Oh God, I am drowning again. I pray that I will go to bed tonight and never wake up. I know it I stupid because it would kill the boys and cause others that love me so much pain, but I cannot face life without my child.
I was looking at posts on “The Grieving Parent”, a Bereavement Facebook page for parents (https://www.facebook.com/TheGrievingParent ) and it just made me feel so inadequate and weak. Bereaved parents speak of the healing they have experienced….I don’t know whether I ever will heal. Tonight, like yesterday and the 82 days before tonight, I fear that my life is over.
All parents love their children. Some have a closer bond than others. The mother /child relationship is the closest relationship anyone will ever find. There is a bond between a mother and child that cannot be broken or destroyed.
Vic’s death cannot “remove” her from my life. My love for her is never-ending and all-enduring. For 9 months I nurtured her in my womb. For 38 years I nurtured her in life. My life revolved around Vic.
Did we have a perfect relationship of never arguing, fighting or being angry with one another? Hell no!! We went through the different stages as all mothers and daughters do.
As a toddler and pre-teen Vic loved me with unshakeable conviction. By the time she entered her teens we reached the stage where we disliked one another… We always loved one another, but we certainly disliked one another at certain stages of our lives. It was a tumultuous swing in our lives…
Vic was extremely headstrong! She wanted to go to boarding school and that she did…She married early in life, against our wishes…Not because we disliked Colin but because she was too young. Vic got married 6 months after her 21st birthday. Six weeks later she fell pregnant against ALL doctors advice. She had two children at the risk of losing her own life and passing on the Osteogenesis Imperfecta disease and/or gene.
Vic also refused to die. Vic refused to be “sick”. She got dressed into normal day-clothes every day of her life. She refused to hand over the responsibility of her children’s upbringing to anyone regardless of how ill she was.
Vic did what she did when she wanted to. If she believed in something she would defy anyone and everyone. She was driven by her need to grow up and live her life to the full. The relationship shift from child to adult was very difficult for me to accept.
Our relationship changed after Vic had the boys. Maybe because then there was a greater level of understanding, by Vic, of the enormity of the responsibility that a mother has to her child…..
Vic was not a saint. She was a difficult teenager and a fiercely independent young woman. Yet our mother-daughter relationship was ultimately fulfilling. I was certainly not the perfect mother. I failed Vic on many levels. We were so different that we found it difficult to understand one another’s choices and needs.
Despite conflicts and complicated emotions, Vic and I loved one another unconditionally. We complemented one another perfectly. Vic so often said “God knew what He was doing when He put us together….We are such a good team!”
I am grateful for the time we spent together. I wish I had spent less time working and more time playing…I wish I had been less concerned about Vic’s financial care. I wish I had been there when she took her first steps…I got the hospital time. Her healthy time I spent working – playing catch-up for her hospital time… I wish Vic had grown up in a home with a mommy and a daddy…
In her later life Vic became a child again. She was totally dependent upon me. I did not have to “compete” with a spouse to take care of her. In the final months of Vic’s life she had panic attacks when I was away from her. In a weird, sick way my life was perfect. My baby was home. I could love and nurture her…
I wish we had more time…
In the final days of her life Vic cried “I want to live. Mommy I don’t want to die… If only I could live for one more year…”
I would give everything I own; every second of my remaining life; everything I love and cherish for Vic to have lived just one more year.
Two weeks after our arrival in Johannesburg we celebrated Vic’s 3rd birthday. Tienie drove my car up and was able to be with us for Vic’s birthday. By her birthday Vic had 38 fractures.
The day of Vic’s birthday Tienie and I went for a drive looking for an ice-cream parlour as a birthday treat for her. Vic was sitting on the backseat. Cars did not have safety belts in 1977… a dog ran across the road, and Tienie swerved out to avoid running it over….. Vic fell off the back seat.
I immediately knew her little arm was broken.
We drove to the nearest hospital. It was Vic’s first visit to an Emergency Room in Johannesburg. There was a long queue of patients waiting to be seen. I completed the paperwork and we sat down for the long wait.
Vic being a toddler we got moved to the front of the queue. A tall, tired looking doctor took down Vic’s medical history.
