Oh God, I am drowning again. I pray that I will go to bed tonight and never wake up. I know it I stupid because it would kill the boys and cause others that love me so much pain, but I cannot face life without my child.
I was looking at posts on “The Grieving Parent”, a Bereavement Facebook page for parents (https://www.facebook.com/TheGrievingParent ) and it just made me feel so inadequate and weak. Bereaved parents speak of the healing they have experienced….I don’t know whether I ever will heal. Tonight, like yesterday and the 82 days before tonight, I fear that my life is over.
All parents love their children. Some have a closer bond than others. The mother /child relationship is the closest relationship anyone will ever find. There is a bond between a mother and child that cannot be broken or destroyed.
Vic’s death cannot “remove” her from my life. My love for her is never-ending and all-enduring. For 9 months I nurtured her in my womb. For 38 years I nurtured her in life. My life revolved around Vic.
Did we have a perfect relationship of never arguing, fighting or being angry with one another? Hell no!! We went through the different stages as all mothers and daughters do.
As a toddler and pre-teen Vic loved me with unshakeable conviction. By the time she entered her teens we reached the stage where we disliked one another… We always loved one another, but we certainly disliked one another at certain stages of our lives. It was a tumultuous swing in our lives…
Vic was extremely headstrong! She wanted to go to boarding school and that she did…She married early in life, against our wishes…Not because we disliked Colin but because she was too young. Vic got married 6 months after her 21st birthday. Six weeks later she fell pregnant against ALL doctors advice. She had two children at the risk of losing her own life and passing on the Osteogenesis Imperfecta disease and/or gene.
Vic also refused to die. Vic refused to be “sick”. She got dressed into normal day-clothes every day of her life. She refused to hand over the responsibility of her children’s upbringing to anyone regardless of how ill she was.
Vic did what she did when she wanted to. If she believed in something she would defy anyone and everyone. She was driven by her need to grow up and live her life to the full. The relationship shift from child to adult was very difficult for me to accept.
Our relationship changed after Vic had the boys. Maybe because then there was a greater level of understanding, by Vic, of the enormity of the responsibility that a mother has to her child…..
Vic was not a saint. She was a difficult teenager and a fiercely independent young woman. Yet our mother-daughter relationship was ultimately fulfilling. I was certainly not the perfect mother. I failed Vic on many levels. We were so different that we found it difficult to understand one another’s choices and needs.
Despite conflicts and complicated emotions, Vic and I loved one another unconditionally. We complemented one another perfectly. Vic so often said “God knew what He was doing when He put us together….We are such a good team!”
I am grateful for the time we spent together. I wish I had spent less time working and more time playing…I wish I had been less concerned about Vic’s financial care. I wish I had been there when she took her first steps…I got the hospital time. Her healthy time I spent working – playing catch-up for her hospital time… I wish Vic had grown up in a home with a mommy and a daddy…
In her later life Vic became a child again. She was totally dependent upon me. I did not have to “compete” with a spouse to take care of her. In the final months of Vic’s life she had panic attacks when I was away from her. In a weird, sick way my life was perfect. My baby was home. I could love and nurture her…
I wish we had more time…
In the final days of her life Vic cried “I want to live. Mommy I don’t want to die… If only I could live for one more year…”
I would give everything I own; every second of my remaining life; everything I love and cherish for Vic to have lived just one more year.
Wednesday I found another white feather floating in the sea…
Thursday we went to a famous wine farm, Spier. Spier has bird and cheetah sanctuaries. We wandered around and decided against the rather sophisticated meals served. We decided to find a coffee shop or boutique restaurant – something quainter than the rather commercial option available.
We were fascinated by a beautiful falcon and even more magnificent looking owls. Spier is a wonderful place to visit.
We left and decided to be adventurous and ignore the GPS. We drove in an unknown direction on the lookout for something quaint. We drove for two kilometres when we found an interesting sign…Aspidistra Nursery and Tea Garden.
We decided it sounded quaint enough.
It was the most amazing Tea Garden. I expected fairies to jump out from the beautiful flowers. Chimes merrily tinkled and chimed in the gentle breeze…
We had a delightful meal. It was so peaceful we just sat and chatted. WE spoke about how much Vic would have enjoyed the garden and how much we miss her. We exchanged funny stories about Vic and decided to have desert. I ordered the scones (Vic and my favourite). The presentation of the scones was amazing!
“Mom would have loved this!” I said
A white feather floated down onto the table…
“You got your white feather Oumie!” Jared said.
I must be honest that when I started looking there were white feathers everywhere. There were white pigeons sitting in the trees.
After our leisurely lunch we walked through the nursery part of Aspidistra and my wildest expectations were surpassed! It was beautiful. Plants and flowers were displayed in beautiful handcrafted containers; ribbons were swaying in the breeze.
Then I saw it! The perfect angel for Vic’s garden of remembrance!
It is a handmade, one of a kind, angel – just like my angel child. Perfect – just like Vic!
The angel is being couriered to our home next week.
I desperately miss my little girl. I don’t want to be planning her Garden of Remembrance – I want to be planning our trip to Italy. I want to be having a cup of coffee with my child not putting an almost empty bottle of coffee in a memory box.
