Dying is a lonely journey. Not only for the sick person but also for the family. As hard as we may try to avoid death, the truth is that we do a lousy job of it. Science and medicine will certainly postpone it, even staying healthy might seem to delay it, but the harsh reality is that death does not wait for you, it does not ask you, and it does not listen to you. Death ignores your feelings and wants; you do not matter to death…Death is the only certainty in life! We need to remember that our existence here is fragile, and we never have as much time with people as we think we do. If there is someone or someones out there that you love, don’t neglect that and don’t put off engaging with them because waits for no-one… Vic's Journey ended on 18 January 2013 at 10:35. She was the most courageous person in the world and has inspired thousands of people all over the world. Vic's two boys are monuments of her existence. She was an amazing mother, daughter, sister and friend. I will miss you today, tomorrow and forever my Angle Child.
Jon-Daniel’s BBM status today was “Mommy’s dream coming true” with this photo…
Your dream is coming true my angel child. Your Stepping Stone Hospice is functioning, and we have received a building as a donation! Next week construction will start and by the end of the month we will move in!
Behind the building there is a duck pond and a quaint little chapel. I look forward to planting some roses in the garden! We anticipate wheeling our day-care patients into the garden so they can feed the ducks.
Of course we do not have furniture yet. The boys are donating the furniture for the two Dignity Rooms (dying rooms). It was their decision! We want to real make the rooms pretty and lively… We will play gentle music and burn candles like we did for you… It will truly be rooms of love…
Yesterday I was at the site and I was looking at the terrain that they were clearing. All of a sudden there was this perfect white feather…Another message from you Angel. Thank you. I needed a sign…
Stepping Stone Hospice is daunting. This week an article appeared in the Tames Times. It opened a floodgate of telephone calls… An elderly man called. His voice was raw with grief and despair. His wife is dying from liver cancer and he is going through all those familiar caregiver anguish. How will he know when it is time? But she is still working and in total denial…He did not want help and will put my number on speed dial… I experienced what Arlene must have experienced when I phoned her the first time…. Quite a few new patients this week…so much pain and fear…
We have had wonderful offers of help. A woman phoned today and said that she did not know how to care for a sick person, but she was prepared to go clean a sick person’s home… We have had offers of help from professional councillors, people from all wards of life…Now we can only hope and pray that people will volunteer furniture and make some financial contributions!
I am amazed at the goodness and generosity of people. The company that donated the building belongs to a young man, Jaco Schultz. You would have liked him my angel. He is really a nice young man with a “white heart”.
I can hear you asking “Where did you find him Mommy?”
I did not find him. He found us! Long story…here is the short version!
We sell second-hand clothing to raise funds… El-Marie, Jaco’s sister took 14 bags of clothing to Trix. Trix (a wonderful woman with a superb sense of humour and a passion for Stepping Stone Hospice) told her what we do with the proceeds of the clothes (we buy medication for the indigent patients). Two weeks later she dropped off more bags and asked whether we could meet her brother…
The meeting itself was quite funny. It was when I had that terrible flu. The morning of the meeting I hardly had a voice, my head was throbbing and I was certain I would die. Remember the woman you met, who lives around the corner from us and whose daughter-in-law was paralysed in an accident in December 2012? She was at the meeting. I was so scared I would spread my flu germs, and she would contract my flu, that I wore a facemask – I did not want DiL’s death on my conscience. It must have looked so funny! Me with this horrible surgical facemask… gasping for oxygen and only breathing in concentrated germs!
Jaco asked to see the terrain, and we went on a walk-about. He asked whether a tree could be moved….We had a promise of a building that would have a small day-care centre, two dignity rooms, a treatment room…! As easy as that!
Within weeks the promise is becoming a reality. Construction starts next week! I am so excited! So my Angel Girl, there was a purpose to your suffering after all. I wish it was differentbut it isn’t. We have been blessed beyond comprehension.
I believe that God is personally overseeing this project.
I often wondered exactly what went through Vic’s mind in the final months of her life when she felt death sneaking up on her. I know she was scared and lonely; she was heartbroken knowing that her boys would grow up without her….I am not stupid. I know that Vic did not share all her fears and thoughts with me. She was trying to protect me.
