Tag: Grief

When a child dies…


“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for which has been your delight”. ~ Kahlil Gibran.

At times the pain and feelings of desolate loss is overwhelming.  I know it is because I loved Vic so much.  I am grieving because I miss my child, the mother of my grandchildren, my friend.  I miss drinking endless cups of tea…. sometimes laughing and sometimes weeping.

I have grown used to not constantly checking my text messages when I sit in meetings.  I have actually forgotten my phone at home on two occasions.  I miss the countless phonecalls, finding little notes everywhere…. a soft kiss on the forehead.

When a parent dies, you lose your past; when a child dies, you lose your future. – Anonymous

 

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“Time takes us farther away…”


I have battled to blog. I feel that my words are rehashed from one post to the next. My emotions are the same.

My DiL and the three girls have spent 3 weeks in South Africa. It has been amazing hearing the patter of little feet down the passages, shrieks of laughter and anger… I will always cherish the little arms around my neck, the warm little bodies in my bed. I cherish the time I got to spend with my DiL; the chats into the early hours of the morning and the countless cups of tea. It reminded me of when Vic was still alive. I dread leaving England on Monday to return to my solitude and grief.

I feel guilty about posting my same tearful stories of grief and I feel guilty that I have become embarrassed by exposing my soul to the world – friend and foe alike.

The past four weeks life has been easier. I have laughed and smiled. I have had fun.

In 8 days’ time it is Vic’s birthday. I am filled with trepidation as to how I will cope. The second I think of Vic, tears well up in my eyes and there is this stabbing pain in my heart. I have decided that I will not move Vic’s ashes into the garden. Vic will remain on the sideboard where I can see her and run my hand over her little casket. Vic will not be exiled into the garden. She is part of our lives and she will remain exactly where she is.

I am wondering whether I should bake Vic favourite chocolate cake… The boys want to send up Chinese Lanterns we actually wrote messages on, on New Year’s Eve 2010. Vic was desperately ill in hospital and moved into ICU on the 1st of January 2010. She was devastated. The staff allowed us to spend the evening with her.

Vic being moved to ICU on New Years Day 1

At 12 O Clock we went outside to send up the Chinese lanterns. It rained and we undertook to do it when Vic was home again. Somehow we never did. When we returned to the ward, the staff had assembled in the visitors lounge. Someone had conducted a Mid-Night service. The staff sang beautifully and prayed for the patients. Many of them laid hands on Vic. Vic cried. Jon-Daniel was inconsolable. We all cried.

One of my blogger friend’s sent me this email “Oh, Tersia. You are held tight in the grip of horrific grief. Simply knowing that someday you will wrench free from such a suffocating grasp brings no relief at this moment. You already know you cannot fight it. Flow with the “ocean of tears.” A great deal of the horror is behind you, but you are reliving it. I distinctly remember that the WORST time in my grief came at six months and followed me until the end of the first year. Like an amputation without anaesthesia – you are deeply suffering and so many people feel your pain. Keep writing, crying and feeling. The ocean of tears will take you to a new shore. Time takes us farther away from our loved one. That is the agony and the anaesthesia. Such conflict that creates! Feel my hug because I’m with you.” http://judyunger.wordpress.com/

Another one of my blogger friends, Julie, is taking a sabbatical from blogging. She wrote “Just until my heart catches up with my voice. So much is happening, and so much is not happening – argh!”

I wonder whether my heart will ever catch up with my voice…

I am Vic’s mother!


Child-loss is a black hole of grief and sorrow in which every emotion is compressed and compounded.   It is an inescapable vortex.  

Vic was the centre of my emotional cosmos. My world revolved around my precious child. Vic was my past, my present and my future. When she died it felt as if my life ended.


For the first time in 38 years I cried. I truly cried and called to the heavens. It was as if 38 years of pent up fear, anguish and stress was released. I screamed, I sobbed, I wept… Did you know that there is a difference between weeping and sobbing? I clung to my child. I stroked her hair. I washed her little body and dressed her in her favourite pyjamas. I sprayed her favourite perfume on her.

Grief is a strange journey.

When I embarked on the Journey of Mourning it was a strange road. I had lost people I love dearly before. My mom, my dad, BFF’s, colleagues and family had died. Of course grandparents too… But I had never lost a child. This is a road I had never travelled before. I did not only lose my precious child but I also lost the person I was.

Within a millisecond I ceased to be a mother. Wait – I became a “bereaved mother.” The hope I had clung to for 36.5 years was lost! The fight in me was gone.