I walked back into our home after a wonderful 12 day vacation in Cape Town and the grief overwhelmed me again. The emptiness of the house truly got to me again today…
Will I ever feel happy again? As I am typing I can hardly see the screen of my laptop. I cannot stop the tears.
I cannot believe I ever thought it would be better for Vic to die… I cannot believe I have to face the rest of my life with this empty hole in my heart. I cannot bear the sorrow. I want to hold my little girl and hear her say “I love you Mommy”.
I want to see her smile when I say “I love you with all my heart Angel”
That Little Penny In The Car Park
Remember this every time you pass that little penny in the car park.
(I always thought that it was for good luck, but I love this version better)
I found a penny today
Laying on the ground.
But it’s not just a penny,
This little coin I’ve found.
Found pennies come from heaven,
that’s what my Grandpa told me.
He said Angels drop them down.
Oh, how I loved that story.
He said when an Angel misses you,
They drop a penny down;
Sometimes just to cheer you up,
To make a smile out of your frown.
So, don’t pass by that penny
When you’re feeling blue.
It may be a penny from heaven
That an Angel’s dropped to you.
Pennies From Heaven – copyright
Charles L Mashburn
1998
Earlier this week I received this little poem on my mobile phone from a friend. Strangely enough I had also read it on Bereavement for Parents’ site just hours before… I thought back to a horrible day in my life when my Dad and I saw a coin lying in the street. My Dad bent down and picked it up. “This is from the angels. Always keep it – it will bring you good luck”. I dutifully put the coin in my purse and thought “how will I ever know which one is my lucky coin”….
Over the years I always remembered my dad’s words when I saw a coin lying on the ground…
Two days ago we were sitting in a restaurant in Cape Town when I saw a coin lying between chairs. I immediately thought of the poem I had read just days before and remembered my Dad’s words.
I looked at the coin and thought to myself “What a coincidence. Same poem within the same week and then a stray coin…No! This is too easy…. I want a feather as a sign that Vic is with me.”
I did not bother to pick up the coin. I have thought about the coin a couple of times and regretted not picking it up!
Jon-Daniel and I went for a long walk on the beach today. We walked ankle-deep in the sea not talking at all. I was walking along all teary eyed. The thought crossed my mind that this was something Vic could never do – take long walks on the beach…. I was thinking how I wish she was here in Cape Town with us….
The waves rolled in caressing the sand and then slid back…The sand was so clean and perfectly “even” as the waves receded back into the sea. I looked at Jon-Daniel thinking how sad he was looking. I knew, he too, was thinking of Vic.
My eyes followed a wave rolling out when I saw this perfect white feather lying motionless in the sand where minutes earlier there was water….
I felt immense peace and joy. I knew that at that moment my precious child was walking next to me. I knew that she had seen my tears mingle with the salty sea water and that she wanted me to know that she was with me.
I heard the last words she ever spoke “Mommy I love you…”
Signs that Angels Are Around You
How to Tell when Angels Are Around Us Jo Ann Schlicker, Yahoo! Contributor Network Sep 10, 2010 “Share your voice on Yahoo! websites.
Angels appear to people of all religions and sometimes to people who do not believe in anything. The Bible and other holy books are full of examples of angelic messages and appearances. The word angel comes from the Greek word “angelos” from the word “ev-angelos” which means the gospel or good message. Angels carry messages from God to humans.
Dreams
In the Christian Bible, angels often spoke to people in a dream. One angel visited Joseph in a dream and told him of Mary’s baby conceived via the Holy Spirit and he should not put her aside as was the custom.
An angel warned Joseph to take a different route home after the birth of Jesus because the wicked king wanted to kill the infant. Jacob dreamed of a ladder of angels leading to heaven.
Many more examples showing divine messages from heaven exist in the Bible and the literature of many cultures and religions.
Do angels send you messages in your dreams?
I love you messages
Many people believe that angels bring “I love you” messages from heaven. Angels send calling cards and little gifts for those who are open and receptive to them. People often say they receive angelic gifts of comfort or warning against danger when they feel sick or discouraged.
So, how do you tell that there are one or more angels around you? Here are some signs that many people recognize.
Feathers
Feathers show up in unusual places and when you least expect them. Angel feathers are white, fluffy, and seem to fall into your path for only you to find. Sometimes, they glow with colors and radiances you never see in birds.
Coins
Most people find money from time to time. Some say that angels purposely toss coins into your path. The denomination of the coin and the message on it all hold clues to its meaning. One person may find pennies while others find dimes everywhere. Money signifies support in finances, emotions, spirit, and physical being.
Rainbows and butterflies
Rainbow promises sometimes show up from nowhere. After the great flood, God set a rainbow in the sky as a sign of His promise not to destroy the earth by water ever again. Double rainbows, and rainbows captured in dew or mist are especially significant. People sometimes think of butterflies as tiny living parts of rainbows that bring their own promise. They sometimes fly to relatives of a deceased loved one.
Clouds
Most people spend time gazing at cloud formations and seeing pictures there. Clouds forming unusual shapes such as hearts, feathers, or angelic forms, clouds that are colored or shaped like orbs show special significance and could be angelic messages.
