1977

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 3^rd 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.

Easter

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.

A radiant Easter Bunny hiding Easter Eggs... — A radiant Easter Bunny hiding Easter Eggs…

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.

Vic Easter Monday 2012 - her last Easter... — Vic Easter Monday 2012 – her last Easter…

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.

I WANT MY CHILD BACK!!

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 love you Angel Child

100_7810 — Vic and her boys on her 38th birthday

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 8^th of April they will meet the Hospice Psychologist. On the 25^th 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…”

The boys and their grief…

Today, Jared (16) was called in by the school psychiatrist.

The psychiatrist spoke to him at length about the stages of grief. Jared loves facts.

Thanks to Google I am well versed in the stages of grief and constantly try to monitor where the boys are in the process. I did not stop to think that knowing the stages, in detail, would give them a sense of comfort.

Ten years ago we were told by the doctors that Vic had maybe 5 years to live. The boys were then 6 and 4 years old.

At the age of five, a child may have thought of death as a deep sleep from which the person would eventually awaken, (like the princess in Sleeping Beauty). At seven, the child may believe that only grandmas and grandpa’s and other elderly folks can become ill and die—but not little kids or their parents. Age 12 they know that death can happen at any time…

Jared developed a sugar problem at the age of 6…due to the stress of Vic’s illness. Over the years he has developed a weight problem as he stress eats. His school marks have dropped and he has lost interest in sport, his friends and life. He is a Type 2 Diabetic.

On the surface Jon-Daniel appears to be coping far better than Jared.

He excels in school and has immersed himself in sports or hobbies. I think what may really be at work here is a defence mechanism known as sublimation. I believe that Jon-Daniel has over the years subconsciously channeled his strong feelings of grief into a more “socially acceptable” outlet. He directs his attention solely to areas where he feels comfortable. It is his way of regaining control over a world that has been jolted out of orbit.

Having the intellectual capacity to grasp the implications of death doesn’t necessarily equip teenagers to cope emotionally with the tragedy. Adolescents typically appear to feel grief more intensely than adults, especially if one of their parents has died. The Adolescent Life Change Event Scale (ALCES), which mental-health specialists use to help quantify the events that are the most stress-inducing in teenagers, ranks a parent’s death as the number one cause of adolescent stress. Second is the death of a brother or sister, followed by the death of a friend.

The stress started years before Vic died. The boys grew up knowing that their Mommy was ill and in a lot of pain. The realization actually only hit home with them in 2007 when we told the boys on a couple of occasions that Vic was dying. In hindsight it would have been better if we never told them but at the time I believed it to be the right thing to do. I could not lie to the boys and tell them Vic was doing well when she was fighting for her life on a ventilator and the doctors were turning off the ventilator.

It was clear with Jon-Daniel over the years that he harboured resentment towards Vic when she was in hospital. In his eyes Vic abandoned them…his way of coping was to “harden” his heart. He would literally ignore her or act up when she was ill… Over the past year he however “softened” his attitude towards his sick mom.

Because adolescents are so sensitive about their “image”, they may feel self-conscious or outright embarrassed by displays of grief and struggle to suppress their emotions. This can also be a means of protecting themselves.

As a family we experienced “anticipatory grief”. During the past year especially we resorted to black humour. There is no “right way” or “wrong way” to mourn. Jared told me today that he asked his Church councillor last year whether you can mourn someone whilst they are still alive….

Grief is often expressed in one of the following ways:

Depression
Changes in conduct or acting-out behaviours
“Perfect” behaviour
A decline in academic performance
Refusing to attend school
Turning to alcohol or illicit drugs to numb the emotional pain
Seeking solace through a sexual relationship
Overeating or under-eating
Sleeping more than usual or not getting enough sleep
Physical symptoms

It is said that a teenager who loses a parent is also subconsciously mourning the end of the childhood he’d led up until now. However in the case of Vic the boys have potentially regained a childhood…I just hope and pray it is not too late for them to have a childhood.

