3 Months Ago

Every day I go to Vic’s Facebook page to see whether someone remembered her… I leave her messages… Today at 14:18 I dialled her mobile number out of habit.

Exactly three months ago I knew my child’s life had been reduced to hours…I knew that her little body could no longer fight whatever infection was raging in it.  Her temperature was off the chart… the thermometer only registers temperatures up to 106 °F (41.5 °C) and then goes onto “HI”.

It was this time, three months ago, that Vic’s breathing changed.  Three months ago it was Vic’s last night of breathing.

Earlier that day I fell asleep next to Vic – my hand on the pulse in her neck.  I was so exhausted I could not think or function.  I just needed to be with her every second of her last hours.

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The boys came to say their goodbyes…

I no longer allowed visitors.

I remember lying next to her recalling a discussion we had when I had flu and was running a fever.  I am a terrible patient.  I am such a ninny.  I remembered saying to Vic “Sweetie, when I am dying please don’t let people touch me…”

“I won’t” she promised.  “My skin also hurts when I am running a fever…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?  It must irritate you when I stroke your hand or hair when you are sick?”

“Because I know you need to touch and hold me when I am sick…” she said.

“I will never to it again.  So next time you are running a fever know I want to hold your hand and stroke your hair…”

“It’s okay Mommy.  You can hold my hand.  I don’t mind.  It hurts but makes me feel better…”

“That’s an oxymoron if I have ever heard one in my life!” I laughed and Vic joined in

That night, three months ago, there was no idle chatter or laughter in the house.  Just the sound of Vic’s breathing.

Tonight, three months later, everyone has gone to bed.  There is no sound of laughter or idle chatter in the house.  Earlier tonight there was.

I keep imaging that I am hearing Vic’s footsteps shuffling down the passage. The boys have lit extra candles for their mom.  I know that they are sad.

I am aware that the dynamics of my grief is changing.  I am starting to function, smile and look “alive”.  The numbness has gone.  The pain is real now.  My sadness is constant.  I go to sleep with tears in my eyes and wake up with tears running into my hair.  My grief has become “mine”.  It has become a constant companion.  I do not want to share it.  I want to embrace it.

I know there is so much to be grateful for, I know I wanted Vic’s suffering to end, I am grateful that she is no longer fracturing vertebrae from vomiting, crying with pain… I KNOW all of this on an intellectual level.  I try to tell my heart to be happy or at least grateful, but my heart won’t listen!

I don’t want to sleep tonight.  I want to lie awake and remember my beautiful baby girl, her warm smile, her tiny little hands and her pure soul.  If I fall asleep I pray that I will dream of my baby girl…

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I am a sixty plenty wife, mother, sister, grandmother and friend. I started blogging as a coping mechanism during my beautiful daughter's final journey. Vic was desperately ill for 10 years after a botched back operation. Vic's Journey ended on 18 January 2013 at 10:35. She was the most courageous person in the world and has inspired thousands of people all over the world. Vic's two boys are monuments of her existence. She was an amazing mother, daughter, sister and friend. I will miss you today, tomorrow and forever my Angle Child. https://tersiaburger.wordpress.com

14 thoughts on “3 Months Ago”

  1. I am glad you are at the point you are embracing your grief…it is a small step in the semi-healing process. Life does go on it is far from the ‘norm’ we once knew but it does go on and there will be times when the sheer rawness of the grief and pain will erupt but it is a necessary part of life now necessary to help us keep our sanity. My heart and prayers are with you (((xx)))


  2. “I do not want to share it. I want to embrace it.”
    I get that x

    I am glad you are smiling x
    I am glad you want to embrace your pain x
    I am glad Vic is in no more pain x

    I am glad I found you on here as a friend to share our life with.
    You are a strong woman, your are courageous to share.your story..

    As I sit here crying after reading, I want to embrace this also.
    Feeling your pain is almost like me taking some of your pain.
    I know you will make sense of this.

    I am here, always…
    Hugs from Scotland

    Shaun xx


  3. I’m so often at a loss for words now when I read about the unbearable pain you are in. But I will say this, dearest Tersua, you are on my mind always. Love and hugs.


  4. I have said the same thing to my husband. I’ll let him know that something hurts and he’ll be like “Oh no! But I do that all the time!” and I’m like well I know, it hurts but it’s also nice. Such a strange feeling!


  5. Your heart won’t listen because no parent should have to comprehend the pain yiur daughter went through or the loss you have experienced.


  6. I’m ashamed that as a writer, I am at a loss for words. Sharing this, Vic’s final hours, your torment…your courage. Above all I am in constant awe of your courage. Courage is one of the four cardinal virtues, along with prudence, justice, and temperance. (“Cardinal” in this sense means “pivotal”; it is one of the four cardinal virtues because to possess any virtue, a person must be able to sustain it in the face of difficulty.) You found a way to sustain you courage as you embraced Vic that night…knowing for her, there would be no morning. I am so stunned and humbled just getting to know you. You have the fortitude and wisdom, to open you very soul to we who have watched you journey, in pain, and at times in joy. You share your grief, agony, hope, love, and yes, courage, and you draw in all of us to help you lift you beyond grief…I simply love you, Tersia. Vic is with you…and through you, I imagine she is with us all, What an incredible gift you have given us. I embrace you tightly and because of you, I’ve found the strength to reach out to you and offer you my enduring friendship and support.

    With love, such love…



    1. Dennis, Thank you so much for your beautiful words of love and support. The boys and I hold onto the beautiful poem you wrote in memory of Vic. With much love and respect.


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