Tag: loss of a child

5 years …


Five incredibly long years ago I finally had to let you go.  I fought so hard for you.  Just another year…another month…another week…another day…  And then it was over.

You stopped breathing.

It was simply over.

The reason for my existence was gone.  There was nothing to do.  I washed you and dressed you and waited for the undertakers to fetch you.

They came and went.  My heart broke all over again watching you leave home the very last time.

I made your made bed and had your room cleaned.  And then I waited for the boys to arrive…

Oh dear God, the pain in their eyes…  I don’t ever want to see it again.

I arranged your funeral.  I did your eulogy.  I cried myself to sleep and cried myself awake.  I packed up your cupboards.  I carried on with Hospice.  I learnt to breathe without you.

Today it is 5 years.  Where has time gone?  I thought my heart would be healed by now but the pain is as much as 5 years ago.  It is not so harsh.  Pain has become a familiar companion.  It goes to bed with me and wakes up with me.

I am filled with self-doubt all the time.  Am I making a mess of the boys lives?  Am I making the right decisions?

I constantly battle my emotions.  I wake up with my hair drenched in tears.  I fall asleep praying for the boys and those of us left behind.  I spend my days smiling.

Oh sweetheart I would give anything to change places with you.  I wish you could be with your boys.  They miss you so much.  I can never be a mother to them.

Some days this is too hard.

She Died on a Monday


This post was written by a mother whose daughter died from doctor error – just like Vic.  This mother’s daughter suffered for 8 years before she died…   Vic suffered for 4027 days after her blotched surgery.  https://tersiaburger.com/2013/02/22/4027-days/

Where's my kid?

no medical image
In the seven years leading up to my daughter’s death, she suffered through hundreds of hospitalizations. I use the word “suffered” and I mean it. When I’d get the call from her husband in her distant city telling me she was once-again hospitalized, I’d do a quick survey of where we were in the week. Tuesday to Thursday = probably okay. Friday to Monday = disaster.

And now we have a new television show, entertainment, if you will, from the TNT network entitled “Monday Mornings” and penned by CNN’s top medical guy, Dr. Sanjay Gupta, which explores something all-too-many of us are all-too-familiar with: Medical mistakes.

My concern over the “entertainment value” of such a television show bumps up against relief. Real people with real lives and real families that love them die in real life versus now people will know some of the truth. The problem is that real…

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But you go on


Beautiful words blogged by Dr Bill Wooten.  http://drbillwooten.com/2013/04/20/but-you-go-on/  Thank you Bill

But you go on

April 20, 2013 by Dr Bill

“Not the loss alone,
But what comes after.
If it ended completely
At loss, the rest
Wouldn’t matter.

But you go on.
And the world also.

And words, words
In a poem or song:
Aren’t they a stream
On which your feelings float?

Aren’t they also
The banks of that stream
And you yourself the flowing?”

~ Gregory Orr

time

 

I miss being Mommy


My beautiful Vic
My beautiful Vic

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

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

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

Thank you all for your love and support.

Tersia,

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