Five Stages of Grieving

Shock / Denial

This is a protective mechanism that helps the person to function for the time being. With denial, the person may refuse to believe what happened. For instance, one teen was waiting for her friend to come to her graduation party and kept texting him to see when he would be there. Finally, she got a call from his sister telling her that he was killed in a motorcycle accident. She refused to believe he was dead, however, and reacted by telling the sister she was lying. Of course, his friend was experiencing shock. During shock, the person can function as though nothing happened, but may feel like she is in a surreal world or place.

Anger

Often there is blaming others for the loss or lashing out at people. Sometimes people act out their anger in other ways. The mother of a teen realized she was blaming her son for causing his own death after she began telling his friends, “Please, don’t do this to your mothers.” In essence, she was saying to her son, “Look what you’ve done to me.” The anger needs to be processed, though. The mother began to realize that her son was a teenager and that teenagers take risks. Teenagers’ brains aren’t fully developed in the area of judgment, so they don’t gauge risks the same way as an adult. Also, there were other factors that contributed to her son’s death besides his risk-taking behavior. Working through the anger helps a person to move through the other stages of grieving.

Bargaining / Magic

This often involves either cutting a contract with yourself, asking your higher power to take you out of the situation or fantasizing that this is some sort of dream and tomorrow you’ll wake up and it will never have happened. This stage helps the person to feel some control over the situation. For example, when one mother saw her son in the hospital emergency room lying dead in a body bag after all attempts of resuscitation had failed, she laid over his body begging God to breathe life back into him, praying for a miracle.

Depression / Grief / Sadness

This stage involves a lot of “what ifs.” The person now turns the anger inward and blames herself for the loss. Often this is false guilt, though, and the person really had no control over what happened or no real way to prevent it. This stage provides an opportunity for the person to grow spiritually and perhaps further develop spiritual beliefs as she searches for the meaning or purpose of life, death, pain and suffering. Even if the person is somehow at fault, perhaps the person’s actions or shortcomings are being used as part of a greater plan.

Acceptance / Forgiveness / Resolution

Accepting the loss doesn’t mean you like what happened. It does mean that you are trusting that life can be good again in spite of the hurt and pain the loss has caused you. Sometimes we need to forgive the loss or perhaps someone who has directly caused our pain or grief. Forgiving means letting go of bitterness and revenge, which only harm us and not the offender. To be unforgiving means we are not moving on and letting go, but continuing to allow ourselves to be hurt by the other party or the loss. We feel more powerless when we keep wanting something from others that they cannot give us. Perhaps this is an apology or maybe a change of heart. Nevertheless, we can always grow and move on without seeing any change in the other person or getting back what was taken from us. We take back our power in the situation when we begin reversing the negative consequences in our lives and perhaps by finding new purposes and meanings for our lives. http://www.cincinnatichildrens.org/service/s/surviving-teens/stressors/grief-loss/

Grief never ends, but it does change in character and intensity. Grieving is like the constantly shifting tides of the ocean; ranging from calm, low tides to raging high tides that change with the seasons and the years. I know this from my parents and BFF deaths.

We will meet with the Hospice councillor that the boys saw last year – they connected with him. Maybe it is time to start Jared on an anti-depressant….

We love the boys so much. I wish we could wrap them in cotton and protect them from the world. They are so beautiful and have these AMAZING personalities. They are not difficult or rebellious teenagers.

I wish I knew what to do.

The stench of hatred

On the 22nd of February I posted on a blotched back operation that Vic had and ultimately lead to her death. https://tersiaburger.com/2013/02/22/4027-days/

A family member commented “I hope one day you can forgive him, for he didn’t know what he was doing. I checked with Vicky, and she did.”

I know Vic had made peace with the surgeon. She died with no feelings of hatred in her heart. She bore no-one ill. Vic was a gentle, loving people-pleaser.