“Treatment?” he asked…
I remember thinking “Duh….. You know there is no treatment.” But, then a spark of hope flamed up and I asked “Do you know of treatment for Osteogenesis Imperfecta?”
“No” he said
“Vicky is having experimental homeopathic treatment. The physician treating her is Professor Majorkenis” I said
He looked at me and took out a red pen from his pocket. In huge red letters he wrote “Homeopathic treatment” across the page. He drew two lines under the words…
In a terse voice he instructed the nurse to take us through to X-rays. There was no radiologist on duty, and we had to wait for the call-out radiologist to arrive. I eventually went through to the ER and asked the doctor whether Vic could have something for the pain. It was 2.5 hours after the event, and she was crying from the pain.
“She cannot have anything for pain. She may have to go to the theatre. But then you know that don’t you?” he asked in a very sarcastic tone of voice!
I went back to X-rays seething but knowing that what he said was true. If the bone had dislocated Vic would have to go to theatre.
By the time I got back to X-rays the radiologist had arrived and was busy setting up the machine. Vic’s cries of pain are still etched into my heart and brain when her little arm was positioned on the table. Tears ran down my cheeks whilst I kept telling her that if she kept still it would be over soon.
The X-ray showed 3 clean fractures. No surgery would be necessary.
We went down to the ER, and the doctor started applying the plaster-of-paris to Vic’s arm. She was sobbing with pain.
I absolutely lost it.
“If you have a problem with the fact that my child is having homeopathic treatment you take it out on me. “
He just fixed his tired eyes on me and said nothing.
“Do you know what it feels like when your child is sentenced to death and there is no appeal system? Western traditional doctors, like you, have offered us no hope what so ever! This Homeopath is prepared to TRY. That is a hell of a lot more than what doctors like you are prepared to do! ”
His eyes were big and he had stopped working on Vic’s arm by then.
“Now, if you have a problem treating my child with the care and dignity that she deserves I suggest you get someone else in here to take care of her!”
He drew up a syringe with some pain medication and said “This will just sting a little, but it will help for the pain…”
He gave it a couple of minutes and then completed the plaster-of-paris process.
Without a word of apology he wrote a prescription for pain medication. He curtly said “Take her to her orthopod in three weeks” and walked out of the cubicle…
I lodged a formal complaint against him the following day, but nothing ever came of it.
Was I surprised? Hell no! Homeopathic or alternative medicine was satanic in 1977 in South Africa! We would go to hell for it any way…
On Vic’s 3rd birthday her fracture count went up to 41…
Yesterday Jon-Daniel and I went for a long walk on the beach. The water was freezing but my feet adjusted to the temperature. It was great feeling the sand between my toes. Families were playing in the sand – very few people were brave enough to swim. There were quite a few surfers braving the cold water. The sky was clear and for the first time in many, many months I felt totally relaxed.
I thought back to Vic’s birth! I remembered a beautiful baby girl born with a mob of black hair. I remembered the rush of love that I experienced when I first saw her. I fell in love with Vic the second I lay eyes on her. When she curled her perfect little fingers around mine I was lost in the wonder of her perfection.
Vic was born 3 weeks early. She weighed in at 5.6 lbs. (2.54kgs). She was tiny but perfect! From the first breath that she took she ruled my life. Her first little outfit was a baby-pink jersey that a cousin knitted for her. Her clothes were doll-sized.
My Mom bathed her for the first month of her life. I was too scared! At 6 weeks Vic had one feed a night only…. She was born an angel. Vic had her first known fracture at 6 weeks… She started walking at 18 months; Vic built her first puzzle before she could crawl.
I remembered her gurgling and laughing. The minute she opened her eyes she would have this huge smile on her face. Her smile reached her eyes even then….
Vic never stopped smiling. She was a ray of sunshine. She never complained.
When I think of the cards the poor little poppet was dealt I realize more than ever what an incredibly strong person she was.
We were driving back from the first athletic meeting when she was in Grade 1.
“Mommy I want to ask you something” Vic said
“You know you can ask my anything you want…” I replied very upbeat. I had won the parents race and felt pretty good about myself.
“I know what you are going to say …” Vic said
I looked into the rearview mirror and saw silent tears running down her little cheeks.
