Category: Death of a child

The process of preparing for death


My beautiful baby girl
My beautiful baby girl

A while ago I read the following “When you, a friend, or a loved one is diagnosed with a terminal illness, a process is begun: the process of preparing for death. For many, this time of preparation can be transformed into a rewarding, comforting ending, giving meaning to life, and dignity to death.” Terminal Illness – Preparing for Death – Dealing with Illness

Today a mere 24 days after my child stopped breathing I re-examined this statement.

“When you, a friend, or a loved one is diagnosed with a terminal illness, a process is begun: the process of preparing for death.”  This is so true.  In one foul sweep everything changes!  The way one approach every day; every birthday, Christmas and New Year… One sets small goals.  You learn to appreciate the small things in life – having a cup of coffee with a friend, celebrating another Mother’s Day, living long enough to see the newborn of a loved one…

Last will and testament … setting up trusts for the children; sorting out photos; tidying up cupboards; making decisions whether to have a funeral or cremation….Just close your eyes and feel the terror of planning your own memorial service….  Feel the terror of knowing that your organs are shutting down….feel the terror of knowing that you will have to say goodbye to your loved ones – that they will walk out of your room and you will never see them again, feel the touch of their gentle hands, never hold your sons again…..  Imagine knowing that your life is running out.  Knowing that soon you will breathe your last breath!

This is what my Vic experienced.  She kept asking her BFF, Angela, “How do I say goodbye?”  Vic would cry  and hold onto Angela.  “Don’t go!  Please stay”.

Imagine being on death row with the execution date set.  The process has begun…. The condemned gets to make a will, meet his family for the last time, write his last letters, order his last meal and wonder what death will feel like…

Vic was scared.  She feared death.  She feared not knowing how death would feel….she feared closing her eyes and not ever seeing her loved ones again.

“For many, this time of preparation can be transformed into a rewarding, comforting ending, giving meaning to life, and dignity to death”….  What a load of hogwash!  No matter how much love surrounds the dying person there is no dignity in death.  How can death be rewarding?

It is however an amazing experience to witness the transition of the body when the soul leaves!

This time of preparation is a time filled with trepidation and fear.  Nobody KNOWS what lies beyond your final breath.  What is the Catholics are correct and you head for purgatory?  No one is sin free….What if Islam is correct and you are a Christian?  Then you are doomed to hell!  Hopefully the Christian faith will allow us entry into Heaven…. We will only know when we die!

Comforting time?  What comfort can there be in dying?  No more pain? Sure!  That is certainly comforting but what about the terrible, terrible knowledge that one will be separated from your loved ones?  The love that enshrouded you all your life will be plucked from your existence!  The love will continue but there is a divide between life and death that cannot be crossed!

Meaning to life?  Yes that is true I suppose if you are distant and removed from your family or loved ones or if you had a “purposeless” life.  Dying does give an opportunity to live each day, not waste time procrastinating or living in anger.

Dignity in death?  There is no dignity in a lingering death.  Bit by bit the terminally ill lose their dignity.  Every day there is some new loss to mourn.  The final days, if they are lucky, they will be sedated.  If not they will writhe in pain, choking on their own phlegm and gasping for breath, their hearts racing and delusional from fever.

People around the dying become scared and start praying for their deaths…I know because I did!  People stop visiting because they want to remember the dying person as a healthy, happy person….The terminally ill cease to exist to most of the world long before they die.

Stepping Stone Hospice has 26 patients.  We have had 12 deaths to date – Vic being the first.  Stepping Stone has allowed the dying to die pain-free.  Maybe the rewarding ending is for the living?

 

 

 

 

 

“Live like you were dying” – Tim McGraw


Vic and Esther 8.1.2013
Vic and Esther 8.1.2013

I read this post today –  http://daysnet.wordpress.com/2013/02/03/we-need-to-step-back-and-just-breathe/   I always remember the Tim McGraw song

“LIVE LIKE YOU WERE DYING”

He said   “I was in my early forties
With a lot of life before me
And a moment came that stopped me on a dime
I spent most of the next days
Looking at the x-rays
Talkin’ ’bout the options
And talkin’ ’bout sweet time”
I asked him
“When it sank in
That this might really be the real end
How’s it hit you
When you get that kind of news?
Man, what’d you do?”