Music
Did you ever catch yourself singing or humming the same tune repeatedly? Music repeats itself or comes in themes over time. Song titles may be messages offering guidance from an angel. Most people know when that happens and can discern the meaning for themselves.
Voices
Although they will not admit it, most people have heard a voice calling their names. Sometimes in an attempt to get your attention, an angel needs to speak to you directly. Pay attention to that voice to see what message it may bring you.
Lights
Have you ever seen a beam of light that you cannot explain? When a bright or colored light floods a room, it could be brilliance from an angel nearby. Sometimes, you can see these lights even with your eyes shut.
A mother cradled her sick child and prayed for guidance. The little girl woke up unable to walk and her mother rocked her and crooned softly to her, and worried about the future. She heard a voice say, “Everything will be okay.” A soft glow filled the room for several minutes and the mother knew all would be well. The next day the child walked again. Whether the light came from God, or an angel, it definitely was heaven sent.
Sensations
Some people say they feel the brush of angel wings on their face or arms. Others feel angelic hands on their shoulders or on the top of their heads. A room may fill up with delicious scents of chocolate, roses, bread baking, or another loved aroma.
You
Do angels give you messages in your dreams? Do they drop feathers and coins for you to find? Do they send light when things seem darkest? Do they send music or wonderful smells your way? If so, be still and listen for messages or encouragement. Perhaps heaven is reaching out to you through angels. What angel stories do you carry in your heart? http://voices.yahoo.com/signs-angels-around-you-6750250.html?cat=34
A theory I live by, a theory that saves my life~ It’s also an incredible and thoughtful way to express to people in your world/life what having a chronic illness is like. They’ll get it much easier by relating to spoons of all things~
Thank you to the author of this piece Christine. You have helped me save so many relationships with people who just did not get it. If you have read this before Bravo, you are doing as much as you can to communicate what your life, days are like.
My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.
As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?
I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn’t seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.
As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.
At that moment, The Spoon Theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands. I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted. Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point.
I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control. She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become? I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of “spoons”. But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn’t even started yet.
I’ve wanted more “spoons” for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus. I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said ” No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can’t take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too.”
I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. Showering cost her a spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away.
Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.
I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone.
Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s “spoons”, but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less “spoons”. I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on “spoons”, because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.
We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night. When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry.
I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely.
Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.
I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse than others; some days I have more spoons than most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared”
Its hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day’s plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war.
It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count “spoons”. After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can’t go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine.
I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”
Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness.
Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my “spoons”.
© 2003 by Christine Miserandino Butyoudontlooksick.com
Two weeks after our arrival in Johannesburg we celebrated Vic’s 3rd birthday. Tienie drove my car up and was able to be with us for Vic’s birthday. By her birthday Vic had 38 fractures.
The day of Vic’s birthday Tienie and I went for a drive looking for an ice-cream parlour as a birthday treat for her. Vic was sitting on the backseat. Cars did not have safety belts in 1977… a dog ran across the road, and Tienie swerved out to avoid running it over….. Vic fell off the back seat.
I immediately knew her little arm was broken.
We drove to the nearest hospital. It was Vic’s first visit to an Emergency Room in Johannesburg. There was a long queue of patients waiting to be seen. I completed the paperwork and we sat down for the long wait.
Vic being a toddler we got moved to the front of the queue. A tall, tired looking doctor took down Vic’s medical history.
“Treatment?” he asked…
I remember thinking “Duh….. You know there is no treatment.” But, then a spark of hope flamed up and I asked “Do you know of treatment for Osteogenesis Imperfecta?”
“No” he said
“Vicky is having experimental homeopathic treatment. The physician treating her is Professor Majorkenis” I said
He looked at me and took out a red pen from his pocket. In huge red letters he wrote “Homeopathic treatment” across the page. He drew two lines under the words…
In a terse voice he instructed the nurse to take us through to X-rays. There was no radiologist on duty, and we had to wait for the call-out radiologist to arrive. I eventually went through to the ER and asked the doctor whether Vic could have something for the pain. It was 2.5 hours after the event, and she was crying from the pain.
“She cannot have anything for pain. She may have to go to the theatre. But then you know that don’t you?” he asked in a very sarcastic tone of voice!
I went back to X-rays seething but knowing that what he said was true. If the bone had dislocated Vic would have to go to theatre.
By the time I got back to X-rays the radiologist had arrived and was busy setting up the machine. Vic’s cries of pain are still etched into my heart and brain when her little arm was positioned on the table. Tears ran down my cheeks whilst I kept telling her that if she kept still it would be over soon.
The X-ray showed 3 clean fractures. No surgery would be necessary.
We went down to the ER, and the doctor started applying the plaster-of-paris to Vic’s arm. She was sobbing with pain.
I absolutely lost it.
“If you have a problem with the fact that my child is having homeopathic treatment you take it out on me. “
He just fixed his tired eyes on me and said nothing.
“Do you know what it feels like when your child is sentenced to death and there is no appeal system? Western traditional doctors, like you, have offered us no hope what so ever! This Homeopath is prepared to TRY. That is a hell of a lot more than what doctors like you are prepared to do! ”
His eyes were big and he had stopped working on Vic’s arm by then.
