I remember their sadness…

Many years ago I had to travel to Paris, on business, with two male clients. The one middleaged man, advised me that his wife would accompany us. I thought it was strange but did not give it much thought. We had to attend the Eurostatory exhibition. It may sound like fun, but exhibitions are hard work!! We also had to travel to a neighbouring city to visit a manufacturer of products… One arrives at the exhibition at 9am and you leave at 5 pm. It is a lot of slow walking and standing.

Add the frustration of the Paris traffic and commuting between the exhibition centre and hotel….

Dinner is followed by falling into the bed and just “dying”…

My first thought was that this was a jealous wife who did not trust her husband on a business trip with a female colleague… the only other reason would be that she thought it would be a very sociable trip, lots of sightseeing and shopping. Oh what the hell – as long as I was not expected to keep her company or take her shopping!

About a week before we left I found out that the couple had lost their son a couple of weeks before in a car accident. I felt sad for them, made a phone call, asked my secretary to send flowers. My life carried on…

I met the client and his wife at the airport. Their eyes were so incredibly sad. It made me feel very uncomfortable. I remember telling them that the trip would be “healing”… They nodded and said nothing.

We arrived in Paris on the Friday morning. I told them that as soon as they has unpacked and freshened up we would start our adventure. We would head out to Sacre Ceour…one of my favourite places!

Our first stop was the Sacre Ceour Cathedral. We entered the cathedral and everyone was in awe of the beauty of the cathedral. They asked why people were lighting candles. I explained that people were lighting candles for loved ones who had died.

The husband and wife walked off wordlessly and went to light a candle for their dead son. I was touched and sad for them.

Over the years we have become ‘distant’ friends…we stay in contact, we exchange notes on our grandchildren, he phoned me when his daughter was diagnosed with cancer. We cried together. He said “You are the only one who will understand my fear…” He knew Vic was ill.

I saw him today for the first time in about 18 months. We spoke about business and a potential co-operation on a new project. He said nothing about Vic. He asked no questions.

Eventually, I said “Vic died three months ago you know…”

He said “I heard. I tried to phone you, but you did not answer your phone.”

“I spoke to no-one” I said

“She is in a better place you know” he said.

“So let’s talk about how we are going to tackle this project” I said

I remembered the sadness in their eyes. I remembered all the candles they lit for their son. I remember not understanding their grief.

Now I burn candles for my beautiful child!

Angel of Light

Today was a particularly bad day. For the first time since Vic’s memorial service I attended a Church Service. I dreaded the arms of comfort and gentle words of sympathy that was inevitable. Danie went with me. As we walked into the doors the arms were there…hugging and patting! Our entry caused a little stir among the congregation..

Danie took my hand and led me to our old place in the pews. People actually got up from where they were sitting to come and say “Hello” and “I am praying for you”…. Tears just ran down my cheeks and I COULD NOT stop crying! All I could see in my mind’s eye was my beautiful, precious child’s coffin in the front on the church – surrounded by white candles and St Josephs lilies.

The worship team started singing, and I could not even see the words on the screen through my tears.

As the service went I calmed down. I kept telling myself to “get a grip” which I eventually did.

After the service I cried in the embrace of my minister, church friends and acquaintances.

This evening I opened my emails and found a beautiful email from Jane@ http://johannisthinking.com/. I wanted to post some of it with the beautiful picture and went into her blog to copy her blog address when I found this amazing poem that I am going to share with you.

Jane’s writes in her Email:-

You are NOT alone—-there is LIGHT all around YOU! When I found this…I thought….Yes, this is Tersia! …and your daughter is surrounding YOU with love and light! BELIEVE it!You deserve to live in the LIGHT…..and it is NOT wrong to be happy….Vic is at peace and living in the LIGHT……and one day you will find her again…….until then…be gentle to YOU…..what would you tell her to do IF the situation was reversed? What if you were the ONE who had to leave this Mother Earth ? What would you say to your daughter? You say you “two are ONE”—-and I do believe it is true——— so speak to your inner child as you would speak to her! WE ALL NEED YOUR VOICE!