The second my child’s soul left her body my heart shattered into a million pieces.

The hardest thing I had to do in my life was say goodbye to my child; listening to her breathing getting weaker and weaker…. knowing that her last breath was so close.


Then I thought nothing would match my pain watching my precious baby leave our home for the last time in a plastic sheet on a gurney until I had to stand and watch the hearse drive away with my precious, precious child lying in a cold hard coffin – her destination a crematorium!

No matter how prepared I thought I was for Vic’s death – I wasn’t! People seem to think I should be grateful Vic is dead. Just as people did not want to listen to me talking about Vic’s terrible suffering they now don’t want me to talk about Vic after she died. They ask you how you are doing hoping you won’t be honest and answer…

It is almost surreal to see that the world has carried on with its business; that the heavens are unchanged; that life has continued. I look at myself and I think that people that don’t know me would never guess that my life ended 6 months ago… People pat me on the back and say “You are so strong…”

We are nearing Vic’s 6 month anniversary and I have learnt to breathe again. I have learnt to stay strong for the boys. My life will and must mirror Vic’s strength and courage. Her dream of a Hospice will continue to live on in me…Her goodness will continue to spread to the community and the world!

I raised Vic to be strong, courageous, and brave. Vic taught her sons that she is their mother not their excuse…


I am Vic’s mother – she is my reason; not my excuse!


I Grieve – Peter Gabriel


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it was only one hour ago 

it was all so different then 

there’s nothing yet has really sunk in 

looks like it always did 

this flesh and bone 

it’s just the way that you would tied in 

now there’s no-one home 

 

i grieve for you 

you leave me 

‘so hard to move on 

still loving what’s gone 

they say life carries on 

carries on and on and on and on 

 

the news that truly shocks is the empty empty page 

while the final rattle rocks its empty empty cage 

and i can’t handle this 

 

i grieve for you 

you leave me 

let it out and move on 

missing what’s gone 

they say life carries on 

they say life carries on and on and on 

 

life carries on 

in the people i meet 

in everyone that’s out on the street 

in all the dogs and cats 

in the flies and rats 

in the rot and the rust 

in the ashes and the dust 

life carries on and on and on and on 

life carries on and on and on 

 

it’s just the car that we ride in 

a home we reside in 

the face that we hide in 

the way we are tied in 

and life carries on and on and on and on 

life carries on and on and on 

 

did I dream this belief? 

or did i believe this dream? 

now i can find relief 

i grieve

 

–Peter Gabriel

Never Alone


This was my song for Vic.  I played it for her all the time.  We spoke about the words and the meaning of the words.

Today it is 21 weeks since I have been able to touch my child, hold her, brush her hair.  I know that she is around me, but I feel so alone without her.  Vic was my dearest friend, my companion, my daughter, my soul mate.

Yes, Vic is in my heart.  Not a minute goes by that I don’t think of her, miss her…. But I really want her to be with me.  When will this pain end?  When will I come to terms with the fact that I am alone now.

Yes, I know I am surrounded by people who love me…I know they are worried about me… But nobody can fill the void that Vic’s death has left.

I feel alone even when I am surrounded by lots of people, family….

Nothing in the world could have prepared me for this thing called “grief”.  This devastating sorrow.

This weekend I will work in the garden and start preparing Vic’s Angel Garden.  I don’t want my child in a friggin garden – I want her in my home.  I want her sneaking up behind me and kissing me on the cheek.  I want to hear her voice saying “I love you Mommy”.  I want to tell her how much I love her.

I want to hear her talking to her boys.  Telling them she loves them the “mostest in the world”; reminding them to brush their teeth

I don’t want to feel this sorrow and pain.  I want to be happy again.

27 November 2003


On the 17th of May 2012 I posted this.  It was my first blog post ever.  I was however something I had written ion the 27th of November 2003

How could I ever think that I want my child back?  It is over.  Vic is at peace and pain free.  The pain has transferred to me…

 My dearest child

My heart breaks when I look at you.  Your eyes reflect your fear, acceptance of the inevitable, rebellion and pain.  The morphine dulls your dark eyes…

It is so difficult seeing you in so much pain…the times when you are bent double from pain.  My heart breaks when I see how you are still trying to care for your family.  If only the boys knew how many tears it takes to make a sandwich…Many a time when you are sobbing from pain I see the boys pretending to sleep – as if shutting their eyes can block out your sobs…  I see the helplessness in Colin’s eyes when he looks at you.   It is soul destroying!!!