“Now, if you have a problem treating my child with the care and dignity that she deserves I suggest you get someone else in here to take care of her!”
He drew up a syringe with some pain medication and said “This will just sting a little, but it will help for the pain…”
He gave it a couple of minutes and then completed the plaster-of-paris process.
Without a word of apology he wrote a prescription for pain medication. He curtly said “Take her to her orthopod in three weeks” and walked out of the cubicle…
I lodged a formal complaint against him the following day, but nothing ever came of it.
Was I surprised? Hell no! Homeopathic or alternative medicine was satanic in 1977 in South Africa! We would go to hell for it any way…
On Vic’s 3rd birthday her fracture count went up to 41…
We arrived in Johannesburg on a cold winter’s morning. My father-in-law picked us up from the station. My eyes were swollen from the crying. Vic adored her grandparents so she was delighted to see them. I felt scared, lost and lonely.
The Monday Vic and I met with Prof Majorkenis. He explained that her diet had to change and that her “magnetic field was very weak”. He would endeavour to “Strengthen her magnetic field…” We would see him five days a week. Vic’s new diet would exclude all sugar and starch, and she had to take a magnitude of homeopathic drops during the day.
“I make no promise – I try” he said.
The professor’s phone call from France was the first positive thing any medical professional ever uttered since Vic’s diagnosis. The “Western” doctors clicked their tongues, looked into her eyes, called in another colleague and excitedly said “Just look at her eyes…” Vic was “displayed” and I subjected her to it because I hoped that somewhere, someone would have a cure!
Vic developed a fear of doctors and nurses. We could not wear white clothes as she would become hysterical with fear when she saw someone dressed in white! She associated white clothes with doctors and pain.
I can still fear her cries of fear when the plaster-of-paris had to be removed from her arms and legs as she healed… She never trusted the saw that was used to cut the plaster-of-paris off!
I went off to the library and could find no information that made any sense to me. I was so scared. In South Africa in the 70’s homeopathy was considered almost satanic! Homeopathy was not considered a science!
The treatment started on the same Monday.
On the Tuesday I started my new job! My father-in-law had to drive me to work and back as my car was still in Bloemfontein. I would leave work at 4pm, and we would rush home so I could get Vic to the Professor for her treatment. Vic was in a Nursery School and loved her new teachers and friends. I was lonely and miserable without my family.
Two weeks after I arrived in Johannesburg Tienie drove up with my car. It immediately made a huge difference. I had my independence back but with my independence came the responsibility of “big city” traffic! I left home at 6am so I would avoid the peak-hour traffic! It was a mere 25 minute drive to my office, and I only started work at 8am. I was a little girl in a big city with a little girl suffering from a very rare disease.
Vic and I settled into a routine. We celebrated her 3rd birthday in a strange, big city hoping and praying that the innocent looking drops and treatment would make a difference.
One afternoon we were sitting in the professor’s waiting room and there was a rather unattractive looking gentleman sitting opposite us. No matter what I did I could not get Vic to divert her eyes. The gentleman started winking at her and attempting to engage Vic in a conversation. With her eyes fixed on his face Vic said in a loud whisper “Mommy, why is this man so ugly?”
I wanted to die of embarrassment. The gentleman good-naturedly laughed and said “Kids….”!
Vic was just a normal little girl with a debilitating disease.
MAGNETIC RESONANCE THERAPY
Magnetic Resonance Therapy offers leading edge technology designed to both energize and maximize cellular function in the human body.
Humans are exposed daily to various forms of energy; be it light, sound etc. Each form of energy has it’s own unique influence on how one lives and feels. Similar to how a bright sunny day (light energy) can elevate one’s spirits emotionally or quiet solemn music (sound energy) can invoke feelings of sadness, humans too can be influenced positively by specific magnetic fields.
The Ill-effects Of Zero Gravity…
The Space Programs of the 1960’s provide interesting validation to the “ human” benefits of daily “exposure” to the earth’s magnetic field. A Russian astronaut (Yuri A. Gagarin – 1961) after circling the earth in zero gravity was left critically ill, to the extent that he literally had to be carried out of his space capsule on a stretcher! Following extensive testing as to the cause of his apparent state un-wellness, it was concluded that he was suffering from prolonged absence from the earth’s magnetic field!
Further Research into The Benefits Of Magnetic Fields…
Japanese researcher K. Nakagawa (1976) discovered that individuals, deficient in their “optimal” daily exposure to the earth’s magnetic field, can often display the following symptoms:
- anxiety
- insomnia
- lethargy
- sadness
- achiness and soreness of muscle and joints
- back pain
- decreased metabolism
- diminished bone density
- headaches
Schumann Frequencies …
What this all speaks to is the defined human benefit of being influenced daily to the earth’s magnetic field in sufficient amounts. Humans exist in an electrically charged atmosphere called the Ionosphere. The Ionosphere contains charges particles (called ions) that are continually charged by a multitude of lightening strikes that occur around the world on a daily basis. This charging of the atmosphere creates a specific narrow band of naturally occurring low frequency electromagnetic emissions called Schumann Frequencies (as discovered by Dr. Winfried Schumann – Physicist in 1956). Schumann believed that this band of magnetic frequencies offered unique healing properties.