He said
“I went skydiving
I went Rocky Mountain climbing
I went 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fu Man Chu
And I loved deeper
And I spoke sweeter
And I gave forgiveness I’d been denying”
And he said
“Someday I hope you get the chance
To live like you were dying”
He said
“I was finally the husband
That most of the time I wasn’t
And I became a friend a friend would like to have
And all of a sudden going fishin’
Wasn’t such an imposition

And I went three times that year I lost my dad
I finally read the Good Book, and I
Took a good, long, hard look
At what I’d do if I could do it all again

It dawned on me that we have been luckier than most.  We have lived as if Vic was dying all our lives.  We lived every second.  Vic lived every second.  Only the last week of her life she went into dying mode.  Only once she was sedated did she succumb to dying.  The rest of her life she lived; we lived her life.  Every single birthday we celebrated Vic’s life.

We have a family tradition, (which the kids hate), of having eulogy speeches on everyone’s birthday.  So on our birthdays we would go around the table and everyone gets to say something nice of the birthday boy/girl…  We call it our “Living Eulogy”…  So often we only speak well of the dead.  We treat the living with contempt and disregard; we do not acknowledge their achievements and goodness…We are so focussed on success.  Success by our own terms!

I am grateful for our family tradition and I will not allow it to die off…  I am grateful Vic knew how much we revered her….

Vic did not have a career or a degree, fame or fortune.  Yet she has touched thousands of people’s lives worldwide and will continue to do so through Stepping Stone Hospice.  I am grateful that she heard how much we loved and respected her.   The most common words were “You are the bravest person I know…”

Vic was an amazing mother.  She loved and nurtured her boys.  I wonder whether they ever witnessed her tears of pain when she cooked for them or made their lunch for school…. I did.

We will continue to honour Vic’s life through our actions and words.

There is no limit


I have received many words of encouragement and support from so many people.  Some just say “hugs” and other’s offer advice.  One of my most loyal supporters is a lady called Miss Morgan’s Mom – She lost her 16-year-old daughter in a senseless accident.  She lives her loss and grief pours from her posts.  I remember one of her first posts I ever read on her blog she was counting the days (still does) and her grief was so raw and all-encompassing.  I recall thinking “Oh God, is this what awaits me?”  At the time I could only comment “hugs”….  A couple of posts ago she wrote that 14.5 months after Morgan’s death she is finding it more difficult to blog.  People want her to move on….  get on with life.  
 
Last week, a mere 3 weeks after my most precious child’s death I was told by people “Let her rest….Concentrate on the boys” ; “don’t let the boys see you cry…”
 
On Thursday I cried in front of the boys as I did this morning in the supermarket.   I will not apologise for my tears.  My child deserves my tears.
 
I realize people want me to move on because I scare them when I am sad.  They are used to me being strong, fighting for Vic’s life, always laughing, always in control.
 
On Saturday Esther, Vic’s sis, asked me “So what does Google say?  When do sisters start feeling better?”  I replied “Never.  you just get used to the pain”
 
I read this amazing post and had to share it.  Reposted  http://missmorgansmom.wordpress.com/2013/02/04/there-is-no-limit-to-ones-time-for-grief/
 