It is at times like this that I cry out “How much longer God?  When will her suffering end?”  But then I look at the Christmas tree and the Christmas lights and beg “Just one more Christmas please God!”

With the obstruction I fear that you will not make it.  The morphine aggravates the situation!  When will you develop another fistula?  It is only a matter of time.  How time do we have left?

I wish I could just hold you and protect you against the pain and death.  If it was a bullet I would take it for you but how do I protect you against your own body?  How can your body betray you like this?

In my mind’s eye I see you lying on a bed, strapped in,poison flowing through your veins… You are dying

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Compassionate friends say…


Sixteen years ago today, my beloved mother lost her battle against the septicaemia ravaging her tiny little body.  I woke up this morning thinking “well at least this year Mom has Dad and Vic with her…”

Christmas many years ago...
Christmas many years ago…
Vic and her Gramps and Moekie
Vic and her Gramps and Moekie

It was very hard for me to come to terms with my Mom’s death.  I spoke to her every day of my life regardless of where I was in the world.  I was a real “Mommy’s Girl”.  Mom adored Vic.  They were so close.

I was cruising (I know “surfing” is the correct terminology) the web looking at bereavement sites when I saw that on the 9th of December 2012  it was  Compassionate Friends 16th Worldwide Candle Lighting.  The 9th of December is my birthday.  It was a special birthday – my last with my precious child.  Worldwide bereaved parents were lighting candles for their dead children…This year I shall join them in sorrow – lighting up the world.…

I found a section “To the Newly Bereaved”.  It is now 4 months and seventeen days or 137 days since Vic died.  Am I still a newly bereaved parent or am I becoming a seasoned bereaved parent?

When your child has died, suddenly it seems like all meaning has been drained from your life. When you wake in the morning, it’s difficult to get out of bed, much less live a “normal” life. All that was right with the world now seems wrong and you’re wondering when, or if, you’ll ever feel better.

We’ve been there ourselves and understand some of the pain you are feeling right now. We are truly glad that you have found us but profoundly saddened by the reason. We know that you are trying to find your way in a bewildering experience for which no one can truly be prepared.

When you’re newly bereaved, suddenly you find yourself on an emotional roller-coaster where you have no idea what to expect next. Here are thoughts on some of what you may be experiencing or feeling (many of these will apply to bereaved siblings and grandparents):

Psychological

  • You’re in shock from what has happened and a numbness surrounds you to help shield you from the pain.   I thought I was going to lose my mind when Vic died.  The pain was unbearable.  Now numbness has settled in.  It is a survival mechanism.
  • You find yourself in denial. Your child cannot be dead. You expect to see your child walk through the door any moment.  No – I have passed this stage.  Vic is dead.  She will never shuffle down the passage again.
  • You see your child in the faces of others walking down the street.  No – Vic was uniquely beautiful.  I wish I could see her face on a walking body because that may erase some horrible memories from my mind.
  • You wonder how someone can feel this much pain and survive.  Absolutely!
  • Thoughts of suicide briefly enter your mind. You tell yourself you want to die—and yet you want to live to take care of your family and honor your child’s memory.  Absolutely!
  • You want to know how the people around you can go about their day as if nothing has happened—don’t they understand that your life—everything that meant anything to you—has just ended? Your purpose in life is gone.  Absolutely
  • You are no longer afraid of death as each day that passes puts you one day closer to being with your child.  Absolutely yes!!!!
  • Thoughts of “what ifs” enter your mind as you play out scenarios that you believe would have saved your child.  Yes
  • Your memory has suddenly become clouded. You’re shrouded in forgetfulness. You’ll be driving down the road and not know where you are or remember where you’re going. As you walk, you may find yourself involved in “little accidents” because you’re in a haze.  Absolutely
  • You fear that you are going crazy.  I fear I am…
  • You find there’s a videotape that constantly plays in an endless loop in your mind, running through what happened.  I try very hard not to think about it
  • You find your belief system is shaken and you try to sort out what this means to your faith.  Yes
  • Placing impossible deadlines on yourself, you go back to work, but find that your mind wanders and it’s difficult to function efficiently or, some days, at all. Others wonder when you’ll be over “it,” not understanding that you’ll never be the same person you were before your child died—and the passage of time will not make you so.  Absolutely correct!
  • You find yourself reading the same paragraph over and over again trying to understand what someone else has written.  Yes – it is scary.  I watch TV programs and cannot remember the show afterwards.

