a mother’s tears – Page 2 – Vic's Final Journey

I am your child…

It is finally 2014. I am so grateful that 2013 officially in the past. I also get to say “My daughter died last year”

2013 was filled with tremendous loss. Not only did I lose my child, other loved ones but I also lost myself. 2013 was filled with lessons. Painful lessons…

I have learned that grief is a solitary, unique experience. I have the learnt the difference between grief and sadness. I have learnt that grief is never-ending. I have learnt that it takes courage to grieve. I have learnt that the depth of loss depends on the depth of the relationship that has been severed.

In this process of grieving for my child I have lost me…I have become a stranger to myself. Vic and I were always “one”. I am battling to function with half of me gone. I miss the other half of my soul…

Once I was an organised person now I have become totally disorganised. My house and filing is a mess. My time management sucks! I battle to read and complete tasks. I no longer trust my judgement. I have trusted people who have scorned my love and trust. I have become forgetful. I have hidden my jewellery somewhere and for the life of me I cannot remember where. I have hidden the boys Christmas gifts – I cannot remember where. I have missed appointments, mislaid my keys…

I am preoccupied with Vic’s death. Everything that happens, I relate back to Vic’s death. In unguarded moments I relive her final moments, the vision of seeing her being loaded onto a gurney… I hear her final words echo through my mind and body “I love you Mommy…”. I relive her fear of dying, her desperation at saying her final goodbyes…

I have become impatient and intolerant. I am on the defensive. I feel isolated in my grief. I truly feel that only my WordPress friends, who have also lost a child, understands. My real world friends and family do not. How can they? They have never lost a child. They get to hold their children….They can rest their heads on their children’s heads and smell their freshly washed hair, feel their soft skins….

I have lost interest in things that used to fascinate me. I no longer enjoy decoupage, scrapbooking, painting or baking. Life has taken on a different meaning. I have new responsibilities. Vic entrusted her beloved sons to my care and tasked me with Stepping Stone Hospice.

Because grief is primarily a personal experience it certainly takes its toll on relationships. Partners can try to understand someone else’s grief but they can never experience it or take on the burden themselves.

On the surface it appears society is accepting of this unbearable sadness and people are supportive and open to talking about it. I’ve been surprised by people’s genuine kindness and empathy as much as I’ve been repeatedly shocked & disappointed by their lack of it.

Although friends and family have been supportive, there is a mandate as for how long their unwavering support, patience, understanding, concern and empathy lasts. The truth is, the situation is so unbearably sad that it becomes incredibly emotionally draining on the other person.

The realisation that they can’t fix your sadness sets in, the frustration builds because not even they can see an end in sight, then gradually it starts to impede on the happiness in their life. They haven’t lost their child so why should they spend all their time sad about yours?

I cannot expect anyone, who did not truly witness and live the horror of seeing my beautiful child die, to understand my grief.

What frustrates and angers me most is that people, in the misguided perception that they are guiding or comforting me, insist on how I must be feeling! Who gives anyone the right to decide whether my emotions are “right” or “appropriate”. Please don’t give me advice. Don’t pretend to understand and keep your criticism to yourself. Please just be there if I invite you into my private space.

I am so tired. I am tired of living without my child, tired of trying to justify my grief, minding my words…I am tired of being hurt. I am tired of the hurt.

This morning I read the Facebook status of a brave young woman who lost her two precious daughters last year… “God has added one more day to my life. Not because I need the day but because someone else needs me. So I will get out of bed…..”

So, on the third day of 2014, I was inspired to make a decision. I will fight back against this terrible grief that is threatening to destroy me. I cannot bring back my child. I cannot make people understand, love or accept me. I will try to take back my life this year. I will start writing Vic’s book. I will focus on those who care for me; I will disregard my detractors… I will change my eating habits, exercise and sleep in a bed. I will lose my vulnerability. I will honour Vic through my life.

On the 18^th of January the boys and I will do something special to celebrate their Mom’s life. Our lives will become about celebrating Vic’s life – not her death.

My brave child’s words to her boys are ringing through my head – “I am your mother not your excuse”.

I hear Vic’s voice loud and clear “I am your child – not your excuse”.

I hear you precious child. I promise to continuously remind the boys too… I miss you so much. I will honour you through my life.

Happy Birthday Jared

One year ago Vic was around to celebrate Jared’s birthday. It was a milestone filled with sadness. We all knew that Vic would not celebrate his next birthday.

LOSING A CHILD

LOSING A CHILD.

Godliness of a mother

“The woman who creates and sustains a home and under whose hands children grow up to be strong pure men and women, is a creator second only to God” Helen Marta Fiske Hunt Jackson

Vic raised two magnificent young men. They have beautiful manners, they are respectful to their elders and especially women. They are gentle, compassionate and like their mom they speak badly of no one. They have a wonderful set of values and morals.