Further Study Revealed….
At a cellular level, human cells resonate either in healthy vibrational states or they exist in varying forms of disharmonious (diseased) states of oscillation. For example, cells in “pain” (the result of trauma) will resonate in a disharmonious or less than ideal manner. These same cells, if exposed to Schumann frequencies, will once again vibrate in healthier modes. Both Red Blood cells and Macrophages vibrate more optimally and act more functionally (as seen under a microscope) after exposure to Schumann frequencies.
Optimal Cellular Function…
Schumann Frequencies are thought to resonate with the human body so as to re-establish and maintain harmonious activity at a cellular level, resulting in positive physiological responses. Re-establishing healthy cellular activity is directly related to the stimulatory effect Schumann Frequencies seem to impart at a cellular level on what are called “Sodium Potassium Pumps” in the cell membranes of every cell in the human body.
Sodium Potassium Pumps – The Key To Optimal Cellular Activity…
Individual cells in the body function ideally when properly energized. More specifically, Sodium-Potassium Pumps enhance both cellular function and as well retard the aging of all cells. Sodium-Potassium pumps accomplish this by both assisting in cellular growth and repair (in terms of the proper absorption of nutrients, vitamins and oxygen) and in cellular elimination (in terms of the removal of waste and carbon dioxide). Sodium-potassium pumps also help maintain the function of specific surface membrane receptors located on the outer wall of all cells. These receptors are involved in the interplay of hormones and their regulatory effect on cellular and inter-cellular function and communication. In essence, strong Sodium-potassium pumps help create a healthy environment through which all living cells can thrive. Enhanced functional activity of these Sodium-Potassium pumps has been clinically linked to exposure to this specific range of natural electromagnetic fields … more specifically Schumann’s Frequencies!
Enhanced Cellular Function…
The entire metabolism of each cell is thus enhanced. This in turn results in:
- increased blood flow throughout the body
- enhanced oxygen delivery
- a strengthened immune system
- increased nutrients, vitamins and minerals absorption
- enhanced respiration
- increased bone density
- better system detoxification (liver, kidneys, lungs and spleen)
- enhanced cellular response to hormonal stimuli and favoured inter-cellular interfacing
In general… optimized cellular function, stabilized biological activity and enhanced overall cellular vitality. http://homeopathyoflondon.com/magnetic-resonance-therapy.php
Yesterday Jon-Daniel and I went for a long walk on the beach. The water was freezing but my feet adjusted to the temperature. It was great feeling the sand between my toes. Families were playing in the sand – very few people were brave enough to swim. There were quite a few surfers braving the cold water. The sky was clear and for the first time in many, many months I felt totally relaxed.
I thought back to Vic’s birth! I remembered a beautiful baby girl born with a mob of black hair. I remembered the rush of love that I experienced when I first saw her. I fell in love with Vic the second I lay eyes on her. When she curled her perfect little fingers around mine I was lost in the wonder of her perfection.
Vic was born 3 weeks early. She weighed in at 5.6 lbs. (2.54kgs). She was tiny but perfect! From the first breath that she took she ruled my life. Her first little outfit was a baby-pink jersey that a cousin knitted for her. Her clothes were doll-sized.
My Mom bathed her for the first month of her life. I was too scared! At 6 weeks Vic had one feed a night only…. She was born an angel. Vic had her first known fracture at 6 weeks… She started walking at 18 months; Vic built her first puzzle before she could crawl.
I remembered her gurgling and laughing. The minute she opened her eyes she would have this huge smile on her face. Her smile reached her eyes even then….
Vic never stopped smiling. She was a ray of sunshine. She never complained.
When I think of the cards the poor little poppet was dealt I realize more than ever what an incredibly strong person she was.
We were driving back from the first athletic meeting when she was in Grade 1.
“Mommy I want to ask you something” Vic said
“You know you can ask my anything you want…” I replied very upbeat. I had won the parents race and felt pretty good about myself.
“I know what you are going to say …” Vic said
I looked into the rearview mirror and saw silent tears running down her little cheeks.
“What’s wrong Angel?” I asked
“Mommy, why can’t I run like the other children?” she replied.
Vic was diagnosed with Osteogenesis Imperfecta at 18 months.
I was in total denial that there was anything wrong with my perfect child. My Dad was the only one who was brave enough to continuously tell me that there was something with Vic. The sclera of her eyes was blue and she fractured easily.
The grandparents conspired with Tienie (her father) and took her to the Freestate University. A professor assessed Vic and diagnosed Osteogenesis Imperfecta.
The family decided that Tienie had to break the news to me. I went mad with fear. OI is a very rare disease and in the pre-world wide web days, a library was the only source of information. I went from doctor to doctor begging for a cure or even a hint of hope that there was a cure in sight. The doctors told me I should wrap Vic in cotton wool and wait for her to die
Whilst all of this was happening Vic kept fracturing bones. She would bump her little sandal against the step and fracture her tibia. Whilst in Plaster-of-Paris she would re-fracture in the Plaster–of-Paris… We were treated like child-abusers at hospital emergency rooms and our neighbours reported us to Child Welfare.