THERE IS NO LIMIT TO ONES TIME FOR GRIEF

broken heart When someone is grieving i believe in my heart that many if not all outsiders have the best intentions to help I truly do, but understandably  they have no real concept  on how long and how often the mourning need support or just understanding. People that lose loved ones, I have come to find that there is no limit to the time it takes for each individual to find their new normal. I think that sometimes when people view the lives of the sorrowful, they think that the person or people grieving should have come to terms with their loss after a certain amount of time. I have found  this not to be true, I have sadly gained the knowledge that every moment to everyday is different. It is so hard to help people understand that we need to grieve as long as it may take. We all seem to have our own way to do this, whether it is to submerse our time into our work so that our mind has little time to feel the pain, or that we become some what of a recluse trying to understand our torture. There is no right or wrong way to grieve, there are no rules.  I personally try to battle the pain by writing my feelings at that moment. I think some may not understand and my God am I thankful for that because I would not wish this on anyone. It is so important to me to put out there that when you see someone struggling and they may seem as if their path is destructive, it might not always be as it seems, sometimes we must  look outside the box! This is  because anyone who is grieving that keeps having emotions whether negative or positive has not given up the fight. I cannot identify my grief with anyones else, I have learned to accept the death of my father and step mother and although it still hurts, I have learned to move forward. I have found that burying a child is a completely different kind of grief for me anyway. I am moving forward, I am fighting to become a new normal.   I have found that  not just me but all other parents who are trying to win the fight are on this similar  path and they may feel like there is no end, keep fighting. I want to post this link for those that may be fighting this fight to maybe offer support that you are not alone. I also want to post this for people who may just want to understand some of the process grieving parents may be going through. I am also posting some writings from this site that have heart felt meaning to me. https://www.facebook.com/pages/Grieving-Mothers/162680380444494 no limitDear 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 and say my child’s name feel free I would love to hear her name anytime. You not saying her name didn’t make me forget it, or what happened to her. So by all means say her 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 forward

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Children are so fragile…..


IMG_7913
Christmas 2013

Day 22 has finally arrived.  Day 21 dragged on and on…  I waded through a haze of misery today.  Jared had an horrible day.  I could see he had cried.

Jon-Daniel has a friend sleeping over.  He is a young boy of 14 who lost his dad to a drug overdose a year ago.  I asked whether he had been for counselling.  He said he had but that it had not really helped.

“I had to get over it by myself” this old soul said.

“The shrink kept telling me I must forgive my dad.  I hated my father for using drugs.  So I stopped going.  He wasn’t listening to me so there was no point…”

I have to travel to an exhibition in the UAE from the 16th – 21st of February.  Upon my return the boys and I will go and see the Hospice psychiatrist again. I think we would have worked through enough grief to be able to cope with this part of our journey.

Children are so fragile.  On the surface they appear to be coping yet the pain lies shallow…

Last night Jon-Daniel cried.  Today Jared battled to breathe.

now and forever


Photo018

Today at times I felt as if I was suffocating.  It felt as if the grief had grabbed me by the throat and was strangling life out of me.  My heart physically ached.

In the infamous words of Queen Elizabeth 11 “Grief is the price we pay for love.”

Vic was an only child.  I spent the first 16 years of her life dedicated to Vic and only Vic.  Vic’s dad and I separated early in our marriage.  Even in the years that we were married he studied part-time and only got home from University after 10 at night.  Weekends – well that was busy…

When Vic was 16 I married Danie.  He became her dad and she embraced the fact that she now had siblings.  Danie loved Vic with the same pure unconditional love that she had for her boys.  Vic admired, respected and loved Danie for the wonderful dad that he was to her.

Tonight I cannot help but think and remember all the love and nurturing that went into Vic’s life, caring for her, raising her, nursing her when she was sick and taking her to the doctors, teaching her all the things she needed to know to keep her safe in this crazy world, teaching her the art of shopping, watching her get married, fall pregnant – twice, survive 81 abdominal surgeries, fighting for her life every single day.  I loved the mother that Vic was.  Caring and nurturing.

Tonight I remember Vic’s trademark – getting dressed in clothes every day before the boys came home from school, waking up to see them off to school every morning, arranging a party if she had one ounce of strength left!  Vic appreciated seeing the light of day, getting out of bed, seeing the faces of her children.  Every day she breathed was a day that mattered to her.  Every day she used to make memories with her sons, family and friends.

Every day was one more than she had the day before.

She loved driving her little car.  (Vic was a terrible driver!).  Vic was the take-out queen.  She LOVED take-outs!  The last meal she ate was a bit of a Steers hamburger….

Vic was a good, honest, compassionate, caring person who loved loyally and deeply!  She was strong-willed and fought for what she wanted.  She did not tolerate disloyalty in any form.

Vic toured Egypt in a wheelchair and with a cane!  Her biggest wish was to attend Jon-Daniel’s honours evening (4 days before she died) and to travel to Italy.

Vic was brave!  She NEVER complained.  She accepted that pain was part of her life; that being ill was her life.  She seldom questioned the cards she was dealt.  She accepted her life stoically.