Emotional

  • You rail against the injustice of not being allowed the choice to die instead of your child.  ABSOLUTELY CORRECT!!!!
  • You find yourself filled with anger, whether it be at your partner, a person you believe is responsible for your child’s death, God, yourself, and even your child for dying.   ABSOLUTELY CORRECT!!!!
  • You yearn to have five minutes, an hour, a day back with your child so you can tell your child of your love or thoughts left unsaid.  No, I have no unspoken words or emotions.  I just want her back with me!
  • Guilt becomes a powerful companion as you blame yourself for the death of your child. Rationally you know that you were not to blame—you most certainly would have saved your child if you’d been given the chance.  Thank God this phase has passed.
  • You feel great sadness and depression as you wrestle with the idea that everything important to you has been taken from you. Your future has been ruined and nothing can ever make it right.  My life will never be the same again.  I wonder whether I will ever experience true happiness again.

Physical

  • Either you can’t sleep at all or you sleep all the time. You feel physical exhaustion even when you have slept.  Have these people moved into my home?  This is absolutely true.
  • You no longer care about your health and taking care of yourself—it just doesn’t seem that important anymore.  Maybe….
  • You’re feeling anxiety and great discomfort—you’re told they’re panic attacks.  No
  • The tears come when you least expect them.  Absolutely
  • Your appetite is either gone or you find yourself overeating.  Oh yes! 

Family & Social

  • If you have surviving children, you find yourself suddenly overprotective, not wanting to allow them out of your sight. Yet you feel like a bad parent because it’s so difficult to focus on their needs when you’re hurting so bad yourself.  I am petrified of not being with the boys all the time.  I hate not being with them!  I am stressed when they are with their father or friends.  I am terrified of leaving them to go overseas…
  • You find that your remaining family at home grieves the loss differently and you search for a common ground which seems difficult to find.  Yes
  • You’ve been told by well-meaning people, even professionals, that 70-80-90 percent of all couples divorce after their child dies. You are relieved to find that new studies show a much lower divorce rate, from 12-16%, believed to be caused by the “shared experience” aspect of the situation.  We have gone through a very rough time in our marriage.  We have worked through it.  But I can see that it is a distinct possibility in a newly bereaved situation.
  • Old friends seem to fade away as you learn they cannot comprehend the extent or length of your grief. No…they faded away when Vic was ill and she did not die soon enough
  • Things you liked to do which seemed so important before now seem meaningless.  Absolutely correct
  • Others say you’ll someday find “closure,” not understanding that closure never applies when it is the death of your child.  Darn right! 
  • Fleeting thoughts of pleasurable activities bring about feelings of guilt. If you child can’t have fun, how can you do anything that brings you enjoyment?  Maybe
  • New friends come into your life who understand some of your grief because they’ve been there themselves.  Absolutely!  I have also opened up and made myself “accessible”.  Before, Vic consumed my life.   http://www.compassionatefriends.org/Find_Support/Personal-Note/To_the_Newly_Bereaved.aspx

Tomorrow I will share  “Finding the ‘new me’…”

https://tersiaburger.com/2012/12/10/another-birthday/

http://www.compassionatefriends.org

I WANT MY CHILD BACK!!!


Yesterday morning I teared up – again.  Danie asked “And now?  What’s wrong?”

“Just missing Vic” I said

“Shame” he said with sadness in his voice.  “I miss her too”

We spoke about how my grief had changed over the past four months.  Today it is exactly four months since my precious child died.  I keep using the words “death and died” and not the gentler “passed”…  I do that because death is harsh.  My child DIED, she is DEAD.  My pain is as real as it was 4 months ago.  My grief is however no longer as transparent as it was to the world.

Four months ago when Vic died my body physically hurt.  My heart was physically aching.  The pain was new.  Now my grief is in me, part of me as if it is a limb or organ…  My grief is hidden from the world. If I did not tell you, you would never know.

To the world – I seem to have adjusted to the loss of my child.  I am “functioning, smiling, carrying on with life”… People are so relieved that they no longer have to cope with my raw grief…

Earlier tonight I read this on Facebook –https://www.facebook.com/TheGrievingParent

“I never knew my mind could be dominated by a single thought every day for years and still not get in the way of the progress of my life. The hands on the clock continue to turn, and the sun rises every morning. 

Even though the grief is not on the surface, the missing is as strong as it ever was. We can’t explain it, but we want to share it. We might not break down, but the strength of the grief never fades.”

We just keep on living with it and do the best we are able to do.”