Every living moment I would talk to Vic about how special she was; how frail her little bones were and how careful she must be.
When Vic was 3 years old a colleague mentioned a homeopath that worked miracles with rare and untreatable disorders… a Professor Majorkenis. I immediately made an appointment to see him. He practiced in Johannesburg, and as a small town girl I was petrified. Johannesburg was Sodom and Gomorrah!
The Professor was of Greek descent. He was of a short stature and spoke heavily accented English. His brown eyes were wrinkled, warm and gentle. His handshake was firm and reassuring.
He spent a long time examining her, measuring her electronic fields and all sorts of weird and foreign tests.
He made no commitment. He merely told me that he was on-route to Europe for an International Homeopathic Association conference and would discuss it with his fellow doctors there. (He was President of the International Homeopathic Association.)
I received a phone call from France a week later. It was the professor! The connection was poor and with his heavy accent I managed to hear that he was prepared to do experimental treatment and wanted to start in two weeks!
Without any discussion with anyone I resigned my job, phoned a colleague who has relocated to Johannesburg a couple of months earlier and asked him whether he knew of any vacancies in the glass industry and went home to break the news to my husband and parents!
The family went into high-energy planning. Vic and I would travel by train as I was scared of driving on my own and getting lost. Tienie would drive my car to Johannesburg two weeks later so he could celebrate Vic’s 3rd birthday with us. I would live with my parents-in-law, who had recently relocated to Johannesburg, and Tienie would live with my parents. He was still at University and could not relocate.
We gave up the flat, packed up our furniture and belongings and put everything in storage. Vic and I said our goodbyes to all our friends and then it was time to leave…
I remember my fear with crystal clear clarity when we boarded the train. I cried hysterically and clung to my Dad. My mom sobbed, and my dad wiped tears from his eyes telling me I must be strong and look after the “little one”. We would speak on the phone every Sunday…
The train slowly pulled out of the station, and I held my sobbing baby girl close to my heart. Her hair was wet from my tears. Vic was totally distraught. My parents, siblings and Tienie faded into the night as we sped towards a cure.
Soon it will be Easter.
Easter was one of Vic’s favourite times of the year. She loved the Easter Egg Hunt ever since she was a toddler… Traditionally we always celebrate Easter Bunny Day on the Monday and not Easter Sunday. (I did not want the Easter Bunny Hunt to be confused with the true meaning of Easter.)
As a toddler the EEH build-up started on the Sunday evening. If she went to bed early (and without a protest) the Easter bunny would come and visit the next day…. Monday morning she would wake up early and ask us whether the Bunny has arrived…We would tell her she has to have breakfast first… then we told her to keep an eye out for the Easter Bunny…. Our friends would arrive with their little ones who, for once, would be as good as gold. The Daddy’s would walk Vic and the other little ones around the block whilst the Mommies’ would hide the Easter eggs.
A daddy would proclaim “Oh I think I just saw the bunny!” and the dash for home would start! To the great disappointment of the little ones the daddy’s were always too slow and all they ever found was a trail of Easter eggs. When the children were young the eggs were just the marshmallow type. As our cash flows improved the marshmallow Easter eggs improved to hollow chocolate types.
I would start buying Easter Eggs almost immediately after the Valentine’s shelves were emptied and restocked with Easter Eggs.
Sadly we got to a stage when Vic was too old for the hunt. Vic no longer believed in the Easter Bunny but humoured me, or rather discovered the advantage of humoring me. Marlene, my BFF, and I made massive hollow chocolate Easter Eggs, and not even Vic was able to eat her whole egg… We toasted Hot Cross buns and ate far too many Easter eggs. Easter remained a special time of the year.
Then we had our first grandchild and the game was back on! Vic LOVED Easter. (Actually, to be honest, Vic loved any gathering whether it be friends or family, but she especially loved Easter!)
I will never forget our first grandchild Easter Hunt. Vic was so excited that her baby would have his first Easter Egg Hunt.
Colin and Danie started walking Jared whilst Vic, and I hid the Easter Eggs. The poor baby could never eat all the eggs and I ended up taking bag loads to AIDS homes. Then grandchild two and three arrived, and the game was truly on.
Over the years we developed a wonderful system where the little ones would collect the eggs and Vic would divide it equally between all the children. At a certain stage I decided to cut down on the chocolate and bought the kids pyjamas and less eggs….Well I suppose I tried to cut down but wasn’t too successful. The thought was noble.
Even though Vic’s boys have been too old for an Easter Egg Hunt for several years, they have enjoyed the thrill of helping the younger cuzzies look for the bunny and the eggs. Aunt Vic never stopped sharing the Easter eggs amongst the kids.
Last Easter the two Cape Town girls were with us for the first time. I loved their joy. I missed the three little ones who live in the UK. Vic had a good day.
This year will be the first year in 16 years that we will not have an Easter Egg hunt.
I still have the Lindt bunny Vic bought me last year.
I knew it would be our last Easter.
2 months, 6 days or rather 65 days totalling 93,600 minutes or 1560 hours since Vic died…. Each minute feels like a lifetime of misery.
Every minute that passes pushes me further down into this horrible well of misery and despair.