I cried again. I am so grateful that the goodness and the light that surrounded Vic and radiated from her, is seen by the world. Thank you dear Jane for telling me. Thank you for your words, your poetry and above all the Angel of Light. Thank you for caring!!

http://johannisthinking.com/2013/04/21/water-crystal-healers/

Dedicated to Tersia Burger

***

between the deep sighs

tears fall one by one

ridding the pitchblende

ever so slowly they form

quietly…silently

descend

water tears

cascading

will they ever end

water crystal healers

nature taking care of you

helping you transcend

freeing you

until…you find yourself

home again…

ice-kaleidoscope

ice-kaleidoscope (Photo credit: JeremyO\K)

So, today was emotional but healing! I was surrounded by love and compassion. For the first time in a long time I did not feel isolated in my grief.

So to every one who comments and emails; I thank you for your love and support in my journey of mourning my child. For many years I have had a fear of allowing people close to me – I truly fear that they will betray my trust and friendship. I KNOW I must allow people close

to me. Blogging is allowing me see that there is kindness, goodness and unconditional caring out there….

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart!

Can angels read?

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…

An Angel named Vic

Who knew that you could fly dear Vic?

One day you sprouted wings

to soar.

Valiantly ascending heavenward

despite all you had endured.

At last the pain subsided

and all at once was gone.

You left a radiant legacy

that lovingly carries on.

A beautiful spirit in the sky.

Now free from sorrow, hurt and pain.

so many loved ones

here on earth

await embracing you again.

Deaconfamilysentiments©

Wendie Jeanne Deacon©

Eulogies

Some of Vic's flowers in church — Some of Vic’s flowers in church

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.”

I encourage you to follow this mother’s harrowing journey with grief. Please read her Phillip’s eulogy! http://forphilip.wordpress.com/his-eulogy/comment-page-1/#comment-33

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.

Rest in Peace my Angel Child.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lnNK4Alwbsw

A final rose

3 Months Ago

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…

BEST MOMENT AWARD

I would like to thank my dear friend Shaun, at prayingforoneday for this award. He ia an amazing person with a big heart and always ready to support and encourage. Shaun suffers from Chronic Pain and despite living in debilitating pain, continues to be a source of support and encouragement for a great many of us.

Awarding the people who live in the moment,
the noble who write and capture the best in life,
the bold who reminded us what really mattered –
Savouring the experience of quality time.

RULES:

Winners re-post this completely, with their acceptance speech. That could be written down or video recorded.
Winners have the privilege of awarding the next awardees! The re-post should include a NEW list of people, blogs worthy of the award, and winners notify them the great news.
What makes a good acceptance speech?

Gratitude. Thank the people who helped you along the way.

Humour-Keep us entertained and smiling.

Inspiration – Make your story touch our lives.

Get an idea from the great acceptance speech, compiled in MomentMatters.com/speech

Display the award’s badge on your blog/website, downloadable in MomentMatters.com/Award

My Acceptance:

I started blogging as a coping mechanism just after the doctors told us they could do nothing for Vic and my brave child decided “no more surgeries…” I blogged Vic’s quest to die with dignity. I now blog about my all-consuming grief and sense of loss.

As a child I changed schools 12 times in total. Academically I coped by I did not cope with the emotional side of it.

I allow very few people close to me. I find it hard to form bonds with people. I always expect them to leave my live – I don’t think I suffer from Rejection issues – just separation issues. It is easier to keep people at bay – If I don’t rely on people they cannot disappoint or hurt me.

On WordPress I found a safe world. A world where people care and support. If they leave, as many have, it is okay because they are faceless. Yet there are people that have never wavered in their support and encouragement.

I have received a number of awards lately that I am busy accepting. If you are not nominated here please just check my next posts. I am taking my time because I truly want to acknowledge my blogging friends and their contribution in my journey. I will nominate my friends in no particular or of importance…

Shaun, thank you again for this award,

My nominees are compassionate, caring people who all suffer their own pain and loss. Please visit their blogs and I promise you will find goodness and bravery there!