Vic had so little time to raise her boys. She spent most of their lives in a hospital bed or in bed at home. The boys grew up doing their homework in her room, helping her cook… Jared was four years old when he made his (and his brothers) bed. “Because Mommy’s back is sore”…

The boys are old souls. They have witnessed so much pain and suffering… They have lived with, and cared for, a dying mother.

There was almost a Godliness to the way Vic raised her boys. Vic taught the boys to love their Lord. It shows in their pure hearts. Her legacy lives on through and in her boys.

I am so proud of you my Angle Child. You did good!

A mother’s hand…. Day 4 of 48

A mother’s hand brushes hair from your eyes, tears from your cheek, hurt from your heart. Lauren Benson

We need a miracle again….

I posted this a year ago. We never did get the miracle we needed.

Vic's Final Journey

Sr Siza examined Vic today. She phoned Dr Sue who will be in tomorrow morning. She also brought a script with for Dalacin antibiotics. The cellulitis has spread to all three the subcutaneous sites.

Siza expressed her concern at Vic’s decline…

Last Friday Danie, my husband, came and sat next to me and said “I know everyone says it will be better for Vic to die than live in this pain but I was thinking how hard it will be for us without her…”

That statement really shook me. Up until now death has been a hypothetical issue… Doctors diagnoses and prognosis…predictions… I have never really considered living without my child.

Last week Siza and I met with the CEO of Amcare, a large community project that provide community based feeding schemes, HIV/AIDS Counselling, Home-based care, skills development, ARV Clinic, women and children shelters. We are hoping that they…

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The Locket

I have a special locket that rest above my heart,
it holds your beautiful pictures while we must be apart.
It’s my hope that you’re still with me no matter come what may,
so I know that I can talk to you every single day.
When I walk into a storm you’re watching over there,
guiding me to sunny skies with tender loving care.
I’ll never have to be alone you’re always next to me,
you show me love in different ways the eyes could never see.
Your spirit fills my soul with love beyond any explanation,
with pride I’ll wear it every day in total admiration.
Of the woman who changed my life and patiently awaits,
arms wide open to welcome me when I reach heavens gates.
It’s never really good bye if in your heart you do believe,
a mothers love is endless, and never ever leaves.

Source: The Locket, Mourning Poem http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/the-locket#ixzz2l0SJf7xl
#FamilyFriendPoems

The Vicky Bruce Dignity Room

I am sitting in the Vicky Bruce dignity room. The boys bought some wall decorations that they put up earlier this week. It is not perfectly positioned on the wall, but it was part of their healing process. I think it is beautiful.

Everybody has left, and I am alone here. The energy of the “living” have left the building. It is quiet and peaceful, and I can feel Vic’s presence.

Today I read a sad blog. It is a mother’s anguished cry about her grief for her 29-year-old daughter who died 33 weeks ago. Thirty three weeks says it all. She is still counting the days; the weeks dreading the heartache that she knows still lies ahead. http://forjuliaruth.com/2013/11/10/what-about-grief/

Compared to Dru I am a veteran at the grieving thing. Vic died 43 weeks ago. Ten weeks do not sound like a lot, but it is a lifetime in the life of a grieving mother. Dru’s pain is raw. So is mine I suppose. I think it has become such a part of my life that I cannot remember what it felt like to be happy and carefree.

I also read a heart wrenching blog written by a grieving father. http://kerrichronicles.com/2013/11/12/the-miracle-of-his-short-presence/ John wrote the following “I ran into the room and Anita was holding Noah, lifeless, with no tubes or machines hooked to him. I cried out “No No No” as I rushed over to him and held onto him with all my life. We both cried for an eternity. I ran my hands through his hair and begged God for this not to be happening. ”

These words catapulted me back to the 18^th of January 2013 when I clung to the lifeless body of my precious child. I still feel the heat of her fevered body against mine. I remember how beautiful her hair looked. I remember holding her and kissing her head.

Will the pain ever subside?

I don’t think so. Well-meaning friends and acquaintances tell me it will. But quite honestly they have never lost a child.

Tomorrow it will be 302 days since I held my child. 302 days of raw longing. 302 days without my beautiful Vic. 365 days ago I realised that Vic had started dying. Vic’s nausea was relentless. Her little body started shutting down. Her organs had started failing. Vic knew that day that she was dying. https://tersiaburger.com/2012/11/14/a-night-out-of-hell/. The Doctor put up an intravenous line to try to stop the nausea. Vic was fracturing vertebrae from vomiting….

My poor precious baby girl. Why did you have to suffer the way you did?

Would I turn back the clock? To have another five minutes with her I would. For one last hug, one last “I love you”, one last “You will always be in my heart” and one last “You made my life worth living…”

I love you baby girl.