“What’s wrong Angel?” I asked
“Mommy, why can’t I run like the other children?” she replied.
Vic was diagnosed with Osteogenesis Imperfecta at 18 months.
I was in total denial that there was anything wrong with my perfect child. My Dad was the only one who was brave enough to continuously tell me that there was something with Vic. The sclera of her eyes was blue and she fractured easily.
The grandparents conspired with Tienie (her father) and took her to the Freestate University. A professor assessed Vic and diagnosed Osteogenesis Imperfecta.
The family decided that Tienie had to break the news to me. I went mad with fear. OI is a very rare disease and in the pre-world wide web days, a library was the only source of information. I went from doctor to doctor begging for a cure or even a hint of hope that there was a cure in sight. The doctors told me I should wrap Vic in cotton wool and wait for her to die
Whilst all of this was happening Vic kept fracturing bones. She would bump her little sandal against the step and fracture her tibia. Whilst in Plaster-of-Paris she would re-fracture in the Plaster–of-Paris… We were treated like child-abusers at hospital emergency rooms and our neighbours reported us to Child Welfare.
Every living moment I would talk to Vic about how special she was; how frail her little bones were and how careful she must be.
When Vic was 3 years old a colleague mentioned a homeopath that worked miracles with rare and untreatable disorders… a Professor Majorkenis. I immediately made an appointment to see him. He practiced in Johannesburg, and as a small town girl I was petrified. Johannesburg was Sodom and Gomorrah!
The Professor was of Greek descent. He was of a short stature and spoke heavily accented English. His brown eyes were wrinkled, warm and gentle. His handshake was firm and reassuring.
He spent a long time examining her, measuring her electronic fields and all sorts of weird and foreign tests.
He made no commitment. He merely told me that he was on-route to Europe for an International Homeopathic Association conference and would discuss it with his fellow doctors there. (He was President of the International Homeopathic Association.)
I received a phone call from France a week later. It was the professor! The connection was poor and with his heavy accent I managed to hear that he was prepared to do experimental treatment and wanted to start in two weeks!
Without any discussion with anyone I resigned my job, phoned a colleague who has relocated to Johannesburg a couple of months earlier and asked him whether he knew of any vacancies in the glass industry and went home to break the news to my husband and parents!
The family went into high-energy planning. Vic and I would travel by train as I was scared of driving on my own and getting lost. Tienie would drive my car to Johannesburg two weeks later so he could celebrate Vic’s 3rd birthday with us. I would live with my parents-in-law, who had recently relocated to Johannesburg, and Tienie would live with my parents. He was still at University and could not relocate.
We gave up the flat, packed up our furniture and belongings and put everything in storage. Vic and I said our goodbyes to all our friends and then it was time to leave…
I remember my fear with crystal clear clarity when we boarded the train. I cried hysterically and clung to my Dad. My mom sobbed, and my dad wiped tears from his eyes telling me I must be strong and look after the “little one”. We would speak on the phone every Sunday…
The train slowly pulled out of the station, and I held my sobbing baby girl close to my heart. Her hair was wet from my tears. Vic was totally distraught. My parents, siblings and Tienie faded into the night as we sped towards a cure.
I am at a stage where it feels as if it is impossible to recover from the pain of losing Vic. I am told that the grief will gradually get better and become less intense as time goes by.
The first few days after Vic died was so intense. Family and friends cried, and we comforted one another. The house was busy with people coming and going. The planning that goes into a funeral and the writing of the eulogy took a lot of time. My grief was raw and incredibly intense. My heart physically ached. I experienced feelings of anxiety, panic, sadness, and helplessness. Yet it is actually a surreal feeling… it felt as if we were removed from the world. It felt as if I looked in from the outside. I heard myself speaking and reacting mechanically…Old school friends phoned and I rushed to get through their words of condolences so I could ask them about their lives. I did not want to discuss Vic’s death. They must have thought I was crazy.
People said “you are so strong…”
When a loved one dies at home I think it is harder afterwards…There is a “mystique” to the room of death. The smell of death lingers and the room is littered with medication, blood pressure equipment, thermometers and syringe containers. Bedpans and vomit-dishes are still in the bathroom…
The planning of Vic’s memorial service actually helped me get through the first days after her death. Friends and family spend time with us talking and sharing memories about Vic.