Vic was an absolute coffee addict. She would systematically drink her way through a 200g bottle of Jacob Kronung coffee per week. Vic drank a minimum of least 15 cups of coffee every day of her life. Vic stopped drinking coffee just before Christmas. It made her ill. She starting drinking Energade – naartjie flavour. For the last month of her life it was all she drank.
Well, Vic’s last bottle of coffee is almost finished…I am dreading anyone asking for coffee…I want the coffee to last. It is a link to my child. How stupid does this sound?? Stupid or not it is the way I feel. I have an unused bottle of coffee in the pantry. I am weeping because of an almost empty bottle of coffee!
At night I lie on my sofa in my TV lounge waiting for her to either BBM or shuffle down the passage… “Could I please have some coffee Mommy?” I have cried myself into oblivion this weekend. Danie is in Cape Town and the boys are with their Dad. It is safe to cry.
The nights are so long without our chats.
I am a mess. I have cried myself to sleep every night this past week. I tear up without reason.
I have this indescribable longing to see my child, hold her and be with her. I went onto Vic’s Facebook and went through all her photos. Most of the photos on her FB are “tagged” photos of mine. I went through the photos and “spoke” to Vic. I remembered the wonderful mother and daughter that she was. I looked at her journey, the amount of photos where she is in bed with the boys lying with her. The sad thing is that it is truly only the tip of the iceberg.
I found this note on her FB that I had never seen before. Vic posted this 3 days before my dad died.
17 May 2011 at 23:37
Today Hospice came to access my Grandfather… They dripped him & made him comfortable. He has lost his swallowing reflex, sleeps most of the day, is completely bedridden & can barely talk… The suddenness of his deterioration is very difficult to comprehend. Please could you all say a big prayer for my Gramps and especially my Mom, who lost her best friend of 25 years, age 51 due to a heart attack last Tues. My Mother is one of the strongest, bravest people I know.. How do we say goodbye, how do I take my Boys to say their Goodbyes tomorrow, how do we accept that this incredible man has such little time left regardless of the fact that we all know that its best for him. How can I be strong for my babies when my heart breaks all over again, every day when I see him… Especially my Eunice Friends, you will all remember how desperately my Gramps and Gran loved and spoilt me and how VERY MUCH they meant to me… I don’t want to live without him even though I realise that is extremely selfish, but I love my Grandfather so desperately, It’s not fair… All I ask for is compassion… Compassion for Gramps and my Mother… Thank you to everyone for all your love & support through everything… Love Vic.
I understood Vic’s agony of saying goodbye to us better… I have doubted our decision to sedate her during the last few days of her life… Reading this today I was filled with gratitude that we did. I remembered her emotional agony when her friends left after a visit… I remember her clinging to Danie and crying “Don’t leave me daddy. I am scared…” I am grateful that she gently slipped away without knowing or fearing what lies beyond…
I wonder whether she is around us? I wonder if she is peaceful and happy? I wonder if she misses us as desperately as we miss her.
Yesterday a friend of mine celebrated her 60th birthday. Her daughter posted a beautiful letter on her FB page. Tears started trickling down my cheeks. I will never receive another birthday card or wish from Vic. I will never celebrate another Mother’s Day with Vic and neither will her boys!!
Oh dear God will this agony every stop?
I WANT MY CHILD BACK!!!!!!!”
I am at a stage where it feels as if it is impossible to recover from the pain of losing Vic. I am told that the grief will gradually get better and become less intense as time goes by.
The first few days after Vic died was so intense. Family and friends cried, and we comforted one another. The house was busy with people coming and going. The planning that goes into a funeral and the writing of the eulogy took a lot of time. My grief was raw and incredibly intense. My heart physically ached. I experienced feelings of anxiety, panic, sadness, and helplessness. Yet it is actually a surreal feeling… it felt as if we were removed from the world. It felt as if I looked in from the outside. I heard myself speaking and reacting mechanically…Old school friends phoned and I rushed to get through their words of condolences so I could ask them about their lives. I did not want to discuss Vic’s death. They must have thought I was crazy.
People said “you are so strong…”
When a loved one dies at home I think it is harder afterwards…There is a “mystique” to the room of death. The smell of death lingers and the room is littered with medication, blood pressure equipment, thermometers and syringe containers. Bedpans and vomit-dishes are still in the bathroom…
The planning of Vic’s memorial service actually helped me get through the first days after her death. Friends and family spend time with us talking and sharing memories about Vic.
Many times, people show their emotions during this time of ritual. Overwhelmed by Vic’s death we actually did not show emotion right away — even though the loss was very hard. We stood amongst our friends and family at the reception after the memorial service smiling and talking. To the world it must have appeared as if we were strong and accepting of Vic’s death. Being among other mourners was a comfort; it sort of reminded us that some things will stay the same.
But the time came when the far-away family left, friends went back to their lives and the steady flow of visitors stopped. In a way it was a relief. We were forced to stop and come to terms with the reality of the situation….the pain of the loss and the enormity of our grief.
Within a week we were back at work and school. People were and still are wary of us – they do not know how to handle our grief. We quickly learnt that other people are not interested in our grieving process…We stopped talking about Vic’s death…But although we no longer continuously talk about our loss, the grieving process not only continues but intensifies.