I KNOW how hard it was for Vic to get out of bed.  I know how easy it would have been for her to curl up and die very early in her life.  She held on to life until the bitter end because giving up was not an option!

I thought I was well prepared for this period in my life.  I prayed so long that God would release her tortured little body from the hell she lived every day.  I spent years waiting and wondering how it will be.  I have been told that I, of all people, should have been prepared for her death. After all I lived with my child’s terminal diagnosis for 10 years.

The short and the tall of the matter is that there is no way to be prepared.  Researching the stages of death, the grieving process and even preparing her memorial service’s PowerPoint Presentation, in anticipation, could not prepare me for the pain that struck the second that my child died.. 

When I heard Vic’s breathing change I knew she was going.  I knew that within minutes my child would be dead…  Yet in the end, her death was still a terrible shock to me.  How did it happen so quickly?

How do I go on?

Just as there are only some people we can really talk to about our children while they are alive, it seems that there are only a few people we can talk to about them once they have died.

When you lose a child you lose so much more that you may have been prepared to lose.  I have lost my identity as a mom.  I am no longer a Mommy.   I may be a back-up mom to four wonderful young people who love me dearly, unconditionally and deeply but I am no longer a “real Mommy”.  Mother’s Day will come and go…The four kids will celebrate the women who gave birth to them.  The boys will not have a mom to buy a gift for and I will not have a child to wish me.  I do know everyone will try very hard to make it easier for me.  But Vic will not be here to wish me a happy Mother’s Day.

I have a hole in my heart.   My heart physically aches.  I want to die.

Tonight, 21 days after my baby girl’s death I remember a love and bond that was beyond description.  I will continue to breathe; I will honour my promises to my child; I will bring up her beautiful boys; I will cherish her memories; I will grieve for my child.  She was worthy of my love – she is worthy of my tears.

Sweetie I love you now and forever.

 

My Mom is a Survivor


P1100704This poem may have been written by my precious Vic….

She used to worry so about me surviving her death.  Our domestic helper has worked for me for the past 18 years.  Bettie is part of the family.  Over the years we have shared tears for our children…

Bettie went on her annual leave on the 18th of December 2012.  She tells me that Vic asked her to keep an eye on me, after her passing, as she would not see Bettie again…

Vic knew she was dying.  I knew she was dying.  I prayed for her to die!  Why is it so hard now.  I want to scream my anger and pain…I want to lash out at someone and just punch them…

Bettie returned just in time for Vic’s memorial service.

My Mom is a Survivor
My mom is a survivor,
or so I’ve heard it said.
But I can hear her crying
when all others are in bed.
I watch her lay awake at night.
and go to hold her hand.
She doesn’t know I’m with her
to help her understand.
But like the sands upon a beach
that never wash away…
I watch over my surviving mom
who thinks of me each day.
She wears a smile for others,
a smile of disguise.
But through Heaven’s open door,
I see tears flowing from her eyes.
My mom tries to cope with my death,
to keep my memory alive.
But anyone who knows her
knows it’s her way to survive.
As I watch over my surviving mom
through Heaven’s open door…
I try to tell her that
Angel protect me forevermore.
I know that doesn’t help her,
or ease the burdens she bears.
So if you get a chance, call to her
And show her that you care.
For no matter what she feels,
my surviving mom has a broken heart
that time won’t ever heal.
~K. D’Ormeaux

Vic’s pearls


Vicky dripping in pearls...
Vicky dripping in pearls…

Today I wore Vic’s pearls and perfume.

Her favourite perfume, Beautiful – Estee Lauder, reacts differently to my skin but I could smell “her smell” on me the whole day.

My meetings went well.  I am happy with the outcome.  It is as if my soul is removed from my body – I feel as if I am looking in from the outside.  I see and hear a confident, poised person talking in a matter of fact tone of voice.  I hear myself asking intelligent questions and yet it is a shell sitting there.

No-one sees my sadness and grief.

I miss Vic more and more as each day passes by.  I am starting to realise that Vic is truly never coming home!  The house is big and empty!

You Will Never Get Over it


Vic as a little girl
Vic as a little girl

I have subscribed to a club…The Grief Club”.  I will share the very first post I read with you.

