abyss of another day, felt a tremor deep within her. It wasn’t hope, not yet. It was more like a primal instinct to just *keep breathing*. She got out of bed. She didn't make breakfast. The thought of it was nauseating. Instead, she went to the kitchen sink and splashed cold water on her face, the shock a small, welcome jolt. She looked in the mirror, her reflection a stranger. But she saw a flicker, a faint spark behind the shadowed eyes. That spark, however small, was enough.

Mark, seeing Sarah emerge from her bedroom, her hair unbrushed but her feet on the floor, felt a similar, though less defined, stirring. He found himself making toast. It was dry, burnt around the edges, but he put it on a plate. He didn’t expect anyone to eat it. Leo, drawn by the faint clatter from the kitchen, peeked around the doorframe.

He saw his parents, his usually vibrant mother looking gaunt, his steady father’s shoulders slumped, but they were *there*. They were present, in the same space. It was a minuscule shift, but it was a shift. The next step in their survival wasn't about forgetting. It was about *enduring*.

They started small. Sarah began tidying Clara’s room, not to erase her, but to honor her. She folded Clara’s favorite t-shirts, her touch gentle, her tears falling onto the soft fabric. It was an act of love, however painful.

Mark, instead of trying to avoid Clara’s things, began to sort through her books. He read passages aloud, his voice thick with emotion, sharing Clara’s love for stories with Leo.

Leo, at first withdrawn, would listen from the doorway, his Lego creations momentarily forgotten.

They didn’t force conversation. The grief was too raw, too vast. But they started to be *together*.

They’d sit in the living room, not talking, just existing in each other’s presence. Mark would read the newspaper, Sarah would stare out the window, and Leo would play quietly on the floor.

The silence was still there, but it was no longer entirely suffocating. It was punctuated by the rustle of pages, the soft whir of Leo’s toys, the quiet breaths of their survival. One

evening, Mark found Sarah looking at old family photos. Tears streamed down her face, but for the first time, there was a hint of a smile.

"Remember this trip to the lake?" she whispered, pointing to Clara, her arms around a younger Leo. Mark sat beside her. "She loved that kite," he said, his voice husky.

Leo, drawn by their voices, came to them. He looked at the photo, his brow furrowed.

Then, with a small, brave gesture, he reached out and touched Clara’s smiling face in the picture. "She always got the kite stuck in the trees," he said, a faint hint of a giggle in his voice. It was a tiny moment, a fragile ripple in the ocean of their sorrow. But for Sarah and Mark, it was monumental.

It was the first sound of laughter in the house since Clara had been gone. It was the first real connection they had felt as a family in weeks.

Survival, they were learning, wasn’t about erasing the pain, but about finding ways to live alongside it. It was about acknowledging the gaping hole Clara had left, but also about tending to the parts of themselves that were still beating, still breathing.

They started taking walks, small, hesitant excursions into the world. Sarah would point out flowers, her voice still quiet, but no longer numb.

Mark would hold Leo’s hand, his grip firm and reassuring. They learned to appreciate the simple things – the warmth of the sun on their skin, the taste of a shared meal, the quiet comfort of each other's presence. They didn’t pretend. They didn't put on a brave face for the world.

Their grief was evident, etched into their tired eyes and subdued demeanor. But within the walls of their home, a new kind of strength was emerging. It was a quiet, resilient strength, born from shared pain and a fierce determination to not let Clara’s absence extinguish their own lives.

Months turned into a year. The initial shock had faded, replaced by a persistent ache. But the silence was no longer absolute. There were whispers, then hesitant conversations. There were shared memories, tinged with sadness, but also with love.

There were moments of genuine connection, fleeting but precious.

Leo, no longer building fortresses of solitude, started drawing again. His drawings were filled with bright colors, but there were always streaks of blue and grey, and a figure with a halo of sunshine. He’d show them to his parents, his small hand reaching out for their approval.

Sarah started cooking again, not for herself, but for her family. The meals were simple, but they were made with love.

Mark found solace in gardening, tending to the flowers Clara had loved, his hands in the soil, grounding him.

They would never forget Clara. Her absence would always be a part of them. But they were surviving, not by erasing her, but by carrying her memory forward, by living lives that honored her spirit.