I am not. I have a dark side to me. I do not tolerate fools or bullies easily. I hate the surgeon and his compatriot in blotched surgery, Dr V, with every fiber of my being. He KNEW what he was doing. He admitted later that it was an experimental procedue…

I know exactly what the Bible says about forgiveness. I know how bitterness and hate affects one’s life. I know it robs one of your joys. I have read that you cannot enter Heaven if you have not forgiven. I have however also read, and choose to believe what is written in the Old Testament – an eye for an eye….

I received this lovely little anecdote today and thought, very sanctimoniously, that I would share it. When I however sat down and started typing I realized that I would be a hypocrite if I pretended to just pass on the moral of the story.

I know that hate contaminates everything.

The definition of Hatred:-

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Hatred (or hate) is a deep and emotional extreme dislike that can be directed against individuals, entities, objects, or ideas. Hatred is often associated with feelings of anger and a disposition towards hostility. Commonly held moral rules, such as the Golden Rule, oppose universal hatred towards another.

The Bible refers to hatred between 71 and 93 times in the Bible – depending on which version you read.

Both the Old and the New Testaments deal with hatred. David, in the Psalms, thanks God for destroying those that hate him, and thanks Him for hating his enemies.^[1] This is the era of wars and kingdoms; armies destroy enemies, hate is political and military. But it is also domestic: David’s sons hate each other, and Absalom will kill his half-brother after the latter rapes and spurns his sister. And after banishment, Abasalom will hate his father and try to destroy him. However, the Old Testament also contains condemnations of hatred. For example, ” thou shalt not hate thy brother in thy heart”.^[2] In the New Testament, hatred focuses on the soul. Evil is internalised and the focus of hatred becomes that part of the heart, the sinning self. The New Testament also clearly condemns hatred. Jesus contended that “whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer and you know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in himself.”^[3] But all people are, according to the gospels, sinners, and only have to look inside of themselves in order to find sin. Loving good means hating sin and turning from vice. Love, as Aquinas^{[citation needed]} teaches, must be divided into love of good things, the healthy movement of the soul true to itself, and love of inappropriate objects, the desire to have and use what may be bad for the soul.- Wikipedia

So herewith the anecdote…

A kindergarten teacher decided to let her class play a game.

The teacher told each child in the class to bring along a plastic bag containing a few potatoes.

Each potato will be given a name of a person that the child hates.

So the number of potatoes that a child will put in his/her plastic bag will depend on the number of people he/she hates.

So when the day came, each child brought some potatoes with the name of the people he/she hated. Some had 2 potatoes; some 3 while some up to 5 potatoes. The teacher then told the children to carry with them the potatoes in the plastic bag wherever they go (even to the toilet) for 1 week.

Days after days passed by, and the children started to complain due to the unpleasant smell let out by the rotten potatoes. Besides, those having 5 potatoes also had to carry heavier bags. After 1 week, the children were relieved because the game had finally ended… The teacher asked: “How did you feel while carrying the potatoes with you for 1 week?” The children let out their frustrations and started complaining of the trouble that they had to go through having to carry the heavy and smelly potatoes wherever they go.

Then the teacher told them the hidden meaning behind the game. The teacher said: “This is exactly the situation when you carry your hatred for somebody inside your heart. The stench of hatred will contaminate your heart and you will carry it with you wherever you go. If you cannot tolerate the smell of rotten potatoes for just 1 week, can you imagine what is it like to have the stench of hatred in your heart for your lifetime???”

Moral of the story: Throw away any hatred for anyone from your heart so that you will not carry sins for a lifetime. Forgiving others is the best attitude to take!

Newsflash: I pray that I will find forgiveness in my heart for the good doctors but tonight my eldest grandson is lying in his room, reading a book of poetry Vic left him, crying for his mother. Nothing that I do or say can make his pain less or bring his mommy back.

So that stench of hatred…I will live with it. It fuels my hatred.

Old habits die hard….