Many times, people show their emotions during this time of ritual. Overwhelmed by Vic’s death we actually did not show emotion right away — even though the loss was very hard. We stood amongst our friends and family at the reception after the memorial service smiling and talking. To the world it must have appeared as if we were strong and accepting of Vic’s death. Being among other mourners was a comfort; it sort of reminded us that some things will stay the same.
But the time came when the far-away family left, friends went back to their lives and the steady flow of visitors stopped. In a way it was a relief. We were forced to stop and come to terms with the reality of the situation….the pain of the loss and the enormity of our grief.
Within a week we were back at work and school. People were and still are wary of us – they do not know how to handle our grief. We quickly learnt that other people are not interested in our grieving process…We stopped talking about Vic’s death…But although we no longer continuously talk about our loss, the grieving process not only continues but intensifies.
It’s natural to continue to have feelings and questions for a while after someone dies. It’s also natural to begin to feel somewhat better. A lot depends on how your loss affects your life. It’s OK to feel grief for days, weeks, or even longer, depending on how close you were to the person who died. I was told yesterday by someone who truly loved Vic that Vic’s death is only a reality when they are in our home. When they leave it almost becomes a distant memory….
The loss of a child is different to the loss of a parent. The boys’ grief is different to my grief… I will go further and say that the grief of a teen is different to the grief of an adult child who lost his aged parent.
Vic’s death has been a devastating, distressing experience in the life of the boys. Although the boys have spent the majority of their lives in our home their sense of security and stability in the world has been turned upside down. Vic’s death has become the defining event in the boys lives. The boys have begun to define their lives into two categories: “before Mom died” or “after Mom died.”
The boys and I have experienced a sense of relief, ambivalence; guilt and regret after Vic’s passing. The boys have categorically expressed their sense of relief that Vic’s intense suffering and pain is over. I prayed for Vic to die. This sense of relief has however brought on more guilt!
Jon-Daniel was the first of the boys who had to cope with the realization that Vic would not be around to celebrate rites of passage; Vic slipped into a coma the day Jon-Daniel received his school’s honours award for academic achievement…..
The boys are battling to cope with Vic’s death. Their grief is intensifying.
On the 8th of April they will meet the Hospice Psychologist. On the 25th we are flying down to Cape Town for 13 days. We need a change of scenery. We need to grieve without being told to “let Vic rest…”
I make a point of telling them that I miss their Mommy too. They light candles for Vic. I cry in my pillow.
I know that the boys will eventually move on. It is the way it is – children bury their parents. It is normal. But a parent should never have to bury their child…
For 38 years my beautiful child was the centre of my life. I lived for her. Now I merely exist.
I hear her say “Mommy I love you” and I whisper “I love you more than life angel child…”
I am systematically packing up Vic’s belongings. It has been a humongous job! Vic was a squirrel – she hoarded! I have discarded hundreds of old VCR tapes….thousands of photos and many hundreds of cards. The “Good luck with exam cards” were totally wasted on Vic – I came across her school reports again…; get better cards, I love you cards and thank you for your friendship cards from her school friends; lots and lots of Valentine cards… The one card that got to me was a card that read:-
“To My Daughter
So many times
When you were a child,
I looked upon your
Sleeping face
And wondered
What kind of woman
You’d grow up to be?”
Then on the inside of the card it reads “You grew up as wonderful as I imagined” Today I can categorically state that was not true. Vic grew up to be a far more wonderful person than I could ever have imagined. Vic was kind and generous. Vic always smiled. Vic loved unconditionally and never judged. Vic was devoid of bitterness and hate. She never spoke unkind words. Her bravery goes without saying… Vic is the bravest person I know. Vic always said “I am fine thank you…” The shrillness of the “fine” was the “stress-indicator” of how ill she was.