You Will Never Get Over it

By

Corinne Edwards, Guest Author

 

We had a shocking loss of a young person in the family.  My 21 year old son died in an accident. The next day, a friend came to see us.  His son had been killed by a drunk driver. His words surprised me.  They didn’t sink in until much later.

“You will never get over this.  If you know this in advance, you won’t try.  You will not struggle and condemn yourself for not succeeding.”

He was right.  His words became a consolation.  I stopped trying. That’s why I decided to write this article.  I wanted to share my friend’s words with  you. The old normal is gone.  There’s  a hole in your heart and your being that will never be filled.

I related to so many things the women confided.  I read their stories – did the same things.  I also felt my son around all the time.  I went to psychics to try to contact him.  I even attended a séance. I prayed for messages.  I dreamed about him often. I imagined I saw him in a crowd of people.   I wouldn’t let him go.

One psychic told me that those who have gone on to the other side are allowed to stay around for a while to help and comfort, but they won’t be here forever. I started feeling him less and less.  I dreamed about  him only once in a while.  But  he’s never left my heart.

After a period of intense pain, you’ll be different.  The person you were is gone.  It is an amputation.  Eventually, a new person will emerge.  It will be the new normal. A new life will start to take shape, but the limb you  lost won’t grow back.  You will have something in common with a soldier who bravely runs a marathon despite having a prosthesis for a leg.

As my friend said, you’ll never get over it.

This new person will have a life which includes peace, love  and even laughter, community and new friendships.  It can and will happen in your own time.

I believe there is a tiny gift inherent in every unspeakable tragedy. One is compassion.  I could not have written that article for widows if I hadn’t experienced the grief of losing my husband.  I would not have been able to connect.

Another gift is knowing how to help someone who’s in  extreme pain.

The world doesn’t give you much time.  You hear platitudes like “Life goes on” and “Thank God you have other family.”  They say it as if another person can  replace the one you  lost.  You get about two months to get over it. The truth is, they don’t know what to say.  What they don’t know is that all they need to do is listen.

Part of the gift is giving someone else your time to listen far beyond the window  normally allowed.  You know they have no one to talk to.  You reach out more. You know how important it is to tell the story, over and over.

The sharing of this gift, when you are able, will comfort you. You’ll stop struggling to get over it.  You’ll trust that if you’re  still on this earth, there must be a reason. The new normal person will find that reason.  It may not  exist yet, but every day it becomes more real..

© Corinne Edwards

http://www.personal-growth-with-corinne-edwards.com

I have so far to go!  

Owkay mommy I will….


The boys and I visiting Vic in hospital last year.
The boys and I visiting Vic in hospital last year.

It has been a day filled with back to back meetings.  I coped well (I think) and managed to focus.  It was strange not checking my phone every couple of minutes to see whether Vic is okay or not.

I sent the boys’ text messages early evening as the meetings continued into the night.

Me to Jared:  “Hi baby – you okay?”

Jared:  “Hey Oumie.  I’m okay thanks and you?”

Me:  “Missing you”

Jared:  “Missing you too Oumie.  This house feels empty”

Me:  “Will phone later just in a meeting”

Jared: “Owkay Oumie”

Me:  “Sleep tight angel!  Pse wake me so I can see you tomorrow”

Jared “Owkay mommy I will!!! Love you!!! Missing you too Oumie”

Breathe in, breath out, breathe in, breathe out…. I could not look up.  I was petrified that that my colleagues would see the tears that formed in my eyes.

These poor boys!  They are stoic in their grief.  They carry on bravely at school and with all their extramural activities.  They are so young to have gone through so much pain and loss.  They lost their childhoods to Osteogenesis Imperfecta and doctor error; they have watched their mother suffer horrific pain, lose her dignity…Yet they witnessed their incredibly beautiful mother fight every second of her life to stay alive…  She showered them with love and taught them independence.  She was strict and her favourite words to them was “I am your Mother not your excuse”

The boys are brave like their warrior mother!  A credit to her!