They were learning to breathe again, to connect again, to find moments of beauty in the midst of their profound loss. Their survival was a testament to the enduring power of love, the resilience of the human spirit, and the quiet strength found in the simple act of choosing to live, one breath, one moment, one shared memory at a time. If you are grieving the loss of a loved one please know there is hope and you can find it at griefshare. New Hope Church Minnesota has a Griefshare Surviving the holidays seminar coming up in November. For details you can contact New Hope at Newhopechurchmn.org

Broken heart syndrome is all to common and real after the death of a loved one

I began volunteering one day a week at the Legacy thrift store ( formerly Bibles for Missions). My assignment is to greet the people at the loading dock who are bringing belongings they no longer need. Every once in a while, I will encounter someone with a truck full of their deceased loved one's belongings. I could tell as I listened to them that it took a lot for them to go through their loved ones 'stuff and finally bring it to the thrift store. The timeline when they do it is as unique as the person they lost.

This brings me to the topic of broken heart syndrome. I read several news accounts of celebrities who, after they lost a loved one, suddenly die of this condition.

There are countless other examples of this type of death. I mention this because, all too often, I see people postpone processing the trauma from a sudden loss of a close loved one. I am likely to see more women attending grief support groups than men. Men who do seek out a support group often come after realizing that alcohol or drugs are not the solution for resolving their deep, inner pain. Trauma needs to be verbally expressed, not hidden deep inside the person who is grieving. Ask any doctor, and they will acknowledge the deadly nature of trauma. Endless sleepless nights, too much alcohol to numb the pain, unhealthy snacking, and isolating oneself out of shame are all common after such a loss. As people spiral downward, their health symptoms worsen. Addiction to food or chemicals during this time puts undue pressure on the heart, causing issues like palpitations. On the Mayo Clinic website, there is this information on what to look for. Palpitations that are infrequent and last only a few seconds usually don't need to be evaluated. If you have a history of heart disease and have palpitations that occur frequently or worsen, talk to your health care provider. You may need heart-monitoring tests to see if the palpitations are caused by a more serious heart problem.

Seek emergency medical attention if heart palpitations occur with:

Chest discomfort or pain Fainting Severe shortness of breath Severe dizziness

This is why Grief Share recommends that after a traumatic loss, you should see your primary doctor and let them know about your loss. Your caring doctor will likely order some tests to help them monitor the situation.

The most important reason is that you need to be there for your surviving loved ones. They need you around, and abandoning them with your sudden death only complicates their grieving.

There is a spiritual component that can help you through the trauma of your loss.

It's leaning on Jesus Christ who lives in your heart. He hears you every time you cry.

He senses you every time you shake from the trauma.

He is your redeemer who loves you more than you could ever know.

If you're not sure you know Jesus, all it takes is asking Jesus to come into your life.

The bible says in John 5:24, "Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life. He does not come into judgment, but has passed from death to life." A simple prayer of confession and yielding your life to Jesus is all it takes to have this assurance. Finally, I usually recommend you find a grief share group nearest you. Some make the mistake and postpone going to this group, but the sooner you can start, the sooner you will begin saying your loved one's name while sharing your story with the other participants. As you continue on this uncharted journey of loss, you will notice the tenderizing effects it has on your body and mind. You will notice how God has made you sensitive to the needs around you. You're no longer thinking like a narcissistic self, but everywhere you go, you are thinking of the other person's needs.

God has a plan to make you whole again, but also to use you in ways he couldn't before. In Isaiah 43:18-19 are these words, “Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert."

This is the beautiful part of what it means to walk with God through grief.

At last nights Grief share group we covered the unit on fear, anxiety and anger

28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-29

On my way home, I heard the story of a world war 2 veteran that was captured and held in a Japanese interment camp where was held captive and was subjected to untold torture. When the war ended and he returned home to America, this veteran continually held those dark secrets deep in his soul.

Many years later when his own son died, he finally cracked. I wish the outcome was he sought help from the VA, but the reality was he committed suicide. To him, this was his way of escaping the pain of those long lasting images of war and the recent death of his son.

Today, we continue to hear of heart break stories after the loss of a loved one.

In fact, after such a loss, we come face to face with the proverbial fork in the road. One part leads to seeking professional help to recovery, while the other fork leads to drug and alcohol addiction, anger and isolation. Some become so paralyzed that they can't seem to get out of bed.