The cards her school friends wrote were to thank her for her friendship and support. Gia wrote on the 26th of March – year unknown: “This is just a short note to say thanks for all your help, attention, help and love while I’ve been under the weather…” On the 28th of October 1991 Tatum wrote “You’re a great friend and I am dreading this time next year when we all have to say goodbye. Thank you for being you and putting up with me…” Monique wrote “Thanx for everything. You know what everything is.” One of the Vicky’s wrote “as friends we have walked together sharing joy, laughter and tears. Though time may pass and things may change, I’m sure you’ll agree, That one thing always stays the same…each other’s loyalty” Mouse wrote “Vicks thank you for willingly giving help – be it a smile or a thoughtful thought – It may go unnoticed but it is appreciated” Gia ended most of her notes, cards and letters with “I’ll meet you at the end of the earth”
I truly felt like a grave robber going through Vic’s private correspondence. I cannot keep it all – there is just too much and I did not want to discard her whole life. So I have made a memory box of all her school dance invitations and photos, her friends’ notes, some boyfriends’ letters and her theatre season tickets. I have added some of the hundreds of cards I sent her over the years. Yes…Vic kept them all!!!!
How can I just wipe out her lifetimes memories? Vic treasured these items and I will keep it safely for her grandchildren to see one day… This memory box is her memory box. A tribute by her friends… It was an experience to “see” Vic in high school. Vic insisted on going to boarding school in High School, and she was accepted at one of the most prestigious girl schools in South Africa. Vic LOVED the freedom and camaraderie of boarding school. She got up to a lot of mischief! I have now personally seen the photos of what the girls got up too… But I am so glad.
I have come to realise that I never truly allowed Vic to grow up. I was an over protective mother and quite honestly maybe even a little overbearing. Vic always remained a child. Albeit a mature child and an old soul but never the less a child. From the day my beautiful baby girl was born I knew I had to protect her from the world. She was too tiny and beautiful for this horrible world we live in. Now my beautiful baby girl is safe from pain, hurt and the ugliness of the world.
A glimpse into Vic’s life and soul…a journal entry she made on the 24th of March 2003
“And so it begins. Tomorrow is the first surgery of this year. My poor children. My family. This is so difficult. I am panic-stricken, but not about the surgery. I promised Jared we would have a nice school holiday. It’s his first holiday and he was so excited about staying home with his mommy. I’m his mommy…. Do you know that? It doesn’t always feel like it. Do you understand? Do you know what I mean? I’m sure you know what I mean. It doesn’t always feel real. I carried them. I gave birth to them but there are days when they don’t even feel like my children. What if I die tomorrow? Are they going to remember me? What have I really meant in their lives? Everyone is so amazing about my bone disease that I sometimes feel smothered by their love. Does that make sense? Does that make me ungrateful? I feel so guilty. People have been unbelievable. I never knew that there were so many special people in this world. I have been carried on the wings of their prayers.
My poor children. I already miss them. I know this sounds jumbled but that is how I’m feeling. I feel like there is a hole in my stomach. I never slept last night. Again. I always think that Col and I will be closer or at least loving the day before my ops because everyone else is. But it never is that way. People are so amazing. Everyone phoning and wishing us well and saying prays for us, but then I don’t get to spend any time with the children or Colin. We land up shouting at the kids, because they keep trying to get our attention. We try to eat and the phone rings. We try to bath and the phone rings. Colin asked me to send off some documents, to the auditors and I promised I would do it this morning and by the time he got home I still had not done it, which already irritated Col. So I sent them off while Col and the boys ate dinner and my food stood getting cold. What if I die tomorrow? I wouldn’t even have enjoyed my last dinner with my family.
Mom does placements in East Africa and I help out by making the phone calls and making appointments for the interviews. (I get paid for it, very well at that). And I really enjoy doing it. It is something that I know I am good at. I am an organiser by nature. I become obsessive with the details and the smaller details to make it go smoothly. The only thing is that mom only found out last night that we needed to do 6 placements and the guys from East Africa are coming on Monday and mom still needs to do the filtering process before they arrive. Today is Wednesday. Tomorrow is hospital. Mom starts interviewing Friday. She is interviewing on Saturday as well. Mom always says if you want something done give it to a busy person. But today, I feel swamped. I like things in little neat packages. Not disorganised. I specially kept Jon-Daniel home because of me going to hospital and I did not get to even have a game of fingerboard with the children. I only found out on Tuesday that I was being operated on Thursday. I haven’t packed yet. Col and I are bickering, because I’m not getting to him and today he had a very important meeting with his boss. And we couldn’t get around to talk about it. It was about his package. We are really battling financially. But that’s another story. (I know you know what I’m talking about. We all go through it at some point in our lives.) I was so proud of Colin. To approach his boss for an increase was extremely difficult for him. It has taken him 4 months to do it. Colin is very proud. I think most men are, but Colin comes across as very blasé, which he really isn’t.
