Time to say Goodbye is a beautiful song and I especially enjoy the André Bochelli and Sarah Brightman version. It was the boys and my theme song on this holiday. A Time to Say Goodbye and heal….
As we toured Europe we lived Vic’s dream. It was her dream to go to Italy, stand in the Cistern Chapel, drink cuppachino’s on the streets of Rome, wander through the Christmas Mart stalls savouring the smell of Gluhwein and melted cheese….
I am filled with profound sadness every time I think of my child. Even if she lived Vic would never have been able to make the trip. The flight would have been too long, the cobblestone streets impossible for her wheelchair, the bus trips too long…
I cried when I saw the Pietà in the Cistern Chapel. This beautiful piece of art in a convoluted way symbolised Vic and my lives…
Both Mary and I were child brides. She was much younger than I was when she gave birth to Jesus – it is written that Mary was 12 years old at the time of her Son’s birth. Her child filled with wisdom and teaching as was mine… I once again realised, on this trip, how infinitely wise Vic was. She knew that I would have to remove myself from everyday life to heal.
She made me promise to do this trip with the boys.
Looking at the Pietà I saw a mother holding the body of her lifeless child. Tears filled my soul when I remembered holding the body of my lifeless child. For a fleeting moment I felt the heat that radiated from her fever wracked little body. I could hear the thundering silence from her breathing that had stopped…
I saw the lonely sadness of a mother isolated from the world in her grief. I recognised that isolation that I experienced at the second of Vicky’s death.
I stood there and realised that it will never change. I will always be isolated in my grief and longing for the child that I lived for. No one in the world could possibly love her the way I did. She was blood of my blood.
She loved her boys the way I loved her. She loved her boys with every fibre in her body. Her thoughts, fears and sorrow centred on her sons until she breathed her last breath. The blood of her blood. Her future…
Standing in front of the Pietà I realised that the closest bond is the bond between a mother and a child. Not a child and a mother…. Children move on and live for their children
Walking the streets of Europe I was filled with an all-consuming anger. Anger at God, anger at careless doctors; angry at a horrific disease called Osteogenesis Imperfecta. I was angry at the fact that my child was robbed. Robbed of a life with her boys. That I was robbed of a lifetime with my child.
As the old Year is edging towards the New I am filled with trepidation and horrific sadness. Not only for my Vic but for the many who crossed my path this year and who are enfolded in their own grief.
So much pain, longing and sadness as we look to starting another year without our loved ones.
I have survived my birthday, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Jared’s birthday. I have cried on my own, in the shower, in shops. I have been filled with rage and despair when I saw all the Christmas cards “For my Daughter”… I will never buy another card for my precious child. I will never be able to open gifts with her under the Christmas tree. Nothing will ever be the same again.
In three weeks’ time it will be Vic’s 2 year anniversary. Two long years without my child, my best friend…
I read that it gets worse as time goes by. It does get worse. The raw sadness has dissolved into a steady all-consuming pain. The longing to hold her one more time overwhelming.
And, although I know that it is Time to Say Goodbye I know I will never move on.
Vic's Final Journey 
Hugs
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I think of you, Tersia, and Vic’s boys and I cry for you and rejoice in your ability to soar, just like this wonderful music – much love, Juliex
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Oh my dear friend your post has me in tears, not so much for me but for you, your lonliness, your pain, your suffering I wish with every ounce of my being I could bring Vic back to you. As I approach the 4 year anniversary of Klystas passing I can tell you it does get worse, it does not get better just easier to hide the pain from others. Feel my heart Tersia at this time it is crying for you. much love my friend xxx
*http://about.me/lencarver *
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Thank you dear Len.
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Oh, Tersia – you describe your grief and raw anguish so clearly. The process of Vic’s death and the last months of her agonizing life was difficult for me to watch. It was a pittance to how you lived it and I knew it was something godawful for any human to experience. Your bond and devotion to Vic was something death could not even sever. I think that the second year is much harder than the first. From my own experience I can say that although I miss my child, I have found peace after many years of torture. Keep writing your true feelings. I know for me, writing helps to release my pain. I am so glad you took that trip. I sense you were inspired and uplifted during many moments , despite coming to grips with your devastating grief. Sending you a hug and wish for a better 2015.
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The second year was definately much harder than the first. So far this year my grief has deepened and I see the boys are also battling. Thank you for caring and your good advice! You are a very special friend and I treasure your guidance. Love you my Cyber Friend
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I see the wisdom of your daughter making you promise to go on that trip. In all that you experienced – the images, the new memories – you were able to bring your grief to the surface yet again. It is only on the surface that we can pick away at it, that we can expose it to the oxygen-rich air and allow it to form it’s scab. My second year without my husband was worse than my first – I think in part because the shock had worn off and there was no more pretending it was a bad dream. You WILL move on, but your footsteps will leave a different print that you don’t even recognize for a long time. Thinking of you on your journey forward.
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I agree – the second year was terrible. You are right Kath – my footprints are changing. I miss my old footprints…
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Yes, the closest bond is between a mother and her child and how do you move on from love? Hugs to you.
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Lovely post! I wish for you, that it does get easier as the years go on. Vic may not be here in body, but her spirit will always live in you and the boys. May you have a peaceful year ahead.
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Beautiful post. About 10 weeks after my daughter Julia died, I was in a lovely church with a statue of Mary, holding the dying Jesus. I will never forget standing in front of that statue knowing that Mary and I both know what a mother feels as she watches her child suffer and die, something others can’t even imagine. I’m not Catholic, and even though I had seen many statues of this scene many times, it took on much deeper means and feelings.
Taking the trip, sounds both difficult and comforting. You fulfilled your promise to Vic. Wishing you moments of rest from the sorrow I know you feel.
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this song has always sort of haunted me. i do love it so and can hear it now as i read your post.
it was beyond wonderful that you were able to make this pilgrimage. although i couldn’t understand most of the comments i have followed the postings faithfully. knowing that you are still in so much pain breaks my heart. to see the two sides of your life, the agony of losing vic and the joy of traveling and seeing family, colliding filled me with awe. you are such an inspiration. to know that other’s who have this kind of loss are able to read your post and know they are not alone gives me peace in an odd way i suppose. you honor vic while enduring your own suffering. i so admire your honesty and raw emotions of both ends of the spectrum.
she is watching proudly. sending you love and yes very big warm hugs:)
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