Today we had our first real family get together after Vic’s memorial service. It was Esther’s birthday on the 20^th of February.

I was uncertain about how the boys and I would handle it. It was our first family get together without Vic.

I was amazed at how much less time the cooking and baking took….not because there was one person less to cook for, but because there was no interruptions….I was always up and down the passage checking on Vic, helping her go to the bathroom, giving her meds or injections, cleaning up vomit… Sometimes I would check on her and we would just end up chatting or watching Cake Boss….

Vic always tried to help…poor little poppet! She would ask over and over again “How can I help Mommy?” If the truth be known she only got in my way but I loved the “us” time… Sometimes I would ask her to add the cheese to the cheese sauce whilst I stirred… She would take great pleasure in telling everyone that we baked or cooked….

Jared and I went off to Driving School this morning. I would get home just in time for the boys to set the tables under the trees in the garden and for me to finish off the meal.

Everyone arrived and the house was filled with happy, excited voices and the sound of children running around. It was a perfect summer day. For the first time in a long time lunch was ready, not a single dish burnt or spoilt…. My grandchildren are ALL fussy eaters. For once they ate all their food and went back for seconds and even thirds…

Esther told us that Yuri (6 years old), my youngest grandson, had a show and tell at school. He spoke about his family. He showed the class a photo of his mom, dad and brother. He also showed them a camping photo of him and his daddy. He told his class he was so lucky to have three grans and two granddads… His “gran number 3 is cool because she builds armoured vehicles and gives him lots of sweets”. I am gran number 3….He showed his class a photo of Vic and told them that she was his “beloved” aunt Vic who is already in Heaven with Jesus… Apparently the class of pre-schoolers all appropriately “ooh-ed and Aaah-ed”…

I cried a quiet tear.

Kari and Simone individually came up and hugged me. “How are you Ouma?” they asked with real concern…All the grandchildren are sleeping over tonight. The house is alive with their youthful enthusiasm and energy.

It was a lovely day and a wonderful evening. I missed Vic so much – at times I walked away because I had teared up again… It will always be great to be with loved ones, but it has changed forever.

There was an extra setting at the table and an empty seat….The boys unthinkingly set a place for their mom….Old habits die-hard!

I missed you so much my Angle Child!!

Esther’s Living Eulogy

Esther was the first of Danie’s children that I met, when we started dating. It was a couple of weeks before her wedding. I was so thrilled when she asked me to go with her for the final fitting of her wedding dress!

I will never forget her words to me in the car that day: “Don’t worry about us kids. Just worry about you and my dad”

I cannot remember whether I articulated my fear of her and her siblings, but she sensed it!

I was PETRIFIED of Danie’s four children. I did not particularly like children. Maybe my mind refused to accept the fact that I love children because I made the conscious decision to not subject a second or third child to Osteogenesis Imperfecta. The OI gene was passed onto Vic by her Dad, but we had been divorced for many, many years and I accepted that I could not have another child. I did not have space in my heart for another child.

I loved Vic with an all-consuming love. I did not always like her, but I always loved her!

I met the kids and I was petrified. They were livelier than any other children I had ever met with their own little quirks. I actually never dated a man with children until I met Danie!

I blogged on the proposal before and will not bore you with the beautiful details of it again… https://tersiaburger.com/2012/10/05/danie-the-wind-beneath-my-wings/ . You are welcome to read the post on it.

We have been married for 22 years. For 22 years these amazing children have crept into my heart and firmly lodged themselves there. They have accepted me into their lives. They loved and nurtured my Vic. I am a punker bunker granny to their children…

Esther, is very outspoken, to the point, honest and an amazing wife and mother. She is loyal to a fault, independent and fiercely protective of her loved ones. Esther is compassionate and unbelievably intelligent. She has a superb sense of humour but very sensitive. She is an amazing person.

Esther nursed her husband through Stage 4 Colon Cancer. She researches nutritional sites for correct and healthy food. She is totally focused on her family and will demolish anyone or anything that threatens them.