I become tearful when I think of going back to hospital. It is so difficult for me and people don’t understand that I’ve built up such a resistance to hospital. What really hurts is that I spend so much time in hospital that people don’t come and see me especially if I’m only in for a few days. Life just keeps going on. Nothing changes. It was the same after my father died 3 years ago. I so wished life would stand still and mourn with me.”
Esther was the first of Danie’s children that I met, when we started dating. It was a couple of weeks before her wedding. I was so thrilled when she asked me to go with her for the final fitting of her wedding dress!
I will never forget her words to me in the car that day: “Don’t worry about us kids. Just worry about you and my dad”
I cannot remember whether I articulated my fear of her and her siblings, but she sensed it!
I was PETRIFIED of Danie’s four children. I did not particularly like children. Maybe my mind refused to accept the fact that I love children because I made the conscious decision to not subject a second or third child to Osteogenesis Imperfecta. The OI gene was passed onto Vic by her Dad, but we had been divorced for many, many years and I accepted that I could not have another child. I did not have space in my heart for another child.
I loved Vic with an all-consuming love. I did not always like her, but I always loved her!
I met the kids and I was petrified. They were livelier than any other children I had ever met with their own little quirks. I actually never dated a man with children until I met Danie!
I blogged on the proposal before and will not bore you with the beautiful details of it again… https://tersiaburger.com/2012/10/05/danie-the-wind-beneath-my-wings/ . You are welcome to read the post on it.
We have been married for 22 years. For 22 years these amazing children have crept into my heart and firmly lodged themselves there. They have accepted me into their lives. They loved and nurtured my Vic. I am a punker bunker granny to their children…
Esther, is very outspoken, to the point, honest and an amazing wife and mother. She is loyal to a fault, independent and fiercely protective of her loved ones. Esther is compassionate and unbelievably intelligent. She has a superb sense of humour but very sensitive. She is an amazing person.
Esther nursed her husband through Stage 4 Colon Cancer. She researches nutritional sites for correct and healthy food. She is totally focused on her family and will demolish anyone or anything that threatens them.
Esther was truly the sister Vic always wanted. There were times when things were rough between them. There were differences and some hurt. But…there was a gentle love between the sisters.
Esther popped in to visit Vic almost every day. They texted and BBM’d. They shared war stories about their children. Esther was Vic safety blanket… Esther would lie in bed with Vic and hold her hand. She encouraged and helped. As a pharmacist she was amazing in assisting us with Vic’s meds in the last couple of weeks. As a sister she told Vic to let go; that the boys were safe; that she was loved and would never be forgotten. She told Vic to go towards the light…. Jon-Daniel went to stay with her in the last days of Vic’s life. She was there when Vic left home the last time. She may have been there when Vic stopped breathing – I can’t remember. I know that she sprayed Vic’s favourite perfume on her before Vic left home….
So Esther, if you read this know that I love you deeply. Know that I respect you for the beautiful person you are and for being an amazing mother to my beautiful grandsons. Thank you for the joy you bring in your father’s life. He loves you with an intensity that is scary. When Vic died he cried and said he cannot imagine it being you…that he hoped you would end up on the same cloud one day….
Thank you for loving Vic the way you did. Thank you for comforting her in her hour of need. Thank you for coaching her towards the end of her life. Thank you for loving the boys and having compassionate conversations with them…. You know what I am talking about!
I wish you joy and happiness in the year ahead. I love and admire you.
My beautiful Angle Child
Today it was 29 long miserable days since you stopped breathing.