Anger can become so debilitating that it can cause some to stop going to church, or open their bible. Their faulty perception becomes," why would a 'good' God take my loved one? Whey couldn't he have taken the criminal with a extensive rap sheet instead instead of my loved one who did everything good in this life?'Only God truly understands the pain of his people. Only He can see the well worn sandles on their feet and their moist eyes from crying.

As the video went on the conversation switched over to the act of forgiveness. Jesus's death on the cross and his resurrection enabled him to become our intermediator between us and God. He enabled all of us to invite the living savior into our heart, and with that God's whispering Holy spirit in times of trouble. He enabled us to be able to bring our concerns, our worries, our anxieties, to God.

We learned about the importance of journaling our concerns, our worries and our anxieties.

For me, putting that on paper allows those thoughts to become a little less traumatizing. The life of your loved one may be over, but your life is still going- don't let the loss of your loved one define you. It is when we lean into our savior that God gives us a heart of compassion to help others to others.

Picture, if you will, seeing Jesus waving for you to take the right path, but the pain has caused you're eyes to cloud over so you can't see the Savior. It is when you get up and acknowledge all of your fears to God when your eyes focus on the living savior and you see Jesus waving you to come toward him the the chosen path he has for you.

Unresolved grief can often lead to post traumatic stress much like the world war 2 veteran who couldn't bare to go on after the loss of his son. God loves you and has a plan for your life. Lean into the savior and he will eventually reveal that plan.

There is help to help you recover. I recommend you check out Griefshare.org and find a group near you. Griefshare is a 13 week group that will give you the skills you need to process the emotional pain of your loss.

Dennis Praeger's first public speech since he was injury in 2024.

I asked Ai to write a story of the day all of our electronics died. This is what I received

Title: The Day the Screens Went Dark

It was an ordinary Tuesday morning when the world suddenly fell silent. At precisely 8:00 AM, every electronic device across the globe ceased to function. Phones, computers, televisions, and even the most basic appliances went dark, leaving humanity in a state of bewilderment.

In a bustling city, Sarah, a dedicated marketing executive, was preparing for a big presentation. She had spent weeks crafting the perfect pitch, relying heavily on her laptop and projector. As the screen flickered and then went black, panic surged through her. She rushed to her colleagues, only to find them equally disoriented, their digital tools rendered useless. The conference room, once filled with the hum of technology, now echoed with confusion and anxiety.

Meanwhile, across town, Tom, a paramedic, was on his way to a routine shift. His ambulance, equipped with state-of-the-art communication devices, was silent. As he arrived at the station, he found his fellow paramedics grappling with the same issue. Without their radios or GPS systems, they had to rely on their training and instincts to navigate the city. The absence of technology forced them to connect with each other and their patients in a way they hadn’t done in years, fostering a sense of camaraderie and teamwork.

In a nearby school, Ms. Jenkins, a high school science teacher, faced a different challenge. Her classroom, usually filled with interactive displays and digital resources, felt empty. Yet, instead of despair, she saw an opportunity. With no access to screens, she took her students outside, encouraging them to observe the natural world. They discussed the principles of physics while watching birds soar and leaves flutter. The day transformed into a hands-on learning experience, igniting a spark of curiosity that technology often overshadowed.

At a local café, the barista, Leo, found himself in a unique predicament. With the cash register down and no way to process payments, he had to think on his feet. He decided to serve customers on a first-come, first-served basis, allowing them to pay what they could with cash or barter. The café became a hub of community spirit, as strangers struck up conversations and shared stories over coffee. The absence of technology created an atmosphere of connection that had been missing in the fast-paced digital age.

As the day wore on, the initial chaos began to settle into a rhythm. People adapted, finding new ways to communicate, work, and connect. Sarah, instead of giving her presentation, organized a brainstorming session with her colleagues, leading to innovative ideas that had been stifled by reliance on technology. Tom and his team responded to emergencies with renewed vigor, relying on their training and instincts. Ms. Jenkins’ students left the classroom with a deeper appreciation for the world around them, and Leo’s café became a gathering place for community bonding.

By evening, news outlets reported that the global blackout was due to a massive solar flare, and technicians were working around the clock to restore power. But as the sun set, many found themselves reluctant to return to their screens. They had discovered the beauty of human connection, creativity, and the simple joys of life without the constant buzz of technology.

When the electronics finally came back to life, the world was forever changed. People had learned to appreciate the moments that often went unnoticed, and a newfound sense of community blossomed. The day the screens went dark had illuminated the importance of connection, creativity, and the human spirit.