Today I read a bittersweet post. I wept when I read the words. It was as if I heard Vic’s voice…felt her fear…
Bittersweet
June 4, 2013 by sugarmagzz | 6 CommentsIt happens from time to time, I get a glimpse of my “old” life and for a fleeting second forget that I am dying of cancer. These moments are simultaneously wonderful and devastating. I might be out with a friend for lunch, pumping gas into my car, shopping for Owen, or doing dishes at my kitchen sink. It’s always random and for that brief moment I feel free, as though I’m flying and nothing is tethering me down. I feel like I did before, able to live my life without a shadow cast overhead. It doesn’t last very long because reality always comes crashing down, dragging me with it in its vice-like grip. In this moment of clarity — when it all comes rushing back to me — I can’t breathe. I’m ten again and I’ve fallen flat on my back off the trampoline — immobile, breathless, terrified. This time there is no ground to break my fall, and so I’m left to kick and scream in mid-air with no one to hear me, no one to catch me. Alone and falling, falling so fast — past the memories that were supposed to one day be mine. I reach out to touch them and slide my fingers over their sparkling surface…The look on Owen’s face when he sees Disney World for the first time.The birth of our second child, to see again Andrew’s incredible capacity for the patience and self-sacrifice of fatherhood.Owen’s high school and college graduation ceremonies, his wedding.Ashlei’s wedding, the birth of her children, becoming an Aunt.Retirement — relaxing on the dock looking out over the lake with him, my partner in life…reminiscing about the early days and arguing over chores, still.Grandchildren.I will not see these momentous occasions, they will occur without my physical presence. I hope that there is more to this life, and that I can be there in some way, spirit or otherwise. I hope that my loved ones will always feel me near as they celebrate those unforgettable moments that life has to offer, but my sorrow at missing out on them is endless. I am so very grateful for the incredible moments I have been blessed to experience and I will hold them close until the end. When my time comes, I will take my last breath knowing that my time here was extraordinary, that during my brief existence I lived and loved as greatly as I could. I know there will be more wonderful memories to make before this happens, but everything for me is tinged with darkness — all of the good moments are bittersweet. Still I fight for them, even though they are broken and imperfect. They may not be the memories I thought they would be, but they will still be special.
Tonight I am doubting myself again. I wonder – did I comfort my child enough? Why was this precious child of mine condemned to a life of horrible pain and suffering? She never truly lived! Why did she die and bad people continue to live and prosper? Why was she deprived of a future??? She was such a good person!!!!!
I want to hold her and protect her. I want to tell her how much I love her. That she is the best thing that ever happened to me. That my life is empty without her. That I understood her fears.
This poem is about a teenager who is killed by a drunk driver. Anyone who gets behind the wheel of a vehicle while intoxicated is a potential killer!!!! Don’t drink and Drive!!!
He was the most loved with a million friends.
Football star with so many wins.
He had the cutest smile that you would ever see.
He was the funniest person that you would ever meet.
He had a full scholarship from a college in another state,
but he loved football so he couldn’t wait.
A week after graduation, his girlfriend and some friends had a celebration.
He was excited because it was the last party of the year,
he kissed his mom goodbye as she told him not to drink any beer.
He smiled at her and said, “relax mom, I won’t, I’ll be home around midnight.”
She told him she loved him and to have a good time.
As he cruised down the street he thought of how much he would miss his friends and he thought of his girlfriend and how good things had been.
He slowed to a stop as the light turned red,
but the car behind him didn’t seem to see the stop ahead.
He flew from the windshield and on to the ground.
He could see, but he couldn’t look around.
He tried to call for help, but his words wouldn’t speak.
His heart got slower and his body grew weak.
Family and friends flashed in his mind, he thought about his girlfriend one last time.
The medics worked on him to give him breath,
but he was fading fast
so close to “death”.
His neck was broken, and his bones were cracked….
So hard to be identified because his face was smashed.
Time passed by and he opened his eyes to see a man.
There wasn’t a scratch on him, but he could barely stand.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said with slurred words.
The officer asked, “have you been drinking sir?”
The man looked at the boy and nodded his head.
And the boy closed his eyes remembering what his mother had said.
A tear ran down his face as the light turned red, and around midnight, he was pronounced dead.
I woke up crying this morning. I wept for my child, my motherless grandsons, Izak, who has gone to a forever home, my blogger friend Julie @ http://jmgoyder.wordpress.com/ who is going through a dreadful time; Len @ http://myownheart.me/ who still counts the days since her precious Klysta died, Morgan’s Mom…Sandra @ http://thedrsays.org/ dying from congenital heart failure… I did not want to get out of bed.
Well, I eventually did and found this wonderful email from my friend, Christelle. It brought a smile to my face, and I decided that I MUST share it with all of you… I hope it brings a smile to your face too…
Life isn’t about how to survive the storm,
but how to dance in the rain.
If you are having a bad day, remember it could be worse…..
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…
“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 sunrises 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
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 have flu. I get ill once in 5 years and I am a ninny. I do not handle pain and discomfort well… I whinge, moan and groan until I am better…
This time I have embraced my flu. I can stay in bed and there is no pressure for me to get up…. I can just lie in bed with my eyes closed and it is okay! For the first time since my precious child died I don’t have to communicate, talk or pretend. I can just be sick!!!! I have spent four days in bed not having to talk, smile or pretend….
I am sick to the core of my soul – not only from the flu but from heartbreak. I was able to feel the loneliness and emptiness that permeates my life since Vic died. For four days I have not had to smile or live – I could lie in bed and hope to die.
There are days that I really do cope. There are days that I am able to smile and laugh. Most of the time I live a lie…
I have made peace with the fact that my precious child’s suffering is over. I know that never again will she fracture vertebrae from vomiting, scream from pain, whimper because she does not have the strength to scream… But all I have done is learnt to accept that Vic was amputated from my life. I still have to learn to live without the amputated part of my body; the pain of the missing part of me continues to taunt me…
I miss my child so much! I want to love and hold her. I wish I could have protected her from the ravages of Osteogenesis Imperfecta and doctor error! No, I don’t have guilt…I did everything I possibly could for my baby girl. I just desperately miss her! I miss her company.