I have continued to breathe, walk, talk, eat, drink tea; I have attended meetings, cried and even laughed. My life has continued yet part of me is dead. I have lost my words today. I just want to have a cup of tea with you. I want to tell you how much I love you and how much I miss you.
Promises Kept
I’ve kept my promise,
of what I would do.
To continue to live,
my life without you.
I get up each morning,
I get through the day
struggling past tears,
every step of the way.
I go on with life with,
a forced happy face.
My heart aches badly,
for what I can’t replace.
I don’t know what to do,
to deaden this pain
It’s so hard, here without you,
where I must remain.
But I will keep my promise
and I must believe,
That you’ll be there waiting,
when it’s my time to leave.
-unknown
It has been a day filled with back to back meetings. I coped well (I think) and managed to focus. It was strange not checking my phone every couple of minutes to see whether Vic is okay or not.
I sent the boys’ text messages early evening as the meetings continued into the night.
Me to Jared: “Hi baby – you okay?”
Jared: “Hey Oumie. I’m okay thanks and you?”
Me: “Missing you”
Jared: “Missing you too Oumie. This house feels empty”
Me: “Will phone later just in a meeting”
Jared: “Owkay Oumie”
Me: “Sleep tight angel! Pse wake me so I can see you tomorrow”
Jared “Owkay mommy I will!!! Love you!!! Missing you too Oumie”
Breathe in, breath out, breathe in, breathe out…. I could not look up. I was petrified that that my colleagues would see the tears that formed in my eyes.
These poor boys! They are stoic in their grief. They carry on bravely at school and with all their extramural activities. They are so young to have gone through so much pain and loss. They lost their childhoods to Osteogenesis Imperfecta and doctor error; they have watched their mother suffer horrific pain, lose her dignity…Yet they witnessed their incredibly beautiful mother fight every second of her life to stay alive… She showered them with love and taught them independence. She was strict and her favourite words to them was “I am your Mother not your excuse”
The boys are brave like their warrior mother! A credit to her!
I wish I could wipe the pain from their hearts and memories. There is however no Ketamine Infusion for emotional pain, only for physical pain. I wish I could protect them for pain and loss but I cannot. I must continue with the phenomenal work their mother started in their upbringing. I must help them to continue growing and individuals on this path Vic put them on…
I miss my child more than I ever thought I would. I honestly thought, because of the extended “Anticipatory Grief” period, that we went through, the grief would be less after Vic’s death. That anticipatory grief is however NOTHING compared to the pain we are experiencing 17 days after Vic’s death. I don’t know whether I will ever get used to this void in my heart.
Will I ever be able to breathe without pain again? Will I ever sleep again? Will I ever laugh spontaneously with joy again?
I actually just don’t want to live with this pain…..
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.
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!
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.
Rest in Peace my Angel Child.
Vicky Bruce, brave warrior, beloved mother of Jared and Jon-Daniel Sadie, beautiful daughter of Tersia and Danie Burger, sister and friend lost her brave battle against Osteogenesis Imperfecta on 18 January 2013. Finally, you can run angel child! Your incredible will to live and your beautiful soul will live on in your amazing sons. They are truly monuments that will honour you forever. You are finally free and reunited with you Daddy, Moekie and Gramps.! Run Vic run! Love you now and forever baby!
Tuesday brought an avalanche of visitors. It was a very, very emotional day. Vic was confused and seeing visions of angels and dead loved ones.
Vic’s friend Angela has been absolutely amazing. She has sat through many hours of Vic’s tears and fears. She has consoled and supported – at great personal expense. I have used Angela as a sounding board and dragged her into discussions with Siza. I discussed sedation and treatment options with her. She has hugged and messaged. She has been a pillar of strength.
Leigh, Jared BFF’s Mom, walked in on Tuesday with armloads of flowers. Vic’s room looked and smelled like a garden! It looked absolutely beautiful and Vic was thrilled.
Vic has refused to let go. She is holding onto life with every fibre of her being. She does not want visitors to leave and will try to get out of bed when they are here.
She cries and keeps asking “How do I say my final goodbyes?”
Esther visits every day. She picks up the boys after school. She is Vic’s guide. “Go towards the light. The light is good!” she keeps telling Vic. Esther is a ray of sunshine and like the Rock of Gibraltar. She is Vic’s sister in love.