Esther was truly the sister Vic always wanted. There were times when things were rough between them. There were differences and some hurt. But…there was a gentle love between the sisters.

Esther popped in to visit Vic almost every day. They texted and BBM’d. They shared war stories about their children. Esther was Vic safety blanket… Esther would lie in bed with Vic and hold her hand. She encouraged and helped. As a pharmacist she was amazing in assisting us with Vic’s meds in the last couple of weeks. As a sister she told Vic to let go; that the boys were safe; that she was loved and would never be forgotten. She told Vic to go towards the light…. Jon-Daniel went to stay with her in the last days of Vic’s life. She was there when Vic left home the last time. She may have been there when Vic stopped breathing – I can’t remember. I know that she sprayed Vic’s favourite perfume on her before Vic left home….

So Esther, if you read this know that I love you deeply. Know that I respect you for the beautiful person you are and for being an amazing mother to my beautiful grandsons. Thank you for the joy you bring in your father’s life. He loves you with an intensity that is scary. When Vic died he cried and said he cannot imagine it being you…that he hoped you would end up on the same cloud one day….

Thank you for loving Vic the way you did. Thank you for comforting her in her hour of need. Thank you for coaching her towards the end of her life. Thank you for loving the boys and having compassionate conversations with them…. You know what I am talking about!

I wish you joy and happiness in the year ahead. I love and admire you.

I want to be an eagle

Photo Credit: http://www.google.co.za/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&docid=a4HSdquhxAfXUM&tbnid=bvrLKK8OWwZQ2M:&ved=0CAcQjB0wADivAQ&url=http%3A%2F%2Fdaryl-hunter.net%2Fslideshow%2Feagles-nest-idaho-snake-river%2F&ei=UdAjUYbdBO6a1AWewoAQ&psig=AFQjCNHGyZZ71w_6bQPcV6e5EXHslosATg&ust=1361387985127753 — Photo Credit: Google

My late father was pretty advanced in his journey with Alzheimers when I read that AD patients respond well to animals. We got my Dad a little Maltese Poodle and it was love at first sight.

My Dad absolutely adored Tiger. He carried Tiger everywhere and Tiger sat with him, ate with him and slept with him.

One day my Dad and I were chatting and I asked him: “If you could be any animal what would you be?”

I fully expected him to say a Lion – he loved the magnificence of lions…I love eagles. I don’t think Dad quite understood what I was asking and said “You go first…”

“I would want to be an eagle…” I said

“Why?” he asked

“I want to soar high above the sky and experience that total solitude and quiet…” I replied

“Oh” Dad said. “I would want to be this little guy”

Dad did not remember the name of his beloved dog but he knew that the dog was loved, nurtured and spoilt!

I have always equated the turmoil of teenage and parent relationships as an “Eagle” relationship. The following is an extract from a site – http://www.eagleflight.org/cyberstudies/actions-and-attitudes-of-a-growing-church/157-with-eagles-wings. I have changed some of the headings and removed text that is not relevant but basically the content below belongs to http://www.eagleflight.com

Location is very important to the eagle and it’s young. If possible, eagles build their nests on the face of cliffs. They don’t build a nest in a tree unless they absolutely have to, because a nest in a tree can be easily accessed. They don’t build it on the top of the cliff, either, because on the top of a cliff it can be violated, too. Eagles build their nests in some inaccessible place.

The nest is built with consummate skill—not using little twigs, but great branches woven together in an immensely skillful way. If somehow an eagle’s nest is loosed from its moorings and falls, it rarely comes apart. In fact, eagles’ nests are so big, they have weighed in at half a ton! They’re comfortable, too. Their centers are carefully lined with feathers and leaves, and the eggs are placed there. When they hatch, the mother begins the process of feeding the babies.