I am hoping that the pain will pass…I do remember the beauty of my precious Vic all the time. The wonderful mother and daughter that she was; kind and gentle; incapable of malice…Her beauty will remain with us for ever.
Tomorrow I will get out of bed and carry on living.
Today I read the post of a very dear blogger friend. She is an unbelievably strong and resilient woman who is dying from congenital heart failure. She is a medical professional who served her country bravely. Sandra is married to an amazing man, and she loves his children dearly. They are a great source of joy to her.
I have just re-read most of Sandra’s old posts. It filled me with sadness reading her brave posts, an almost intellectual outlook on death… My friend is not a stranger to death. As a medical professional she encountered death often. Death in every form, indiscriminate of age, colour or creed.
Sandra posted : how to die? I have watched many die over the years and the range is as you would imagine. there were those that just could not let go and suffered every indignity to their body and soul. of course others went quietly with love around them. I have not decided if I want to be alone or with loved ones by my side. is there a way to make it easier for them? would they rather receive a phone call with the news or be at bedside? either way it will hurt them, not me of course as I am the one leaving. I would be lying if I said I don’t think of how I will miss so much. the thing is I have had so much, so much more than others and it seems selfish to complain. what they will go through is tremendous compared to what I will go through. I will sleep eternally and they will live. the best I can hope for them is peace of mind and future happiness. I want them to think of me and smile as I do now thinking of them. http://thedrsays.org/2011/03/25/
When I read this post I recognised the same almost detached approach to death that Vic had…As emotionally intelligent people Vic and Sandra look at death and know that their loved ones are the ones who will suffer the loss. Vic so often expressed her concern for her loved ones who would be left behind. My friend does the same in her posts…
Sandra wrote:
I believe and hope that I will die with dignity,
we are not born with fear and so we can die without fear. I think a lot of us are not so much afraid of dying as we are of not being remembered. it is only human to hope that our kids will have some fond memory, our grandkids, friends and maybe even some people who just passed through on the way to somewhere else. I would like to think there will be some fond memories of me. Chris is going to have a memorial at our home (I think) for me. I have asked for a celebration of my life. remember me as I am a real person with some good some bad and some … that should maybe stay in the vault:)
Today she posted: “for tonight i am not going to lie to you. i feel death coming closer, i hear the bear growl. at times i think i may see her but then she moves a little and we continue down this path. the toxins are working their way through my body to the skin where they are sores that itch and bleed. i have these toxins because my liver and kidneys are not working the way they should. my liver is enlarged and causes great pain. it is like having the worst charlie horse you have ever experienced just under your ribcage on the right side of your body. of course the spleen takes up its chorus on the left side and the kidneys can be felt in more places than you think and may be different in different people. i am so weak at times that just standing takes a monumental effort. my arms and legs can turn to shaking jello. sometimes my eyes won’t focus and my mind is hard to clear. forget about reading or even looking at the temp control on the wall.” http://thedrsays.org/2013/04/29/sex-lies-and-videotapes/
I am re-living Vic’s final journey with this precious, brave woman.
The purpose of my post is to thank Sandra for her friendship, support, guidance, compassion and advice over the past year. Often when I vented about Vic being stubborn or ill Sandra would gently advise me from a terminally ill person’s point of view. She opened my eyes to so much of my child’s emotions and personal struggle… She knows because it is her journey too.
My friend is a medical professional and KNOWS what is happening in her body. Vic knew too…
In November 2012 Vic started saying that death was close…she would not bounce back this time…and now my friend says “I feel death coming closer…”
Oh my friend what can I say? I know the emotional agony that Vic went through when she was where you are now. I wish I could give you some of my health. I wish I could wave a magic wand, and you would have more time. We both know I cannot do any of this.
Please know I hold you in my heart. I am sad that your journey is almost over. I am so sad for the dreadful pain you are in. I hope you are having pro-active symptom control.
I want to thank you today whilst you are strong enough to hear my words. Thank you for your friendship, compassion and support over the past couple of months.
I think you are incredibly brave, and you remind me of Vic…Stubborn, compassionate, intelligent…amazing! I hope that you will meet her when it is your time to cross over. Please know that I treasure you as a dear friend.
I pray for a miracle, that you will have lots of time, pain-free days. Know that you are loved and admired. I wish we had met.
I am not saying goodbye – just thank you for being a wonderful friend
To all my blogger friends out there – please pray for Sandra and Chris….
Does time really heal all wounds? Mothers who have lost a child to death assure us that “it will get better.” Friends and loved ones have started telling me that “it is time to get over it and get on with life.”
Researchers say that a mother never ceases mourning the death of her child. I believe this finding.
In those immediate hours, after my precious child’s death, time stopped. My life ground to a halt.
At Vic’s Memorial Service I was amazed that people rushed off after the service and tea to meetings, to pick up children from school…I remember thinking that everyone had already moved on…
I stood next to the hearse not wanting it to leave. I rested my hand on the wood of the casket…I wanted to pull my child out of that darn coffin and wrap her in my arms. I was not ready to say goodbye.
Today it is 100 days filled with searing pain and longing since Vic left home for the last time.