A mother’s loss…

“No one loses a child the way a mother loses one. We are the ones who first felt life, carried it and protected them, nourished them, sacrificed our bodies for them, held them first in our hearts, then first into our arms. We were not only connected through flesh, but on levels so deep, you really have nothing to compare it too metaphysically.

It is a love so raw, and so elemental that is just present – just there from the beginning. We have a link to our children that cannot be replicated. No one understands a grieving mother except for another grieving mother. No one else can begin to understand that void that surrounds us, shadows us, haunts us. Our children’s screams that we can no longer answer, their bodies we can no longer grab and embrace, their tears we can no longer dry, and their hurts that we can no longer make better. They then become our own unanswered screams, our bodies that become un-embraceable, our tears that can never be dried and our hurts that never stop. There are constant reminders of what we live without, and must live without until we die – sometimes it feels like it’s life’s cruel way of taunting us. The grieving mother is never whole again, never fully present, because a piece of her heart and soul leave her with her child’s last breath.”

https://www.facebook.com/WingsofHopeLivingForward

May God have mercy on us…

I don’t want to forget

I don’t know whether I ever posted this. I know that I was desperate to remember everything. Today I know I did not write enough, I did not take enough photos, I did not spend enough time talking to my child.

So I don’t forget…

Lucinda commented today “Again, I can’t add anything on to what others have said; I don’t know how you have the courage to make these posts.”

I sometimes wonder why do I blog? My whole being screams “so I won’t forget”. I want to remember every day, every spoken word, every unspoken word, every feverish touch. My friends have lifetimes ahead with their children…I don’t. They have many more Christmases and birthdays to look forward to. The chances are that their children will bury them… As a family we lived one day at a time. We were grateful for every morning when we wake up!

We have friends who lost their 17 year old son almost 17 years ago. I have not seen her in a couple of years. When I last saw her she said that it does not become easier with time. One just learns to cope with the pain and the loss. My friend had to walk away from her son. He was declared brain dead after a drunk driver drove into the car transporting him to a rugby match….

She said “I touched his big feet. I lay my head on his chest and I could hear his heart beat …. I walked away and his body was warm…” Steven’s heart beats on in another person’s chest. They, generously in all their pain, donated his organs and saved the life of another mother’s child..

Joan never had the opportunity to say “goodbye forever” to Steven. She said “Goodbye, have a good game. Love you!” Joan treasures the last hug, kiss, laugh… She holds onto it.

I want to hold onto every memory I possibly can. As hard as it is, I write so I will remember everything.

A lot of what I write I don’t post. It is too raw.

I hold onto Vic’s last words to me…”I love you Mommy”. I hold onto the memory of her beautiful smile, her brave battle, her devotion to her sons and family. I hold onto the purity of her heart and the kindness in her heart. I hold onto her gentle memories.

Never has the pain been as raw and the loss as real as now. For a couple of weeks I arrogantly thought that a scab was forming over the pain. Then it was cruelly plucked off.

In a weird way I am glad the scab was plucked off. I am glad that I am feeling that intense pain again. I am relieved that the tears are running over my cheeks blurring the words as I type.

I want to remember. I don’t ever want to forget. I want to remember my beautiful, precious angel child.

Love is…

Never have I missed you more than today.

A Poem About a Mother’s Love for Her Very Sick Child

I posted this when Vic’s death was a future event. I did not realise how dreadful the loss would be. How devastating the longing for my child. How severe the physical heartache would be… Today I would give everything I own just to hug and hold Vic one more time.

I know that I would do all things for you.
My spirit would always take care of you.
And when I die and leave this world behind.
You can be rest assured that my love will stay behind.

Even though sometimes we’re far apart.
You have always remained right here in my heart.
I will forever whisper in the wind
Unconditional love that’ll forever stay within.

If only I could go wherever you go
So I could do things I need to do for you.
Since I can’t, the best sacrifice I can give
is keep you in my heart and allow you to leave.

I’m lifting up the burden in your heart
‘Cause I know that you don’t know where to start.
I’m transferring all the pain inside of you
Into my care, into my heart, and now it’s through.

I love you so much and I know that I can bear
This greatest pain to let you go, I swear.
Know in your heart that my love will forever stay
Even though I would seem so far-away.

I’ll be your strength that’s why I’m relieving you
Of all the pain and tears inside of you.
No need to worry for all your pain will be gone.
It will be with me now, and I shall carry on.

You may think I’m letting you go without a fight.
If you only knew how I fought for you each night.
Just remember that there are signs everywhere.
So look around and acknowledge that they are there.

God said to me that love will always prevail.
And each day there is a tale for you to tell.
If you could already see the signs before your eyes.
Embrace it now. Let it stay. It is your guide.