After the eaglets get to a certain size, or maturity, everything changes! One day the mother eagle comes back from being gone, but this time there’s no food in her beak, and she doesn’t land on the edge of the nest. Instead, she hovers over the nest.

You may not know this, but an eagle can do almost what a hummingbird can do. Even though they are great birds, they can remain almost motionless in midair with those great wings just undulating in the breeze. They do this about three feet above the nest. I’m sure if little eagles could talk to one another—and maybe they can—one would certainly say, “My, what strong wings Mommy has.”

Why does the mother do this? She is demonstrating that those curious appendages on the babies’ backs have a useful function. Eagles, of course, were meant to fly, but they don’t know that. If we take an eagle and separate it at birth from its parents, it will never learn to fly. It will just grovel around in the dirt like a chicken. It might even look up and see eagles soaring overhead and never guess that it was meant to soar in the heavens.

Eagles have to be taught, and that’s the mother’s job. So first she just demonstrates.

The next thing she does is come down into the nest and surprise her young. One can imagine how warm it must normally be for the little eagles to snuggle with their mother and be enshrouded with her feathers, but this time she puts her head up against one of the little ones, and pushes that little one closer and closer to the edge of the nest. (“Hey mom, mom, what are you doing?”)

All at once she pushes the little one out of the nest, and the eaglet falls down the face of the cliff, surely to be destroyed. But not so! In a flash the great mother eagle flies down, catches the little one on her back, and flies up and deposits it in the nest. (“Whew! Mom, that must have been an accident.”) But it wasn’t an accident. The mother bird pushes the little one out again, and again, over and over.

Why would a mother do that to her young? Does she hates the little one? Not at all. It’s just that those little birds were made to fly, and they don’t know it, so she is going to push them out of the nest. She never lets them hit bottom, but she does let them fall, because they have to learn something they don’t know.

The next time the mother bird comes back she decides to clean house, and so she stands on the edge of the nest. The first things to go are the feathers inside; she drops them over the edge. Then the leaves go over the edge—heave ho! While this is going on, she’s not very talkative, either. (“Mom, what are you doing?”) She pays no attention. Since she built the house, she knows how to take it apart.

Next she decides to take the sticks out of the middle of the nest, and with her great strong beak and feet, she’s able to break them off and stand them straight up. (“Mom, it’s not comfortable in here anymore.”) Then she takes certain key sticks out of the nest and throws them over the edge. (“What are you doing, Mom? You are wrecking my room.”)

She seemingly pays no attention to the concerns of her young as she prepares to pull the nest apart, for she is determined that those little ones will fly, and she knows something they don’t. She knows they will never fly as long as they remain in the nest.

That is why teenagers and mothers fight…so they can learn to fly and “escape” home!

We all go through this stage with our teenagers. Most of the time we don’t even realize the process…. But Nature is great and takes over from us.

I was never able to let go of Vic. I wanted her close where I could hear her breathe. The movie “Terms of endearment” shows a mother who walks into the nursery and climbs into the cot to make sure that her baby is breathing. When the baby starts crying she promptly climbs out, marches out and says “That’s better…”

That is the mother I was! I mothered (smothered) my precious baby until her last breath. I do not regret that she never learnt to fly. Hell, she never even learnt to ride a bike!

As a parent we can only do our best. We love and nurture and then we set them free…

I just feel so lost and empty.

Burnt biscuits

Before my Dad’s death in May 2011 I subscribed to a wonderful support group for the caregivers of Alzheimers Patients. http://www.caring.com I found it to be an amazing support group filled with love, compassion, practical advice and support! I would never have survived the journey if it had not been for the support group.