It is heart wrenching!
Vic clings to her dad and the boys. She puts out her arms and says “Daddy don’t leave me…” When she sees her boys she cries “Please give me a hug…” and then “I love you more than life and then some more…”
I hate my life. I wish I were dead.
Monday 7.1.2013 was a crazy day. Vic was not in a good space.
Angela, Vic’s BFF came to visit. She is not only beautiful but also a calm and serene person. She radiates goodness. Angela being here gives me some time because I really trust her. I am able to get some essential chores done knowing that she is keeping an eye on Vic.
“Gramps was here” Vic said.
“How is he?” I asked
“I don’t know. He just came to tell me how much he loves us all…” Vic replied
My Dad forgot how to breathe on the 15th of May 2011. He died in our home (in the very same room as Vic) surrounded by his beloved family. At times he was a stranger in the world. Some days he woke up in a room he could not remember from one nap to the next, lived with “strangers” and thought I was my Mom. Despite the advanced Alzheimer’s, he never forgot who Vic was and that she was ill. At times he forgot whether she was in hospital or out but he never forgot her or that she was ill.
“He has come to take you by your hand Sweetie…” I said
“I KNOW Mommy” she said impatiently.
Lee, Jared’s BFF mom popped around with a huge basket of exquisite flowers. Of course, Vic immediately got a bee in her bonnet and had to get out of bed. Always the social animal!
Esther arrived and Vic burst into tears when she saw her sister.
“I am so scared Sis” Vic cried in her sisters arms.
Esther has become Vic’s “coach”. She has the love for Vic to ask her what is holding her back; she tells Vic to run towards the light; to let go – the boys are safe are cared for. She holds Vic and dries her tears….
Danie took the boys for a haircut and new school uniforms.
In the afternoon Joanna, one the Jon-Daniel’s primary school friends’ Mom, popped in for a visit. It was touching when she spoke with Vic and apologized for coming to visit too late. Vic was sleeping and not aware of the visit. Joanna left with tears streaming down her cheeks. She left a little gift for Vic
“I wrote your name in the sand But the waves blew it away Then I wrote it in the sky But the wind blew it away So I wrote it in my heart And that’s where it will stay.”Siza arrived and told me that Sue would be in tomorrow morning to assess Vic. She said Vic’s colour is very poor and the circulation in her legs bad. Siza is of the opinion that the most humane thing to do for Vic would be to sedate her… Her body is building up so much adrenalin fighting death that it is preventing her from dying – despite the organ failure.
I am torn. My poor child’s anguish and pain sears through every nerve ending in my body. Not only mine but also the rest of the family’s…..I want the emotional side of her journey to end. But when I think that I will never hear her voice again, that I will never hear her cry and plead again… I want to die. Sedation can end her emotional anguish, but deprive us of last words.
When I walked into Vic’s room after Sr Siza left Vic said “I just saw Dries. He came to visit. I have thought of him the whole day….”
Dries is a dear family friend who died last year…
In the evening Judy (Dries’ widow) popped around for a visit. When I told her that Vic had seen Dries she burst into tears. She said, her sister Lida, a deeply religious woman, told her earlier in the day that she had dreamt of Dries and that Dries was going to come and “fetch” Vic…
I pointed out to Judy that Dries, who was a tour guide by profession, would take Vic on the scenic route…
We laughed.
Later in the evening Bella, one of the ministers in my Church, and James, the senior elder, came to visit. Bella, a dear friend over the years, spoke to the boys with so much compassion. He grew up in a home with a mother who was ill. He said that the congregation has never stopped praying for us as a family. He said the congregation carries us in their hearts. (One day I will still blog about Bella and his amazing ability to “pray Vic out of the claws of death”…)
We all stood holding hands around Vic’s bed whilst Bella said a beautiful prayer for Vic and the family. Someone stifled a little sob. There was absolute peace and a Godly presence in Vic’s room.
Related posts:
Rest in peace dear friend https://tersiaburger.com/2012/08/07/rest-in-peace-dear-friend-7-8-2012/
For some dying is hard work https://tersiaburger.com/2012/07/18/487/
Vic's Final Journey 