God said the signs may be a word or two
When you least expect it, it is said to you.
It may also be the people that you have met.
Places, names, or things that you kept.

God told me to tell all these things to you
So happiness would set in and peacefulness, too.
I’m always here, and I’ll always love you.
I never wanted you to be in pain. It’s OK for you to go.

http://authspot.com/poetry/a-poem-about-a-mothers-love-for-her-very-sick-child/?fb_action_ids=3587335596077&fb_action_types=og.likes&fb_source=timeline_og

The shadow of grief

Grief becomes a shadow. It finds you and follows you. At times the shadow is small and then at times it is big.

Your shadow is a constant companion. It keeps up with your pace… It will run with you but it will also crawl with you. When you stop it will stop.

It follows you into the valleys of despair and will climb mountains of triumph with you. Grief is a constant companion.

When you are in the deepest valley your shadow is there. When at the heights of the highest mountain it is still there.

A shadow is a dangerous thing. If offers a wonderful hiding place. A place to lose one self. At times the shadow invites me in and I get lost in my shadow of grief. In the shadow I am invisible and no one can see my pain, my sense of loss, my loneliness. My shadow is a safe haven where I get to become one with my grief.

The boys are a light that draws me out from my shadow. Hospice and my faith is a light that draws me out from my shadow.

The grief of losing a child is not only on high days and holidays. Grief follows you on bad days, good days, every day… It gets into bed with you and awakens with you.

It even permeates your dreams.

Today it is 8 months since Vic died. Not a single day has passed that I have not been acutely aware of the shadow of grief that accompanies me on my journey. Has it become a journey of recovery? No, I doubt it. I think it is too soon. I do have better days…Then I have days where I walk into a supermarket and see Vic’s brand of deodorant or shampoo. I will put out my hand to touch a @$*# tin of deodorant and tears will well up in my eyes.

For heaven’s sake! A stupid tin of deodorant now has the ability to reduce me to tears!

Today I stood outside the Hospice building. It is nearing completion. I experienced a profound sense of achievement. Pride and satisfaction welled up in my heart but disappeared into that massive, gaping hole left by Vic’s death.

“This is because my child died” it rushed through my brain….

Of course someone would have started a Hospice. That I don’t doubt for one second. Maybe the rest of the team would have been involved. Maybe the financial backing would have been better – who knows? The fact remains that the reason I got involved is because my child died and I promised her that her death would not be futile.

8 months

243 days without my child. 8 months of mourning, weeping, sadness…

Of course I appear to be “carrying on with my life”. Why not? The world demands it of me. When I cry I confuse the world. It has already been 8 months…I should be over my child death.

“Life goes on”…

Does it? No!! Existing, breathing goes on… We live with this dreadful void in our lives.

Just think of it. When you miss your child you pick up a phone, you Skype, get onto an aircraft or into a car and go visit. You can hug and hold your child. I have a box of crushed ashes.

So until you have walked in my moccasins – please don’t expect of me to “get on with it.” I am doing the best I can. Live your life, I will grieve the loss of mine.

I miss you so much my Angel Child. I missed you yesterday, I am missing you today, I WILL miss you tomorrow and every living second of my life.

Al my love, yesterday, today, tomorrow – forever.

Mommy

I am alive

I am having a wonderful visit in England with my UK grandchildren and kids. The house is filled with the patter of little feet and shrieks of laughter and despair. Toys lie scattered on the floor and little arms and legs curl around their Oumie. It is a happy home, and I am fresh meat…

“Oumie, please can we jump on the trampoline?”

I have spent two days jumping on a trampoline…Thank God it rained today!!!

I have been consumed with the feeling of “life” in the household. Life, joy, movement…easy laughter and sibling rivalry. Everything that poor Vic never really experienced.

How desperately she wanted to live. How desperately she craved a normal life. How desperately she craved to LIVE! How desperately we wanted her to live.

We never have enough time. We always want more. Vic wanted more time. On the 24^th of September, last year, when the Hospice doctor came in for Vic’s evaluation, Vic said “I thought I had more time…” https://tersiaburger.com/2012/09/24/mommy-i-thought-i-had-more-time/

Six days before her death she cried and said she wanted to live. “If only I could live for another year…”

“How little we know of what there is to know. I wish that I were going to live a long time instead of going to die today because I have learned much about life in these four days; more, I think than in all other time. I’d like to be an old man to really know. I wonder if you keep on learning or if there is only a certain amount each man can understand. I thought I knew so many things that I know nothing of. I wish there was more time.” –Ernest Hemingway.

I am wordless.

I know that I am still numb.

I am sad.

I am happy.

I am alive.

I wish I wasn’t…

I don’t want to ever leave my loved ones – as my child did not want to…..

Life is so unfair!!!!

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