I wish I could wipe the pain from their hearts and memories.  There is however no Ketamine Infusion for emotional pain, only for physical pain. I wish I could protect them for pain and loss but I cannot.  I must continue with the phenomenal work their mother started in their upbringing.  I must help them to continue growing and individuals on this path Vic put them on…

I miss my child more than I ever thought I would.  I honestly thought, because of the extended “Anticipatory Grief” period, that we went through, the grief would be less after Vic’s death.  That anticipatory grief is however NOTHING compared to the pain we are experiencing 17 days after Vic’s death.  I don’t know whether I will ever get used to this void in my heart.

Will I ever be able to breathe without pain again?  Will I ever sleep again?  Will I ever laugh spontaneously with joy again?

I actually just don’t want to live with this pain…..

I miss being Mommy


My beautiful Vic
My beautiful Vic

I so desperately need to articulate my pain and yet I cannot.  Words are inadequate and empty.  There are not enough adjectives in the english language to describe my indescribable pain and longing for my precious child.  Yet, my cyberfriend Judy has articulated my emotions pretty accurately.  So in the absence of my own words I am posting Judy’s email to me.

Thank you Judy.  Your words do help.  What a horrible area to be experienced in – the world of grief….  

Judy is right.  I just want my child to be with me.  I miss her more than I ever imagined I would.  The void is like a never-ending well of despair.  I miss being a grandmother and I miss being a Mommy….I am only a back-up mother now.  An empty vessel.

Thank you all for your love and support.

Tersia,

I am not telling you that I know how you feel. I cannot know. Grief was so isolating and lonely that even when I had people caring about me, I remember my mind screaming that I would give anything to have my child back! It was such a horror. I could not concentrate upon anything. I could not read a single paragraph and know what I had just read. I could not sleep. I did not want to be alive anymore.
 
You are so supported – I see message after message flying across cyberspace to hug you. I see a lot of messages telling you to stay strong. I think what is typical for being a caregiver is the constant suppression of emotion. You were Vic’s caregiver for decades. You learned how it was important for you to be strong.  I see how concerned you are about staying strong for everyone around you. I remember when I decided I wasn’t able to be strong anymore.
 
So staying strong might pose a conflict for you. At some point, all of your emotions might start to surface. It is terrifying. I was tired of hearing how my child’s suffering was over. Inside I screamed, “Why did my child ever have to suffer!!?” That was the beginning of my feeling very angry. Anger was a difficult place to be in, but it is a stage of grief. Men and woman grieve very differently, too. Navigating that was more than I could handle, so I retreated to be with other grieving mothers. 
 
I’m wondering if my words are helpful. I guess I just want you to know that you are on a road that you will survive. You know that. Life will never be the same. You know that. Some people cannot enter the doorway of grief. They succumb to it. You have entered the doorway and are plunging ahead into the darkness. It hurts so much!
 
Love, Judy

 

I miss you Angle Child!


Vic and her boys...
Vic and her boys…

Today I attended my first serious business meeting in almost three months.  I have really neglected my business.  Fortunately there was the Christmas recess, so it was not too bad.  The series of very important meetings scheduled for the week of the 13th of January was pushed back to the first week in February once I realized that Vic was dying.

I dreaded seeing my (all male) colleagues today.  I have known some of them for 25 years and they all knew of Vic’s precarious health.

I sat in my car outside the building and took deep breaths.  These guys have never known me to show emotion.  I have been stoic throughout Vic’s illness, many operations and setbacks.  I was petrified that I would not be able to contain my grief!

Lots of hugs and pats on the back dispersed with the sympathies…a hushed silence followed me into the boardroom.  With a couple of minutes to spare before the start of the meeting the guys decided to go smoke. 

“It must be a relief for you to not have the responsibility of a sick child any more…” the one said through a cloud of smoke…..

“Yes” said another.  “It has been many years”….

I did not have to dignify the insensitive remarks with a response as one of the female directors came out and hugged me.  “I have no words for you” she said.

We went into the board room and took our seats.  Being our first meeting of the year the normal New Year pleasantries was exchanged.   I coped beautifully.

The meeting began and as soon as I started speaking I could hear a quiver in my voice!  I was mortified!  I shut up as quickly as possible and spent a couple of minutes trying to compose myself without drawing any attention to myself.  Breathe in through my abdomen …exhale!  Breathe in – exhale… My hands were shaking so I clutched my pen tightly!  I put my hands on the boardroom table to steady them.