I miss Vic more today than I did four months ago.  I keep looking at photographs of the past couple of years so I can REMEMBER her suffering; I re-read my blog to REMEMBER her suffering; I keep trying to find solace in the fact that she is pain-free.  It is becoming more difficult to see the positive side of Vic’s death.   My mind is blocking out the horror of her suffering!  I am remembering the good times only.

I hear you say “It is good”  No, It is not good!  If I forget her suffering I will never accept the “need for her to die” element of Vic’s death.

The night that haunts my sister
The night that haunts my sister

My sister shared her heartbreak with me…She said that one night when she slept with Vic she woke up to hear Vic talking to me.  She said Vic was crying and saying “Mommy I am so sore.  I can’t do this anymore”  Lorraine said she kept her eyes shut and pretended to sleep because she could not deal with the moment… Why am I forgetting??????  On the 13th of November I posted “Will my poor baby’s hell ever end?  If there is a lesson to be learnt PLEASE God show me what it is so I can learn it!!  This has come to an end!” https://tersiaburger.com/2012/11/13/signposts-for-dying/

I want my child back with me. I want to hold her, tell her I love her.  I want to hear her footsteps in the passage; I want to hear her voice…

I WANT MY CHILD BACK!

Wonderful Team Member Readership Award


wonderful team member readership award

I admit it openly and honestly – I LOVE getting awards.  I think that deep down we all crave recognition, acceptance and love.  I have found this on Word Press.  I have met WONDERFUL people who have loved and supported me for the past year.   It is a very powerful thing to be recognised by a blogger I find not only incredibly inspirational, but funny and thought-provoking too.

Shaun from Praying for One Day awarded me the Wonderful Team Membership Readership Award,which of course I graciously accepted.  Shaun is one of my favourite bloggers who has become a wonderful friend. The first post of mine that Shaun ever read was https://tersiaburger.com/2013/01/25/vic-has-left-home-for-the-last-time/  Sometime later Shaun wrote me an email or a comment, I am unsure which it was…He wrote that after he read my post he and his partner Dawn cuddled and sat in silence for a long time weeping for Vic.  Shaun always leaves a comment, hug or word of encouragement.  Shaun has been awarded this award 6 or 7 times and with good reason.  He is a Wonderful Team Reader who truly deserves this award!

So here are the rules:

1. Display the logo on your page.

2. Finish the sentence: A great reader is…

A great reader is… someone who takes the time out of his/her busy life to read my ramblings of grief, leave a comment, hug, advice… A great reader is someone who reaches out from cyberspace and cries with me, laughs with me and cares for me.  A great reader is my wonderful WordPress friends!

 

3. Nominate 14 readers I appreciate.

  1. Uma Girish at http://grammarofgrief.wordpress.com/ for her helpful blog on grief and surviving loss
  2. http://wordsfallfrommyeyes.wordpress.com/ is about a mother’s love for her son
  3. http://verbalbanter.wordpress.com a wonderful blog about life and it’s irritations and frustrations.
  4. http://drbillwooten.com/ is a blog filled with good music and wisdom.  Bill you are a kind and gentle friend.  Thank you
  5. http://everyonehasastory.me is a blog of hope and despair, healing and pain.  Excellent read.
  6. http://throughthehealinglens.com  is about a bloggers battle with debilitating, chronic pain. 
  7. http://thedarkest13.wordpress.com/ is an intelligent blog filled with good values, friendships, pain and love. 
  8. http://barefootbaroness.org is one of my favourite blogs. BB is a charming, gentle woman who has magical writing skills.  She is an amazing friend.  Thank you BB
  9. http://idealisticrebel.wordpress.com/ – Rebel is amazing and takes on the world! A brave blogger who is a great friend.
  10. http://jmgoyder.com/ – My precious friend Julie who has so much pain and loss to work through. 
  11. http://picturesofsilverbyjanice.wordpress.com/category/sculptures-silver-art-jewelry/  Janice is the kindest person.  She makes beautiful jewellery and my Christmas Gifts will come out of her innovative jewellery pieces.  I am gifting the boys their Mommy’s fingerprint to wear around their necks – close to their hearts.
  12. http://valeriedavies.com/  A gutsy, wise lady who is a friend and an amazing writer. 
  13. http://walkingthroughpain.com/ writes about “invisible illness” such as RA/Lupus/ Fibromyalgia.  This is a brave blogger who knows and lives with chronic pain!  Please support and encourage her on this lonely journey. 
  14. Tracy Rydzy – http://ohwhatapain.wordpress.com is another brave warrior battling chronic pain.