I still go back although I don’t comment often any more. In a way, it allows me to feel “connected” to my dad. One of the regular contributors is Granny PJ who cared for her beloved husband, Jeryl, for many years until he passed away just over a year ago. Granny PJ also goes back but unlike me she continues to encourage and support. Today I came across this and it was so precious that I wanted to share it… Granny PJ found this on Facebook and neither one of us claim this as our original. I also found this story blogged/posted in literally hundreds of blogs without a reference to who the original writer was.

http://inspirationalparenting.com/2010/01/25/burnt-biscuits/

http://www.turnbacktogod.com/story-burned-biscuits/

http://www.sparkpeople.com/mypage_public_journal_individual.asp?blog_id=2746100

words…http://www.caring.com/my/group/ad20d31c/posts?utm_source=stagegroups&utm_campaign=reply&utm_medium=email&emailauth=268972:db41f6f9a:-10950

Burned Biscuits – A lesson we all should learn.

When I was a kid, my Mom liked to make breakfast food for dinner every now and then. I remember one night in particular when she had made breakfast after a long, hard day at work. On that evening so long ago, my Mom placed a plate of eggs, sausage and extremely burned biscuits in front of my dad. I remember waiting to see if anyone noticed! All my dad did was reach for his biscuit, smile at my Mom and ask me how my day was at school. I don’t remember what I told him that night, but I do remember watching him smear butter and jelly on that ugly burned biscuit. He ate every bite of that thing…never made a face nor uttered a word about it!

When I got up from the table that evening, I remember hearing my Mom apologize to my dad for burning the biscuits. And I’ll never forget what he said, “Honey, I love burned biscuits every now and then.”

Later that night, I went to kiss Daddy good night and I asked him if he really liked his biscuits burned. He wrapped me in his arms and said, “Your Mom put in a hard day at work today and she’s real tired. And besides–a little burned biscuit never hurt anyone!” As I’ve grown older, I’ve thought about that many times. Life is full of imperfect things and imperfect people. I’m not the best at hardly anything, and I forget birthdays and anniversaries just like everyone else. But what I’ve learned over the years is that learning to accept each other’s faults and choosing to celebrate each other’s differences is one of the most important keys to creating a healthy, growing, and lasting relationship.

And that’s my prayer for you today…that you will learn to take the good, the bad, and the ugly parts of your life and lay them at the feet of God. Because in the end, He’s the only One who will be able to give you a relationship where a burnt biscuit isn’t a deal-breaker!

We could extend this to any relationship. In fact, understanding is the base of any relationship, be it a husband-wife or parent-child or friendship!

“Don’t put the key to your happiness in someone else’s pocket–keep it in your own.” So, please pass me a biscuit, and yes, the burned one will do just fine. And PLEASE pass this along to someone who has enriched your life–I just did! Be kinder than necessary because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle. “Life without God is like an unsharpened pencil–it has no point

Why don’t I just go to sleep and never wake up?

Last year Vic said: “Why don’t I just go to sleep and never wake up?”

This year – today – I am saying “Why don’t I just go to sleep and never wake up?”

Last year Vic said: “My boys don’t need me anymore. I have been sick all my life. Even my ears hurt. ”

On the 8th of January 2013 Vic said “Mommy my room is full of angels…”

Tonight I reread something a friend sent me as a comment https://tersiaburger.wordpress.com/wp-admin/edit-comments.php?p=383&approved=1

Dear Tersia

I have been following your journey now for some time and my heart goes out to you and your family. It is NOT EASY to care for somebody that is terminally ill. It makes it even more difficult if that person is your child.
I would like to share something with you though. It is vitally important that you take care of yourself in this tiring time. Please accept all the help from family and friends that’s been offered to you. This will give you some breathing space. It will also allow Vic to know that it is okay if Mom is just having a little bit of “me” time. Her energy is very powerful and she proved it to everybody up to now that she wants to survive.

Allow all Angels and guides to assist you with the care that you and your family so much need right now. God allows you to call upon their assistance when you need them. When Jacob was struggling with an Angel he called the Angel Michael to assist him and Michael was there not only to help him, but also to guide him with whatever he was struggling with. There are many stories in the Bible and other scriptures about God’s Angels. What still amazes me is that God found it necessary to create Angels. HE knew that we and all other creatures would need assistance and comfort when we are lonely. It took me a long time to work this out. It was only after my mom passed away and I fell very ill that my awareness of these wonderful creations of God was awakened.