For years I have NEVER switched off my cell phone in case Vic needed me.  If I was away from home (or even when I was home) I would fall asleep in with my phone in my hand.  24/7 my phone was on.

In a way it was liberating switching my phone off when the meeting started.

When I got home this afternoon I sat reading through my old BBM messages from Vic.

“Vomiting again”

 “Can I phone you Mommy?”

 “Mommy may I have morphine?  I am so sore!”

 “Still vomiting”

 “When will you be home Mommy?”

Tonight the boys went to their dad for dinner.  Danie and I popped in at a friend whose daughter-in-law was paralysed in a motorbike accident on the 8th of December.  Her three beautiful granddaughters seem a little bewildered.  Their mommy is in rehab and their daddy is staying with her 24/7.  My friend became a substitute mommy for the girls.  I have become a substitute mom to the boys again.

It was strange going to dinner – just the two of us.

Last night I covered schoolbooks… tomorrow morning I will take Jon-Daniel to the orthodontist to have his braces removed.  Vic desperately wanted to live for the “event”.  I hope she will be there in spirit.  Tomorrow afternoon Jared and I will go and make an appointment for our motorbike learner licenses!

I am battling to contain my grief.  I am trying to find the time to research “teenage grief”.  How do we know how to treat grieving teenage boys?  What if we make mistakes?  What if we fail Vic and her boys?  I fear I am not spending enough time with the boys.

Life is a mess.

I miss you angel child!

 

OCVCC – Day three


IMG-20130130-01513It is day 3 of OCVCC (Operation Clean-out Vic’s Clothing Cupboards.)  Today was unbearable. 

Day one I packed up Vic’s clothing I did not like.  That is the sexy stuff that showed far too much cleavage.  I was forever saying “Vic – Your boobs are showing!  Cover yourself!” or “Boob alert – the boys can see….”  I know I was stupid but in my mind’s eye I always saw that little girl who needed to be protected from the world and it was difficult to see the adult, sensual young woman…vicbaby

Day 2 was the “Fat clothes” day.  There was not too much of that although Vic was overweight from time to time.  The Addison’s cortisone treatment played absolute havoc with her weight.

Day 3 – today, was unbearable.  It was the clothes that she liked and wore that had to be packed.  As I was folding her little T-Shirts my tears dripped on the cotton.  I held her favourite clothing items against my face and tried to smell her on them.  I could see exactly how each item fitted her disease ravaged little body.  I could hear her say “Don’t I look fat?”

I cried when I packed four drawers of pyjamas.  There were dress-like nightgowns for after abdominal operations when nothing could touch her abdomen; three-quarter pants with T-shirts for good days; long pants with T-shirts for when she was cold and of course the stuff she never wore…the sexy stuff.  I picked up the silky stuff and I knew that they were worn seldom if ever.  We should be able to sell these quite easily in our second-hand Hospice shop…

The boys made up their memory boxes on Monday night.  I started with wonderful intentions…I too would have a small memory box.  I already have two large cardboard boxes plus my memory box filled with precious memories.   

As I wept into Vic’s clothes I decided that there is no rush.  I do not have to give the clothes to Hospice immediately.  I will keep it all in storage until I am ready to part with it. 

Never again will I see my precious Vic wearing any of it. 

Every handbag I picked up had been cleaned out properly with the exception of a tube of lipstick.  Every single handbag had lipstick in it!

Jon-Daniel has started moving into Vic’s room.  It is the 2nd largest bedroom in the house with the nicest bathroom.  Yesterday we moved two single beds in and put Vic’s bedroom furniture in storage.  Tomorrow we will move the lounge suite into storage.  The dining room suite has been sold and delivered today.

All Vic’s earthly possessions have been moved as if she has never existed.

The lounge will become a games room with a pool and table tennis tables.  The dining room we will convert into a dedicated study and computer games room.  We will furnish the rooms with contemporary furniture.

In my heart I know Vic would approve the changes.  She would HATE the fact that her furniture is in storage.  I feel like a grave digging weasel but I am complying with her final wishes.

My Vic was a little squirrel!  She accumulated STUFF.  Vic was a compulsive shopper.  In December, knowing that she was in the final stretch of her journey, Vic bought new clothes…  Some of it she never got to wear.  But it brought her joy buying it.