I have begun to mark time differently. I count the number of days, weeks and months that I have mourned and missed my child.
I know that every day that passes is one day closer to me being with my beloved child again. I know that Vic’s suffering is over; I know that it is for the best that Vic’s dreadful pain filled life is over…. It does not make my mourning less.
So today I am burning candles for my child. I am praying that my child is at peace. I am praying for grace to endure this longing. I pray that I will have the strength to continue honouring Vic’s memory….
I pray that I will be worthy of the trust she put in me to look after her precious boys.
On the surface it appears as if the boys are coping well. I heard a comment from a teacher this week saying that, despite the trauma they went through with Vic’s death this year, they are actually doing better than last year.
It was so difficult watching her suffering!
So today, once again, I say “Rest in Peace my beautiful Angel Child”
Today was an amazing day. I desperately miss my beautiful child.
I woke up early this morning remembering that I had a 8am meeting with the Hospice Bereavement Councillor or psychiatrist, whatever you prefer to call Alan. I looked at the time on my cell phone (can’t read my watch without my glasses) and thought to myself
“Hmmm, I need 45 minutes travelling time, 30 minutes to shower, dress, do my make-up and 15 minutes for breakfast and tea…”
I lay there in my war bed and decided I would be very rude and I would LIE – I would let Alan know I am stuck in the traffic… Writing this I am so ashamed for blatantly lying to this good man but it is done! I cannot undo the lie or my decision not to go… I will however confess if I see him again.
My first business appointment of the day was at 11am so I decided to lie in and check my emails in bed. There was a comment on one of my first posts…I reread the post and the next and the next and the next… I reread every one of the 335 posts I had written.
Other times, when I reread any of my journal entries or blog posts, I teared up. Today I did not. I was filled with relief.
I reread my baby girl’s journey filled with unbearable pain, suffering, discomfort, loneliness and indignity. The more I read the more I realised how selfish I was being. I took cognisance of the fact that in the early days of my blog I was careful with my words… Today I realised how much was never written. I was shocked at how little I had actually written of Vic’s pain… I remembered my child’s screams of pain and tears … I remembered how I prayed that her dreadful journey would end.
Today I was grateful that her suffering was over!
Does that mean I am “over” the death of my child? No! No! No! But I am at peace today that Vic is free of pain…
I missed her today as I will tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, next year and forever!
Vic and I
23.5.2012
At about 01:00 this morning Vic came into my room and got into bed with me. Her tummy was cramping badly and she was scared. She just lay with me for a long time, sobbing and talking about her fears.
E.H.Chapin said: “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls, the most massive characters are seamed with scars”…
Sobbing her little heart out she expressed her fear of how Danie and I will cope with her death… She asked me to remind Jon-Daniel of how he made her laugh when she was sad, Jared how much he helped her…
She told me I will have to be stricter with the boys after she is gone… She asks me to deliver her eulogy at her funeral…
Today was a day out of hell for Vicky. She is deadly pale – she actually has a ghost like appearance. She was so ill that she was unable to take pain medication and now her pain is out of control.
It is 20:00 and Vic has been fed, changed, powdered and medicated. She screamed with pain when I changed her. Seeing my child sick and in pain, every day of her life , kills me. I am dying, painfully slowly from my child’s pain. https://tersiaburger.com/2012/07/09/i-am-dying-9-7-2012/
12.8.2012
Vic is still a very sick little girl. The fact that her pain is better controlled does not mean that she is well. If any of us had spent the amount of time vomiting and cramping that she has this week we would be in bed hooked up to an IV and praying for death. This week Vic’s amazing resilience again amazed me. She is strong beyond comprehension!
My heart bleeds for her that her fragile body has once again failed her incredible will to live. It is clear that she is merely holding onto life, as she knows it, with her fingertips……
I will go to the meeting with Prof Froehlich and continue my fight for Hospice to become involved. Vic will never function on any level again. She is confined to bed relying on medication to keep her sane. Maybe she will have a good couple of days here or there but her sentence has not been commuted. https://tersiaburger.com/2012/08/12/mommy-i-broke-my-back/
Schedule 6 medication – 28 days supplyRest of Vic’s medication – decanted
21.8.2012
Every day of her life countless indignities are heaped upon her. She is dependant for everything from medication, care, food and money. Poor poppet! Death is always in the foreground of her mind. Either fear of dying and at times fear of not dying.
I don’t really know what I set out to articulate in this blog but writing has once again reminded me what a pitiful life Vic has. My poor, poor little baby! No-one in the world deserves her life! But we will never abandon her – ever!
This evening she asked if she could have her injection a little earlier. Jared is going back to theatre tomorrow morning to have his stent removed. “Mommy, I need to try and sleep so I can be with my son tomorrow”
It is as if her wish triggered an avalanche of events.
Vic has been projectile vomiting since, and the perspiration is pouring off her. Her heart is racing, and her blood pressure is all over. Her abdomen is so distended and extremely tender on the abscess side!
Vic will not be at her son’s side tomorrow when he is readmitted to hospital.
Life has ground to a slow, agonizing halt… Vic floats from one pain filled day in bed to the next. When she has a good and busy day, like yesterday, she pays the price for weeks. Vic has not been out of bed today. She is deadly pale and drawn.