4. Inform the readers with either comments or pingbacks.

These are just 14 of a long list of treasured blogger friends who are truly worthy of this award.  There are many, many other bloggers whom I treasure and who inspires and supports me in my grief journey.

Thank you to each and every one of my blogger friends!!

Together We Walk the Stepping Stones – by Barb Williams


stepping_stones_of_memory_by_nwwes-d3krg59Stepping Stone Hospice is the name of the Hospice that we started as a tribute to Vic’s journey.  It is the only thing that makes sense – why else would my child have suffered so long and hard?

I am busy with the website for Stepping Stone Hospice and accidentally came across this beautiful poem…I share it with you.

If any of you talented bloggers out there have appropriate poetry that we could publish on our website please send it to me.  We will link it back to you.

The Menu will contain a Grieving and Bereavement Folder and I would like a “Poems of Love and Compassion” Section.

Please help.

Together We Walk the Stepping Stones – by Barb Williams

Come, take my hand, the road is long.
We must travel by stepping stones.
No, you’re not alone. I’ve been there.
Don’t fear the darkness. I’ll be with you.

We must take one step at a time.
But remember, we may have to stop awhile.
It’s a long way to the other side
And there are many obstacles.

We have many stones to cross.
Some are bigger than others.
Shock, denial, and anger to start.
Then comes guilt, despair, and loneliness.

It’s a hard road to travel, but it must be done.
It’s the only way to reach the other side.

Come, slip your hand in mind.
What? Oh, yes, it’s strong.
I’ve held so many hands like yours.
Yes, mine was once small and weak like yours.

Once, you see, I had to take someone’s hand
In order to take the first step.
Oops! You’ve stumbled. Go ahead and cry.
Don’t be ashamed. I understand.

Let’s wait here awhile so that you can get your breath.
When you’re stronger, we’ll go on, one step at a time.
There’s no need to hurry.

Say, it’s nice to hear you laugh.
Yes, I agree, the memories you shared are good.
Look, we’re halfway there now.

I can see the other side.
It looks so warm and sunny.
On, have you noticed? We’re nearing the last stone
And you’re standing alone.
And look, your hand, you’ve let go of mine.
We’ve reached the other side.

But wait, look back, someone is standing there.
They are alone and want to cross the stepping stones.
I’d better go. They need my help.
What? Are you sure?
Why, yes, go ahead. I’ll wait.

You know the way.
You’ve been there.
Yes, I agree. It’s your turn, my friend . . .
To help someone else cross the stepping stones.

Without You – April 19, 2013


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Reposted from http://therootwitch.wordpress.com/2013/04/19/without-you-april-19-2013/ 

These beautiful words moved me to tears.  I cry easily these days.  

Without You

 

Living without you is like;

Learning to dance without music

Learning to love without a heart

Wanting to scream without a voice

Learning to fly without wings

Driving a car without a steering wheel

Seeing a sunset without eyes

Wanting to talk without having words

But somehow I am managing to go on

…Half a person

…Half a heart

…Half a soul

Living without you

Has changed me

You might not know me anymore

STRUCK


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I found this wonderfully talented poet blog when I was reading some Freshly Pressed blogs.  This woman is a member of the “My Child is Dead” club too.  When I read these words they echoed through my soul.  I am hoping that I will feel whole again…I don’t yet.  
 
I miss my child!!!!!
 

Most of the time I feel you are here with me

Most of the time I feel whole again

But comes a day like today

When I feel your loss

More sharply than before

It makes my heart hurt

And my feelings sink

I feel as if I am rooted to the earth

And cannot move

 

I tell myself that I just need some time

I will recover

And go on

And move more freely

 

I will wait until your memories stop by again

And have them restore me to whole

Yet again.

Grief attack


Jared and his Mommy - 10 days before she died
Jared and his Mommy – 10 days before she died
I have sunk to a new low this weekend.  I had every intention to attend church this morning.  I woke up with tears streaming down my cheeks.  I must have had dreamt of Vic.  I knew that I could not handle the gentle arms and words of sympathy at church.
Maybe next weekend…
I would like to share this wonderful writing from a Facebook site – The Grieving Parent.  It articulates my feeling beautifully.
I had a grief attack yesterday and again this morning….

2 hours ago ·

  • After my daughter’s death, I learned that the first year’s grief doesn’t flow neatly from one stage to the next; it has multiple patterns, fluctuating cycles, lots of ups and downs. First-year grief will surprise you in many ways, but here are a few things you can expect.Expect sudden “grief attacks.”
     