This weekend I will tackle the other cupboards.  The cupboards that contain all tax and warranty related documents going back to 2001…. All neatly filed in plastic sleeves… I will keep the boys school files that she so lovingly kept up to date.  Every drawing, school report, newsletter filed per boy by year…  When they leave home one day and have kids of their own (that they will moan at for not studying….) I will hand my great-grandchildren their dad’s reports.

There are tons of papers to dispose of!  There are boxes of educational toys and games from when the boys were toddlers; thousands of photos and piles of albums; ribbons from her childhood; diaries and journals; love letters from Vaughn, her first love; get better cards, birthday cards and goodness alone knows what else.

In the weeks before her death Vic occasionally said “Oh Mommy, promise me you won’t get angry with me when you clear out my cupboards…”  If only she knew how many tears I have shed clearing out her cupboards.

I must confess I have always had a memory box with Vic’s first little outfit ever, her first school uniform, all her report cards, a lock of her baby hair…  I will add to this box the lock of Vic’s hair that Esther cut after she had died.

I RECEIVED MY SIGN!


ImageTuesday morning arrived.  It had been a very long weekend.  I battled with the eulogy and my broken heart.  Everybody kept looking at me to make sure I was okay…  Patting my hand and saying: “It is going to be okay!”

It is never going to be okay.  Nothing can erase my child’s suffering and death from my mind.  In time I suppose I will learn to live with the pain and longing, but it is NOT GOING TO BE FLIPPEN OKAY!!!!! EVER!!!

I have slept in Vic’s bed since her death to “demystify” her room.  I also feel close to her.  I can smell her in her pillow; I spray her perfume before I go to sleep.

After Vic passed and before the undertakers arrived I lay next to her lifeless little body. I spoke to her non-stop.

“Sweetie, If your soul is hovering in this room I want a clear sign from you that you are still with me…”

I woke early and prepared for the lousiest day of my life.  I started chewing “Rescue” tablets.  It was the only way I was going to get through the memorial service without making an absolute fool of myself.  The boys looked so handsome!  Their mom would have been very proud of her boys!

At the church the hearse was parked at the front door.  Vic was already inside the church.  A huge photo was on an easel and at least a hundred candles were burning around the casket.  The flowers were beautiful.  Vic would have approved.

I sat in the pew with tears running down my face.  I could not believe that my baby girl was lying in that casket!  That I would never see her, never hold her again, never hear her voice again.  Sitting in church I could not remember her pain and suffering only my own.

The service was beautiful!  The minister spoke from his heart and shared his memories of a brave young woman with almost 200 people.  He said that not many people are ever prepared for death but Vic was to such an extent that she had planned her entire memorial service.  He wiped a tear from his eyes where he spoke of Vic’s journey.

As instructed by Vic we sang “Amazing Grace” and “How great Art Thou”.  I managed to sing – not a pretty sound though!  My voice was all over!  Vic would have giggled and told me that I sound like my mom!

I did the eulogy with the two boys standing on either side of me.  At times my voice wavered and at times even I could hear how strong I sounded.

And then it was time to carry the coffin to the hearse for the FINAL part of Vic’s journey.  I could hear the boys quietly sobbing as we carried Vic on her final journey.  I felt my face contort with grief and tears.

The coffin was so light!  I remember thinking “I wonder if Vic is really in the coffin….”

We lay single roses on the coffin.  The two boys’ red roses and the rest of us pink….  Kari and Simone (Vic’s nieces) came up and stroked the coffin.  They sobbed uncontrollably.  I could hear people crying.

The minister said a final prayer, and it was time for Vic to leave.

The undertaker solemnly hugged me and closed the rear door of the hearse.  It opened…. He pushed the coffin into position and relocked the locking mechanism.  He closed the door again.  Once again the door closed and opened!

“Vic is here and she is telling us she is going no where!” I said

People laughed nervously….

The undertaker unlocked the lock and pushed the coffin into position again.  The undertaker locked the locking mechanism for the 3rd time.  He closed the door. This time it remained closed.  Vic had gotten her message through to me…I received my sign.

My precious child is still with me.

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