It is hard for her not having privacy. Vic is embarrassed that I hold her hair or wipe her face when she is vomiting. Yet she needs me with her….
We are however in this together as a family. It is a rough journey for everyone.
“I am so sorry Mommy…” …it echoes through my heart.
We have already had so many “extra” years. But the fact remains that Vic is ill. Today she is more ill than yesterday or even last week or last month. It is not an UTI causing the pain and fever. Her pain control is good enough to mask symptoms. Waves of severe nausea and cramping remain…
I don’t even want to consider the possibility that the pain is caused by Vic’s organs slowly starting to shut down….. One organ after another…. I have read that it feels “uncomfortable”. It is called terminal agitation.
There have been times in the past couple of months that all Vic can do is lie in bed and breathe. Completing simple tasks is a cause for celebration….if Vic is able to get out of bed, showers and put on clothes, all in the same day, it is a major achievement. There have been days (few and very far in-between) that she has been well enough to pick up the boys from school, take them for a milk shake. She attended Jared’s confirmation and Jon-Daniel’s prize giving… We are so grateful for the good days!
Vic is going through a grieving stage where she (once again) is experiencing profound grief for the life that she had known and which has been lost forever. Vic is feeling lost and confused. She is on the down ride hurdling to who knows what stage of her journey.
Vic is so sad that she is unable to actively participate in her children’s lives. Most friends have stopped calling. Her sense of identity is blurred. She has been reduced from being a wife and mother to “a child”. https://tersiaburger.com/2012/10/21/vics-roller-coaster/
Mothersday 2012
14.11.2012
Vic had a night out of hell! The nausea was vicious and unrelenting. Pain reduced Vic to a whimpering bundle of human flesh.
Vic’s palliative Care physician, Dr Sue, visited Vic this morning. I think she was a little taken aback by Vic’s condition.
Sue is an amazing person. She was so gentle with Vic. Vic’s heart rate is fast and her blood pressure is 101/58. Vic has a bronchial infection, her liver is taking severe strain and the sepsis has flared up – badly. Her oxygen saturation levels are low – 90%.
Sue gently explained that although Vic is running a fever her body’s “warning systems” have started shutting down….. Vic is very warm to the touch, yet the thermometer only reflects a temperature of 36.8⁰.
Vic is having a lousy day. She is exhausted and very swollen. Despite the injections she has been nauseous all day. This evening she had another vomiting bout. Tomorrow we will see Dr Sue again. Just maybe there is a 3rd anti-nausea type injection available
Vic also complained of a terrible “acidic” feeling.
Hospice has just fitted a subcutaneous driver – again. Vic’s pain has spiralled out of control over the past couple of days.
Vic was in absolute excruciating pain during the night. She battled to breath.
“Help me Mommy! I can’t stand the pain anymore…”
I lay next to her and put constant pressure on the area that hurt most. It was just below her ribcage – liver. “Oh Mommy, it is so sore. Can you feel how sore it is?
As a little girl Vic used to believe that I could “feel” her pain…
“Feel how sore my toe is Mommy…”
As I lay there with my hand on her “sore” I wished with every fibre in my body that I could lay my hand on her sick body and soak up the pain and disease. It cannot be so I look for a new spot on her bum to stick in a needle. https://tersiaburger.com/2012/11/27/mommy-can-you-feel-how-sore-it-is/
3.12.2012
Today I looked at her and fear struck at my heart. My child is slowly slipping away. Her little body is tired of the pain. Her little organs are enlarged and diseased. Her bones weak….
And the realisation hit home…. We need another miracle.
Sue gave us a script for Pethidine. We will alternate the morphine and Pethidine six-hourly. The poor pharmacist…. She went into shock when she heard that the morphine is NOT being replaced by the Pethidine… that it is in addition to the morphine.
Now it is only a matter of time. Vic’s organs are slowly shutting down. My child is gently being eased into death.
The entire day it echoed through my mind “we cannot stop this. It is happening”
Vic is calm and serene.
“Next year my mom and I are going to Italy” she told Sue today.
12:42am and Vic is sleeping peacefully. She had a “good” day. In between her naps she had lunch with a friend, a visit from Esther and a walk in the garden with Jared!
Vic’s legs are growing very weak. The cellulitis on her arm has worsened despite the antibiotics. It is now oozing pus. Sr Siza will see her tomorrow, and I believe Vic will have to go onto IV antibiotics. She had a violent vomiting spell just after she took her antibiotic tablets tonight. It is very difficult for her to keep tablets and food down. Despite the six-hourly anti-nausea injections she has…. And of course there is the problem of the poor absorption.
Vic’s arm is very painful. The antibiotics have not started working yet. Dr Sue will come and see her tomorrow morning, and we will then decide whether it warrants hospitalization. Obviously Vic need intravenous antibiotics and her tissue is too poor….
I ran down the passage knowing that my poor child had vomited again. The poor little thing was standing in the shower covered in her 7 pm dinner and antibiotic tablets. The food had not digested at all. She was shivering and crying.
I cleaned up whilst Vic showered.