Dear Tersia, know they are there, they are with you. You just need to ask for their guidance and assistance. Please know that Angels come in all forms. It might be your neighbour, your friend, nursing staff or maybe a presence! Nurture yourself. Get all the friends, family and help that you can now and trust people. They will be guided and equiped with the knowledge to help you now. You need to be taken care of now and so does your family.

Your friend

Louise xxx

The angels did come to comfort my child in her most fear-filled day.

We have found many angels in human form. Friends, family, acquaintances, WordPress Friends, Facebook friends…..

Thank you Louise for opening my eyes to the angels. Thank you for the angels that comforted my child in her hour of need and thank you for the angels that came and took her by the hand and whisked her away to a pain-free, joy filled place.

https://tersiaburger.com/2013/01/08/gramps-was-here/

https://tersiaburger.com/2012/06/17/i-always-pray-for-you-but-you-dont-seem-to-have-a-guardian-angel-17-6-2012/

So we decided on extra maths…

Today I felt as if I was at the end of my tether. Becoming a mom is a full time job. Maybe I must just adjust to the different routine and responsibilities. Up until a week before her death Vic was responsible for the boys. Sure, I did a lot of running around but Vic was my main responsibility. I was comfortable with our routine of waking, breakfast, showering, meds, nap, wake, lunch …… Vic would push the boys to do homework and their chores.

I hate “moaning”….If the boys needed to be pulled into line I would just whisper in Vic’s ear and she would sort them out. I could “ooch and gooch” and make soothing sounds…. I was the Oumie!!

Now I am the responsible person. The bucket stops with me!

Don’t get me wrong. The boys are amazing human beings. Jared has however started battling with maths and as he wants to study Information Technology, he needs higher grade maths. His maths mark is pathetic and he will never get accepted into a good university with a low maths mark. So we decided on extra maths lessons….

Jon-Daniel wants to study medicine and needs a maths mark in the upper 90’s to be accepted as a medical student. His marks are in the upper 80’s – good but not good enough. So we decided on extra maths lessons….

4.1.2013 Jon-Daniel, Vic and I exactly 2 weeks before Vic died

So the boys need to spend an extra hour and a half, per day, on maths…. They have busy programs! Mondays and Wednesday is archery and cricket. Tuesdays and Fridays extra maths and we try to get to the gym 4 days a week…. Wednesday nights they have to visit their dad.

Long story short – the extra maths is being neglected. Last week my Saudi partner was here and for 8 days we were in back to back meetings from early morning until late at night. I did not mark the maths, but Danie promised to do so! Today to my shock I discovered it had not been done!

I started marking the maths and as I went the angrier I became! I was angry with the slap-dash manner in which the maths had been done. I was angry that I was marking ~@£&~# maths papers and not caring for my child. I was angry with Danie for not doing what he promised to do. I was angry with the boys for not doing their maths properly, but mostly I was angry with Vic. I was angry that she died and that I now have to fulfill her role!

This is not frigging fair. I want our lives back. I want my child back….

It is not really true. I am grateful that her suffering is over. My mind is blocking out the memories of how desperately ill she was. I am remembering the good moments only. I am grateful that I blogged or else I would lose my mind. I read and reread the horror of Vic’s suffering just to wonder “was it really this bad?” I know it was as bad as I am reading if not worse.

Today I join Steven Callahan, someone who can attest to choosing against the odds. Steven Callahan, survived 76 days adrift in a broken boat. He ate barnacles and did yoga, tossed in a leaky boat: “I now have a choice: to pilot myself to a new life or to give up and watch myself die. I choose to kick as long as I can.”

I must kick! I MUST survive! For the boys sake!

The process of preparing for death

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

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.

My Mom is a Survivor

This 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

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The definition of Hatred:-

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