    Practical matters demand attention in early grief when we are the most confused and least interested in things we used to care about. We must decide how to get through each new day. Some days, getting out of bed may take all the energy we have. Trips to everyday places like the grocery store feel so different. In my case, simple things like seeing my daughter’s favorite cereal on the store shelf brought immediate, excruciating pain.
    I call these unexpected reactions “grief attacks.” And unlike the response we would get if we had a heart attack while shopping, those around us don’t know what to do. We get good at hiding our pain, at postponing grieving for a more appropriate place, a better time.
     
    Expect exhaustion and disruption. Early grieving is perhaps the hardest work you will ever do. It is common to have difficulty sleeping, changes in appetite and blood pressure, tense muscles that are susceptible to strains, a weakened immune system.Many bereaved parents return to work, school, or other activities feeling vulnerable, less confident about their capabilities, less able to concentrate, distracted by memories, and flooded with emotions that disrupt thinking. For others, work is the only place they are able to concentrate- focusing on tasks helps take their mind off their loss for awhile.
     
    Those around us may have unrealistic expectations as we return to work or school. When one mother whose only child had died returned to work, her supervisor greeted her by saying: “I’m sorry about your loss but I want to talk to you about improving your work performance.” Expect to be stunned by the ineptness, thoughtlessness, and discomfort of some people, and to be thrilled and deeply touched by the kindness and sensitivity of others. Sometimes those you expect to support you the most can’t or won’t meet your needs, while others you weren’t that close to before reach out unexpectedly.
     
    Expect ongoing “echoes.” We experience so many emotions after our child dies. We may feel relief that our child is no longer suffering, then feel guilty about being relieved. For a time we may be unable to feel much at all. While learning to live with the hole in our heart and fatigue in our body, other responsibilities beckon. We must file insurance claims, pay bills, write thank-you notes, decide what we want to do with our child’s possessions, and on and on.Just when we think everyone surely has heard of our loss by now, the reality of our child’s death echoes back to us. A call comes from the dentist’s office about scheduling her a checkup, or we run into our child’s old friend who just moved back to town. Once again we must tell our story, respond to someone else’s pain, experience fresh waves of grief. Knowing certain events are coming, such as seeing the grave marker or reading the death certificate or autopsy report, does not prevent us from hurting. These are tangible reminders of the reality of death, while part of us still hopes it’s all been just a bad dream.
     
    Our child’s death causes us to re-examine our beliefs about the Universe, God, and how the world works. Your faith and belief system may comfort and sustain you during the first year or you may feel angry and disconnected from it. Remember that it is okay to question. 
     
    You may be drawn to people who have experienced a loss like yours and can understand some of your feelings and questions. This is one reason many people in early grief find comfort in bereavement support groups. But remember that no one can ever totally understand your grief, your questions, and what your child means to you. Like all relationships, each person’s grief is unique and complex.During early grief, you may want to stay busy all the time, avoiding painful emotions and the exhausting work of grief, hoping time will heal you. There’s no set schedule and no recovery period for grief. But time alone does not heal- it’s what we do with the time that counts. Take the time you need to do your grief work. But also take time away from grieving to do things you enjoy, to rest and replenish yourself.
     
    When our child dies, our hoped-for future dies, too.
     
    Beginning in this first year, and continuing on from there, living with your loss means taking on new roles, new relationships, a new future- without forgetting your past. Sometimes, life takes surprising turns. 
     
    Before my daughter’s death, I never would have imagined I would become so involved in grief support. It wasn’t part of my “plan.” Confronted with loss, we can weave the strands of our past into a new, meaningful future we never would have planned to live. Doing so is a conscious choice.
     
    Getting through the first year of your grief is like winding a ball of string. You start with an end and wind and wind. Then the ball slips through your fingers and rolls across the floor. Some of the work is undone, but not all. You pick it up and start over again, but never do you have to begin at the end of the string. The ball never completely unwinds; you’ve made some progress.
     
    My daughter’s spirit and our continuing bond of love gives me strength each day. May your child be there to help you during this painful first year, and in all the years to come.
    Jon-Daniel and his brave Mommy - January 2013
    Jon-Daniel and his brave Mommy – January 2013

PERFECTLY IMPERFECT


This amazing hopeful post was written by Missmorgansmom…A grieving Mother who lost her daughter 5 days shy of 17 months ago to a drunken driver… When I first read her blog my heart stopped for a couple of seconds.  I knew that the grief that she was living would be mine soon.  
 