“I am sorry Mommy. I am so sorry Mommy”… Vic sobbed.
“I can’t do this anymore Mommy. I don’t want to live like this anymore….”
I eventually got into bed at 5am. Three hours sleep used to be enough sleep when I was younger. I think I am getting old. I need more than 3 hours. Maybe it is time to look at a night nurse…..
Hospice called early this morning. The antibiotics have been changed to IM injections. We cannot put up an IV drip. Sr Siza told Vic she should be admitted to hospital to have the abscess lanced and drained. Vic refused. “No more hospitals. Mommy you promised…”
Monday morning Dr Sue will come to the house and do the procedure here.
Today has been a very, very bad day. Sr Siza was here when Vic had a violent vomiting spell. Yesterday Vic fractured a vertebra again. Her pain is out of control. Her breathing was shallow.
“I don’t want Jon-Daniel to see me now Mommy. It freaks him out when I can’t breathe” Vic pleaded
I lay behind her back, gently holding her whilst the tears wracked through her little body.
“I don’t want to die Mommy. If only I can live for another year….. But I am so tired!” Vic softly cried
Vic has been vomiting non-stop. The acid has burnt the inside of her mouth. Her derriere is so lumpy, black and blue from the constant injections. Sr Siza popped in. She examined Vic and started drawing up a Clopamon and Morphine injection.
“Please Sister, not my bum. Please do it on my thigh.”
Vic no longer has an appetite. She is sleeping at least 20 out of 24 hours. Vic is very warm to the touch and appears flushed. The thermometer reflects a temperature of 37 degrees C.
“Do you understand what your body is telling you Vic?” Siza asked
Jon-Daniel telling his Mommy he received his honours blazer
2.1.2013
Vic is having a strange day… Her blood pressure is all over; her heart races and then slows down.
“Something is wrong mommy.”
This evening Vic double checked with me whether I remembered which hymns had to be sung at her memorial service. She cried when she (again) named her pallbearers. “Please don’t let me lie in a refrigerator for a long time Mommy…Let them cremate me as quickly as possible” https://tersiaburger.com/2013/01/02/sisters-by-heart/
Jared just quietly sitting with his mommy
1.7.2012
Vic worries about the family’s ability to cope with her illness and eventual death. When Jared whispered to her “Mommy, I want your face to be the first thing I see when I wake up from the operation” he validated her fears…
Vic often says “You know Mom I worry how Daddy is going to cope with my death…” or “Mommy, do you think the boys will cope without me?” or “Promise me you will go for counselling when it is over…”
No amount of reassurance will comfort her…Vic in time will have to let go. She knows how deeply we love her and what void her passing will leave in all our lives. If you lose a marriage partner it is possible to find another partner and experience love again but if you lose a child or parent…how do you replace a child or parent?
Vic is quite hard on the boys (for their own good I must add). She always says “I am your Mother not your excuse”
And then on the 10 th of September 2012 I blogged the words that I want to repeat today…
So baby, if you read this post, know that we will miss you. We don’t want you to leave us behind but we want your suffering to end. We will continue to love you until we are reunited one day. You have to trust us that you will always be “my baby” and the boys’ mummy. But know that we will be grateful when your little body is freed from its pain and suffering. You will be at peace… You will not suffer more pain after death. We will mourn you, but we will also be at peace… We will think of you and smile…
Ah, I have been surrounded by angels this week! Yesterday my friend Trix, just popped around with a beautiful bunch of roses…yellow and orange. Vic would have loved the flowers and the gesture! Vic’s eldest sibling too dropped off a beautiful bunch of flowers.
Yesterday we burnt candles for Vic. We all cried. We all desperately missed Vic.
Trix is a “new” friend. She is part of the Stepping Stone Hospice steering committee. Trix is funny, fit, bright, dynamic and very intelligent! She is absolutely amazing, and no amount of effort or work for Stepping Stone Hospice is too much effort. Trix posts these amazing comments on Facebook throughout the day. Her posts are philosophical, funny and radiates her love of life and people.
Trix has become such an important part of my life in a short period of time. She has a way of saying “Do what you must do to cope with today…” She is not the huggy/kissy type friend… Under her chirpy exterior lies one of the most positive and honest people I have ever had the privilege of knowing.
Now my friendship with Trix is one of the few goods things that came out of Vic’s illness… If Vic had not dreamt of a Hospice and Trix had not lost a husband to cancer in a Hospice In-Patient unit we may never have met…
Another new friend is Wendie Deacon http://deaconfamilyblog.wordpress.com/an-angel-named-vic/ Wendie is a nice person who is truly gifted. Wendie has challenges of her own and the way she has handles these challenges are so brave! She messages and says such beautiful things of Vic… That on it’s only is enough to truly endear her to me. Wendy wrote a beautiful poem for Vic… Thank you dear Wendie for honouring Vic with your words!
If only Vic could read Wendie’s beautiful poem… Do you think angels can read? I wish Vic could read these words…
Today I read a very moving eulogy that Denise, one of my blogger friends, posted. It is a eulogy that she wrote and presented at her beloved son’s funeral.
I identified with her emotions and every word she wrote. I would like to share Denise’s words with you and also my eulogy with which I honoured my brave child.
