Posted in A Mother's Grief, Bereavement, Death of a child, Grief

“Time takes us farther away…”


I have battled to blog. I feel that my words are rehashed from one post to the next. My emotions are the same.

My DiL and the three girls have spent 3 weeks in South Africa. It has been amazing hearing the patter of little feet down the passages, shrieks of laughter and anger… I will always cherish the little arms around my neck, the warm little bodies in my bed. I cherish the time I got to spend with my DiL; the chats into the early hours of the morning and the countless cups of tea. It reminded me of when Vic was still alive. I dread leaving England on Monday to return to my solitude and grief.

I feel guilty about posting my same tearful stories of grief and I feel guilty that I have become embarrassed by exposing my soul to the world – friend and foe alike.

The past four weeks life has been easier. I have laughed and smiled. I have had fun.

In 8 days’ time it is Vic’s birthday. I am filled with trepidation as to how I will cope. The second I think of Vic, tears well up in my eyes and there is this stabbing pain in my heart. I have decided that I will not move Vic’s ashes into the garden. Vic will remain on the sideboard where I can see her and run my hand over her little casket. Vic will not be exiled into the garden. She is part of our lives and she will remain exactly where she is.

I am wondering whether I should bake Vic favourite chocolate cake… The boys want to send up Chinese Lanterns we actually wrote messages on, on New Year’s Eve 2010. Vic was desperately ill in hospital and moved into ICU on the 1st of January 2010. She was devastated. The staff allowed us to spend the evening with her.

Vic being moved to ICU on New Years Day 1

At 12 O Clock we went outside to send up the Chinese lanterns. It rained and we undertook to do it when Vic was home again. Somehow we never did. When we returned to the ward, the staff had assembled in the visitors lounge. Someone had conducted a Mid-Night service. The staff sang beautifully and prayed for the patients. Many of them laid hands on Vic. Vic cried. Jon-Daniel was inconsolable. We all cried.

One of my blogger friend’s sent me this email “Oh, Tersia. You are held tight in the grip of horrific grief. Simply knowing that someday you will wrench free from such a suffocating grasp brings no relief at this moment. You already know you cannot fight it. Flow with the “ocean of tears.” A great deal of the horror is behind you, but you are reliving it. I distinctly remember that the WORST time in my grief came at six months and followed me until the end of the first year. Like an amputation without anaesthesia – you are deeply suffering and so many people feel your pain. Keep writing, crying and feeling. The ocean of tears will take you to a new shore. Time takes us farther away from our loved one. That is the agony and the anaesthesia. Such conflict that creates! Feel my hug because I’m with you.” http://judyunger.wordpress.com/

Another one of my blogger friends, Julie, is taking a sabbatical from blogging. She wrote “Just until my heart catches up with my voice. So much is happening, and so much is not happening – argh!”

I wonder whether my heart will ever catch up with my voice…

Author:

I am a sixty something 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

17 thoughts on ““Time takes us farther away…”

  1. Having just this past week celebrated, no wait that is the wrong word grieved the birth and death of my child I know how you are feeling. I have such conflicting emotions in August as it is my middle daughters birthday on the 17th and Klysta’s on the 20th it is so hard to be happy for one while grieving the loss of the other. I give you my love, prayers and hugs.
    You have not bothered anyone with revealing what is in your heart over many writes Tersia we all realize it is your heart and we love that open honesty about how you are feeling, it helps the rest of us know we are not crazy for feeling the same way. There is something to be said for hearts and souls coming together in love and support of one another across cyber space, love is felt through those waves of technology.

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    1. Thank you so much Len. Two weeks after Vic’s birthday Jon-Daniel will celebrate his first birthday without his Mom. Oh my friend it is so true – our hearts and souls have come together – united in our grief – over cyberspace. Much love.

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  2. So sorry you are still in the grips of such deep grief. You must wonder if it will ever end. Like I told my son after his grandfather died: he wouldn’t want you to mourn forever, I’m sure Vic would want you to be happy again. I send you thoughts of peace and love to help you through to the other side.

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  3. Sending you loads of love. I know I can’t understand what you’re going through, but I”m sorry you feel so guilty. It’s okay that your grieving hard, there’s so much you went though when she was with you, I’m sure your heart is still grieving your pain too. This is also a year of firsts. I can’t imagine how utterly torturous that would feel Be gentle with yourself. We’re here for you whether you blog or not xo

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  4. I’m thinking of you, as always. Just so you know – even if I’m not saying anything (I’ve been so busy with moving), I read all that you write and I think of you every day. We are in this together. You found me (thank God) as soon as I started blogging and you’ve been here ever since. I wish I could hug you; if I did, we’d probably drown in our tears. But I take comfort from you, I do. Tell me when Vic’s birthday is so I can light a candle for her. And since I can’t actually give you a hug, I’m sending you one. More than one. Many. Many, many, many.

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  5. Still cheering you on, Tersia, though I often don’t know what to say; others must know much better. In that photo, Vic, though desperately ill at the time, still looks lovely. She will always be lovely and young in your memory, though you would have loved to see her turn grey in late middle age. You are right to hold on to the ashes if it feels right to have them as part of the house.

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  6. So glad you had the chance to be with the rest of your family this month. I pray the Lord renews your strength and determination to keep on keeping on minute by minute. ❤

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