I recall thinking that it would be somewhat easier when Vic dies.  Missmorgansmom’s lost her precious daughter not through debilitating illness but through a drunken driver.  I knew that she had so much reason to bitter.  Her child’s life had not even started and I was praying for my child’s suffering to end…
 
When the raw despair and grief overwhelmed me after Vic’s death I thought “My grief and anger is as intense as Missmorgansmom’s… When the tears overwhelmed me I remembered this cyberfriend of mine…  It scared me that she remained in this cocoon of grief.  I recognize the journey of grief as I am embarking on it…I read it before…
 
Today was my first session with the psychiatrist at Hospice… I came out of it a wreck.  I cried and teared up the whole day filled with despair that I would never heal.
 
Then I received my email notification of Missmorgansmom’s “Perfectly Imperfect” post.  The title intrigued me because of the “IMPERFECT” part of it.  
 
The reference to finding “a place where I belong” hit home.  My blog is where I feel safe and understood.  I am not judged nor am I told to move on…I am encouraged, understood, loved here…
 
I belong to a horrible club of Bereaved Parents.
 
This post filled me with hope.  If Missmorgansmom can laugh more and cry a little less than I know one day I will too…
 
Thank you dear cyberfriend for giving me hope.

PERFECTLY IMPERFECT

IMG_0697Grief is instrumental to the  metamorphous of person, as a whole. So many things change in your life when you lose some one you love. Although  no loss is an easy one, as personally I have lost my father, stepmother and grandparents.  Sadly as heart wrenching as their deaths were there is no comparison to how my life has changed with the loss of Morgan. There is no possible way to describe what this life altering event does to you, or prepare you for the process it takes to find a new normal, especially when the process is as individual as the experience it self. This is why i continue to share this undertaking, for understanding on every level. For myself to reflect on, for those who are in a similar predicament, as well as people who simply wish to understand more.

In my journey over the last 17 months or 5 days shy of 17 months I have found that the one place i feel somewhat normal is when i am with others like me. This could be in a virtual support group, or a friendship, or honestly a stranger with a similar story. It is so hard to feel like an oddity or only feel “Normal” whatever that is, when you are among other s that belong to this club which no body wants to be a member of. You only feel a like you are not abnormal because others for similar reasons now live with broken hope of what their dreams once were, because their world was as well obliterated. I suppose to feel  comfort and normalcy when you are with those who are just as fragmented is conventional in many facets. Its just so hypocritical, you do not wish anyone else to ever live in the hell you are in, you do not want anyone to have felt this pain,but yet you gravitate to those that do because they get it.

I can say that I am learning to process the fact that nothing will every be the same, it will always hurt, it will never  completely heal. I am finding that i have been able to laugh a little more than months ago, I cry a little less and slowly am learning to move back into trying to be functionally productive. This is not saying I am any better than I was during the early months, it is just saying that I am adjusting  to function with the pain. I still feel like I am in quick sand and still seems like a lot of the time the fight to get out is not worth the emotional and physical exhaustion. On those days, I generally drop back five and punt, maybe  just try to stay under the covers until i feel strong enough to fight a bit more, whatever it takes.

I do grasp a lot more now, the proverbial light bulb has gone off, i am always going to be broken! I will never be whole, kind of  like a puzzle missing a piece or I suppose like a tea cup that the handle breaks off and is glued back together, its weaker and never the same, but can function. So at this point in this wicked game this is where i am and quite honestly it is what it is! I have learned that at any given day in the process of grief, the battles you fight change from moment to moment. In the beginning i guess you are going through the traditional stages if you will. As time goes on and you graduate into new challenges, you find that the things that hurt now are things you could not have fathomed when it first happened. When you bury your child the pain and shock are so intense that no one could have possibly prepare you for! So as  time goes you learn to progress through those stages, and you may find that in some ways you come to terms with the fact that your baby is gone and not coming back. Than you at some point you start to climb out of the rabbit hole to see that the world and life as you knew it, now has a completely contrasting view with  incompatible meaning. You now identify with different goals, hopes and dreams, because the ones you had before  are now a mirage. The depth of these goals , hopes, and dreams, may be  as little as getting out of bed and making your bed one day or as extreme  changing a career.  The metamorphous of grief  reprograms you to keep the focus of the obtainable idea that you are only in need do the best that you can at a single moment, nothing more nothing less as well as embrace the idea of your new normal to be as being perfectly imperfect!