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To God


“To God, I hope you look after Auntie Vicky. She is very sick. Love Chloe Alexa Burger” My precious 5 year old UK granddaughter wrote this…her mommy found it in her school satchel last week.

To God

Dear God, hear the words of a five-year old.

Fridays


Compensation-20130629-02085I woke up on yesterday morning with my hair wet from my tears. It was Friday again. For the past 41 weeks I have woken with my heart shattered. I dread Fridays. It is not a conscious decision to wake up crying. I don’t go to bed thinking that “tomorrow it is X number of weeks…” It is as if my body has an automatic alarm that alerts my tear ducts, my heart, my being. When I open my eyes there is a voice screaming “It’s Friday. Week Number …”

It has been an eventful and strangely emotional week.

On Wednesday evening we attended my youngest grandson’s concert. Not only was he the best actor but he noticed his gran in the audience and waved back! I sat there and realised that my precious child would never attend another school concert; she would never attend her grandchildren’s’ concerts ever. I realised that I would more than likely never attend the UK girls’ school concerts ever.

The boys started writing exams. I know how stressed Vic would have been about these particular exams. Jared’s year mark will determine whether he can apply for university entrance for the year 2015. The poor child was off to a rough start in the beginning of the year.

On Friday a 37-year-old woman dropped dead in the shopping mall.

On Saturday a beautiful young woman who calls me her “back-up” mom and her precious daughter shared a birthday. Laughter and joy reverberated through their home. A beautiful “Monster High” cake baked by a wonderful mother… Something that Vic will never get to do again.

I have nightmares of Vic being ill and me not being able to get to her…Desperation and fears permeates my dreams. I wake up in blind fear.

Will my heart ever heal? I read that life takes on a “new normal”…I just want my old life back.  I want my child back.

PERFECTLY IMPERFECT


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

PERFECTLY IMPERFECT

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

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

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

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

Vic’s pearls


Vicky dripping in pearls...

Vicky dripping in pearls…

Today I wore Vic’s pearls and perfume.

Her favourite perfume, Beautiful – Estee Lauder, reacts differently to my skin but I could smell “her smell” on me the whole day.

My meetings went well.  I am happy with the outcome.  It is as if my soul is removed from my body – I feel as if I am looking in from the outside.  I see and hear a confident, poised person talking in a matter of fact tone of voice.  I hear myself asking intelligent questions and yet it is a shell sitting there.

No-one sees my sadness and grief.

I miss Vic more and more as each day passes by.  I am starting to realise that Vic is truly never coming home!  The house is big and empty!

Mommy’s home!


Vicky dripping in pearls...

Vicky dripping in pearls…

It is now 10 days since my beautiful child’s body came to rest… I cannot believe it is already 10 days and on the other hand I am amazed that it is only 10days….

Vic came home today.  She was delivered in a little wooden box.  The plaque simply reads “VICKY BRUCE 31.8.1974 – 18.1.2013”

The boys walked in after archery and Jon-Daniel said “Mommy’s home!”

Tonight the boys went through Vic’s cupboards to make up memory boxes.  We laughed as we shared precious memories.  The boys were selective in what they chose.  Jared wanted one of Vic’s favourite Egypt T-shirts and Jon-Daniel her favourite track suit top… A lipstick and her driver’s licence; a brush each….

We opened her safe and in Vicky style everything was labeled and marked….

Her first pearls that she received as a little girl from my brother and his wife had a little note in the box…”Received from Johan and Henda when I was their bridesmaid.  I would like them to have it back.  I love you more than words.  Johan you were always my hero!    Henda you are amazing”

A note attached to two sets of earrings “For my boys from Mommy.  These were from you”

Pink and white pearls labeled – “Received from Mommy and Daddy.  Thank you for always loving me so much.  I give these back to you now.”

My heart is shattered.  I want to die.