Denise says:” I’ve added a page with Philip’s eulogy. It was my last gift to him. As I wrote in the introduction, I’m posting it so you can know him a little better. I’ve just re-read it, and I remember reading it out loud, with Phil and Natalie beside me. I remember that I’d spent the last two hours in my chair, non-stop sobbing. I remember my cousin Maria leaning over and saying, “If you don’t stop crying you won’t be able to read.” I remember my voice clear and strong. And when I was done, I remember being told, “I feel better because I know you’re going to be all right.”
Me and “all right” didn’t belong in the same sentence. But there it was. And here it is; I hope you’ll take a look.”
Much of the days, immediately after Vic’s death, is now a distant memory. The emotions that I did record are hazy now. I floated on a herbal tranquilizer cloud… I cannot remember who all was at the funeral. I remember who wasn’t… I looked at the January 2013 photos this week and saw that her second eldest sibling did come and say her goodbyes. I now vaguely remember her little girls being here, but I actually don’t remember!!
When Vic planned her memorial service she asked that I deliver her eulogy.
Friday, Saturday and Sunday after Vic died I cried and was unable to think straight. I wanted to do the handouts myself but by Sunday evening I knew I would not be able to do it in time. My mind was blank, and I could not get Microsoft Publisher to do what I needed it to do… At 8.15pm I texted the undertaker and asked them to do it. I would send them the content, and they would format my information.
I prepared a wonderful slide show of Vic’s life. All the fun bits and the people she loved were in it with her. All the highlights of her life were captured in PowerPoint. “Never Alone” as performed by Jim Brickman and Lady Annabella would play as her coffin was carried out of the church. “If tomorrow starts without me” would play before the start of the service. The slide show would loop from 15 minutes before the service and again 10 minutes after Vic left the church for the last time.
The eulogy and thank-you’s would be done by me.
Strangely the “thank-you’s” was far more difficult to do. There were so many people to thank that had loved, helped and supported Vic and the family over the years…
I actually don’t know whether I blogged on the service as such before, but if I have either forgive me or please move onto another post.
When I stood up to do the thank you’s and eulogy I thought “It is the 3rd eulogy in 18 months I am doing…”
As I stood up Vic’s boys got up and flanked me. They bravely and stoically stood next to me supporting me as we paid our last respects. I could feel their bodies tremble and occasionally I hear a stifled sound as they suppressed their tears.
The boys and I before the memorial service
We stood on the stairs below the pulpit. Three steps below us Vic lay in a casket. More than a hundred candles burning; her St Josephs lilies on the casket and a beautiful framed photo of her… I so wish someone has taken a photo…
Like Denise I was surprised by the clarity of my voice. It was as if my voice belonged to someone else. The steadiness of my voice belied the physical pain of my heart.
I said the following:
Where do I start? How do I begin a farewell when I still can’t believe you’re gone? How do I say goodbye to a part of my soul?
The day you were born I experienced this UNBELIEVABLE rush of love. I was smitten from the first second I lay eyes on you.
You came into my life and changed me forever. Over the years people have complimented me for being a good mother but I truly cannot take credit for that. You were born good, and great and amazing. You were the one who taught me lessons in life. I believe you are an angel God sent to teach me.
You taught me love. You taught me honesty. You taught me to love unconditionally. You taught me how to forgive and how to be strong. You are the strongest person I have ever known. You gave me strength when I was weak. When times were sad and tough you reminded me to be grateful for the small things in life. You taught me how to be myself. Most of all you taught me about life and how to live.
When you were diagnosed with Osteogenesis Imperfecta at the age of 18 months and the doctors told me I should wrap you in cotton wool and wait for you to die, you taught me it was more important to feel and grow like any other child than to have me hide you under my wing. It was so important to you to live. And that you did. You gave birth to not one beautiful baby but two! You mothered the boys the way you lived life – with a passion.
You are the bravest person in the world. You rewrote medical history. You defied death for so many years… You mocked bad news and a poor prognosis…
You made me so proud. You have always been my greatest pride and joy. At school you excelled as a pianist. As a mommy you were an example to all. As a dying person you were brave beyond words.
I’m not sure how I can live this life without you. You worried about me just as much as I worried about you. You told everyone how worried you were that I would not cope without you. You fought so hard to stay alive. You fought until you gave your very last breath. You did not want to leave your boys. You lived for your boys.
You often said you were scared people would forget you…
No-one will ever forget you. You made an incredible impact on the world. You left two monuments of your love and mothering skills. Your sons will honour you every day of their lives with their actions.
The photo on the casket
Your dream of a Hospice for Alberton has been realised in Stepping Stone. Thousands of people will benefit from your dream and compassion in years to come. It is ironic that you were Stepping Stone’s first death…
Two weeks before your passing you started seeing angels. You saw Gramps, Uncle Dries, your father and Auntie Marlene. Then a week before your passing you said “My whole room is full of angels” You fought to stay alive every single day of your life. Eleven months ago you called a family meeting and told us that you had decided enough is enough. No more surgeries. No more hospitals.
Over the past 11 months you made your final wishes known. You planned your memorial service. You spoke to the boys about what was important. I personally got a long list of do’s and don’t’s.