It’s natural to continue to have feelings and questions for a while after someone dies. It’s also natural to begin to feel somewhat better. A lot depends on how your loss affects your life. It’s OK to feel grief for days, weeks, or even longer, depending on how close you were to the person who died. I was told yesterday by someone who truly loved Vic that Vic’s death is only a reality when they are in our home. When they leave it almost becomes a distant memory….
The loss of a child is different to the loss of a parent. The boys’ grief is different to my grief… I will go further and say that the grief of a teen is different to the grief of an adult child who lost his aged parent.
Vic’s death has been a devastating, distressing experience in the life of the boys. Although the boys have spent the majority of their lives in our home their sense of security and stability in the world has been turned upside down. Vic’s death has become the defining event in the boys lives. The boys have begun to define their lives into two categories: “before Mom died” or “after Mom died.”
The boys and I have experienced a sense of relief, ambivalence; guilt and regret after Vic’s passing. The boys have categorically expressed their sense of relief that Vic’s intense suffering and pain is over. I prayed for Vic to die. This sense of relief has however brought on more guilt!
Jon-Daniel was the first of the boys who had to cope with the realization that Vic would not be around to celebrate rites of passage; Vic slipped into a coma the day Jon-Daniel received his school’s honours award for academic achievement…..
The boys are battling to cope with Vic’s death. Their grief is intensifying.
On the 8th of April they will meet the Hospice Psychologist. On the 25th we are flying down to Cape Town for 13 days. We need a change of scenery. We need to grieve without being told to “let Vic rest…”
I make a point of telling them that I miss their Mommy too. They light candles for Vic. I cry in my pillow.
I know that the boys will eventually move on. It is the way it is – children bury their parents. It is normal. But a parent should never have to bury their child…
For 38 years my beautiful child was the centre of my life. I lived for her. Now I merely exist.
I hear her say “Mommy I love you” and I whisper “I love you more than life angel child…”
This is a very emotional time in all our lives. It is 8 weeks and 2 days since Vic died. We have all lived on our nerves for a long time and although we thought it would be a relief that Vic’s suffering was over, the grief has been overwhelming. Not only for the boys and I but also others that loved Vic…
I know the family is concerned about me. I know their concern stems from love.
I however need to blog. I need to hear from other bereaved parents that I am not going mad. That my grief is normal and that it is okay to grieve for my beautiful child.
I have subscribed to several blogs or sites for bereaved parents and it is not working for me. It is other parents words.
I will however borrow these words from another grieving parent
Dear Clueless
I would like to share with you my pain but that isn’t possible unless you have lost a child yourself and that I wouldn’t want you to have to experience. So with that being said, I would like to say this. I will try to my best to understand you if you try to understand me. I lost my child. My life will never be the same. I will never be the same again. I will be different from now on. I no longer have the same feelings about anything. Everything in my life has changed from the moment my child left to go to heaven. I will, on some days be very sad and nothing you say will changes that so don’t feel like it is your job to make me feel better on those days, just allow me to be where I am.
When you lose a child you not only lose your reason for living, you lose the motivation to go on. You also lose your sense of self. It takes a long time to come to some kind of understanding for why this has happened, if ever. Of course we who have lost children know we have to go on but we don’t want to hear someone else tell us too. Especially from someone who has not lost a child. It makes me and anyone who has lost a child want to say who are you to tell me that? Did you bury your child? I don’t want this to sound like I don’t appreciate everything you say because I know you mean well, but I just want you to appreciate where I am coming from too. I want you to understand that some of the things you say hurt me and others like me without you really knowing it. I know it must be pretty hard to talk to people like myself, not knowing what to say. That is why I am writing this letter.
If you don’t know what to say, say nothing or just say I’m sorry. That always works for me. If you want to talk ad say my child’s name feel free I would love to hear his name anytime. You not saying his name didn’t make me forget it, or what happened to him. So by all means say his name. When special dates come or holidays come please forgive me if I’m not myself. I just can’t keep it up on those days. I may wish to be by myself so I can think about my child without putting on a front. Most of all I want you to know I’m having a hard time with the death of my child and I am trying my very best to get back into life again. Some days it may look like I have accomplished that, and other days like I am at square one.
This will happen the rest of my life periodically. There are just no words to explain the living hell this feels like. There are no words that could ever do it justice. So please bear with me and give me time and don’t put your own timetable on my grief and let me be the person I am now and not have to live up to the person you think I should be. Allow me my space and time and accept me for me. I will try my best to understand you.
Love, Your Friend in Grief https://www.facebook.com/pages/Whispers-from-Heaven/604565892890783
So, if you are going to read my blog read it through my eyes and see my heart. If you are unable to handle the rawness of my words know that you are reading my soul. Remember that I don’t easily verbalize my emotions and this blog is my coping mechanism.
I have found hundreds of notes and journal entries in a file called “Our Story.” Vic loved my blog and wanted me to share “Our Story”. It was her wish. I will continue to do so.
So, love me in my time of sorrow and allow me to cope whichever way I can…. I love you too and appreciate your caring.
Vic's Final Journey 