Just before Christmas you said you were worried about me. That you could see I thought you would bounce back again…You said you were dying…You could feel the changes in your body. But like 95% of the people in this church today I honestly though you would bounce back and defy death once again!
One week before Vic died…
The day you were born you filled my entire life. You were always my first and last thought. I feel numb and as if I am in a bubble. You will be happy to know that we have been surrounded by love and support. But it still feels as if the world should have stopped because you left it.
Vic, I miss you so much already and I don’t know if I can take this pain anymore. But then I think, how can I be sad when I know you’re in a better place? How can I be sad when you brought me so much happiness? How can I be sad when God is already working miracles through you? How can I be sad when I feel like the luckiest person on earth to have been chosen to be your mother? How can I be sad when God gave you to me for 14,019 days, 20 hours and 15 minutes? I thank God every day for the time we shared together.
Baby, I promise you today we will be the support system for the boys you wanted. We love them so much. No-one in the world can ever take your place. We promise we will keep your memories alive. We will honour our promises to you.
So now we must bid you farewell. It is your time to run, free from pain and suffering. We will always love you. We will never forget you.
Every day I go to Vic’s Facebook page to see whether someone remembered her… I leave her messages… Today at 14:18 I dialled her mobile number out of habit.
Exactly three months ago I knew my child’s life had been reduced to hours…I knew that her little body could no longer fight whatever infection was raging in it. Her temperature was off the chart… the thermometer only registers temperatures up to 106 °F (41.5 °C) and then goes onto “HI”.
It was this time, three months ago, that Vic’s breathing changed. Three months ago it was Vic’s last night of breathing.
Earlier that day I fell asleep next to Vic – my hand on the pulse in her neck. I was so exhausted I could not think or function. I just needed to be with her every second of her last hours.
The boys came to say their goodbyes…
I no longer allowed visitors.
I remember lying next to her recalling a discussion we had when I had flu and was running a fever. I am a terrible patient. I am such a ninny. I remembered saying to Vic “Sweetie, when I am dying please don’t let people touch me…”
“I won’t” she promised. “My skin also hurts when I am running a fever…”
“Why didn’t you tell me? It must irritate you when I stroke your hand or hair when you are sick?”
“Because I know you need to touch and hold me when I am sick…” she said.
“I will never to it again. So next time you are running a fever know I want to hold your hand and stroke your hair…”
“It’s okay Mommy. You can hold my hand. I don’t mind. It hurts but makes me feel better…”
“That’s an oxymoron if I have ever heard one in my life!” I laughed and Vic joined in
That night, three months ago, there was no idle chatter or laughter in the house. Just the sound of Vic’s breathing.
Tonight, three months later, everyone has gone to bed. There is no sound of laughter or idle chatter in the house. Earlier tonight there was.
I keep imaging that I am hearing Vic’s footsteps shuffling down the passage. The boys have lit extra candles for their mom. I know that they are sad.
I am aware that the dynamics of my grief is changing. I am starting to function, smile and look “alive”. The numbness has gone. The pain is real now. My sadness is constant. I go to sleep with tears in my eyes and wake up with tears running into my hair. My grief has become “mine”. It has become a constant companion. I do not want to share it. I want to embrace it.
I know there is so much to be grateful for, I know I wanted Vic’s suffering to end, I am grateful that she is no longer fracturing vertebrae from vomiting, crying with pain… I KNOW all of this on an intellectual level. I try to tell my heart to be happy or at least grateful, but my heart won’t listen!
I don’t want to sleep tonight. I want to lie awake and remember my beautiful baby girl, her warm smile, her tiny little hands and her pure soul. If I fall asleep I pray that I will dream of my baby girl…
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….
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
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.
Grief 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!
My Angel Child
So many of my cyber friends have lost their children…these women and men have supported and guided me on my journey with Vic and held my hand in the early days of my grieving and heartache… They KNOW my pain. I found this poem on a bereavement site and would like to share (and dedicate) it to all the angel moms and dads out there. Thank you for your support, advice, encouragement and love.
My other cyber friends have done their best to understand and love – thank you all. I appreciate your compassion and continued support. I pray that you will never experience this pain. I pray that you will never become Angel Parents…
Angel Moms
We have shared our tears and our sorrow, We have given encouragement to each other, Given hope for a brighter tomorrow,
We share the title of grieving mother.
Some of us lost older daughters or sons, Who we watched grow over the years, Some have lost their babies before their lives begun, But no matter the age, we cry the same tears.
We understand each others pain, The bond we share is very strong, With each other there is no need to explain, The path we walk is hard and long.
Our children brought us together, They didn’t want us on this journey alone, They knew we needed each other, To survive the pain of them being gone.
So take my hand my friend, We may stumble and fall along the way, But we’ll get up and try again, Because together we can make it day by day.
We can give each other hope, We’ll create a place where we belong, Together we will find ways to cope, Because we are Angel Moms and together we are strong!
Within weeks the promise is becoming a reality. Construction starts next week! I am so excited! So my Angel Girl, there was a purpose to your suffering after all. I wish it was different but it isn’t. We have been blessed beyond comprehension. 
Vic's Final Journey 