Thank you all for allowing me to heal here.

Vic, this award is for you my precious, beautiful, brave baby girl. I love you Angel Child!

The 15 people I award:

1. UntraveledRoads

Jane is a wonderful blogger who writes about living through pain.

She so eloquently writes “Not writing about how to grasp joy – just about trying to find joy through the labyrinth of pain. Because if I don’t keep joy in my sights, I will drown. It is about the space – like a sunlit meadow – beyond pain that one can reach – or grasp – or glimpse. A place of peace while pain drums in the background. Why try? Because if I do not, what is the point at all?

OK. So I don’t want to write about pain. I live with it. But it has been such an extraordinary journey with such unexpected bonuses that I must write about the plus side – the up side, the fun, humour and bittersweet of living with pain. The irony is that I don’t want it, but I wouldn’t return what I have learnt through it.”

I hope you accept this award!

2 http://grannyscolorful.wordpress.com/ Gloria lost her son, Tommy, when he collapsed at the beach (Myrtle Beach, S.C.) whilst playing with his little son, Taban. He died with little Taban near him. Tommy had 2 blockages in his heart that no one was aware of.

Gloria writes about her precious son Tommy and her grief. Gloria has become a friend and has been such a source of encouragement and understanding. Gloria has 1236 followers and yet she finds the time to read my blog and comment on my blog. Thank you so much for caring!! You are an amazing person!

Gloria recently published her book. Good luck with the book dear Gloria.

3 http://thresholdofheaven.com/

Peter Wiebe has closed down his blog. Yet I am compelled to nominate Peter for this award.

Peter wrote: “My name is Peter Wiebe. I am a husband and father of 4 boys-the oldest of which has gone ahead of us to Heaven after a courageous battle with cancer at the age of 10. I am a Christian and thus write from a Christian perspective. Although my faith was/is being severely tested by the loss of my firstborn son, my hope lies in Jesus Christ and all that the Bible teaches regarding Him, His death and resurrection, and our future hope of glory with Him. This blog is a journey through grief, about cultivating an eternal mindset in a temporary world, about all things related to faith, and life after death. I dedicate this blog to Jesse’s memory and hope that its contents will draw others nearer to God.”

I once wrote to Peter “I envy you your faith and peace.” Peter prays for me and I am so grateful for that. How do I know? I know because he still visits my blog and continues to encourage and support me. Peter has become a wonderful cyber friend. I am grateful for the healing that he found. Thank you Peter!

4. http://justiceforraymond.wordpress.com

Shirley is a brave mother fighting for justice after the suspicious death of her beloved son, Raymond. She is fearless! This lady is selflessly fighting for justice, not only for her son but for other innocent victims.

The reason for her blog is “Finding that one person who will step out to defend the innocent even when they are dead. Help us tell Pennsylvania this needs an investigation, not just a cover-up. it is our sincere prayer to find the true cause of Ray’s death and help others who have experienced a similar crime.”

Shirley is a good cyber friend – always encouraging and supporting! Thank you brave lady. I pray that you will find closure and answers!!!

5. http://thedrsays.org

Sandra is one of the bravest people I know. She is dying from congenital heart failure. She writes about her journey with terminal illness, impending death and her concern for leaving her husband Chris behind. She is so like Vic!! As brave, courageous, stubborn and loving! Her blog fills me with so much sadness and yet it gives me an insight into Vic’s heart and mind. I truly hope she will accept this award. Sandra, thank-you for your love, support, advice and friendship. You are one in a million! I wish I could make the same difference in your life that you make in mine.

6. http://onewomansperspective02.wordpress.com

Becky writes about her son, Jason (19), who died in a car accident.

In Becky’s own words:…. ”(Jason) A game player – chess (his absolute favorite), video games, volleyball, basketball, board games. Intelligent – studying to be a computer engineer; tutored students in math. He gave great hugs and brightened up a room just by walking into it. A great young man; a wonderful son, brother, friend.

In a split second, he was gone and our lives were changed forever.

My goal for writing this blog is to promote understanding – for bereaved parents and for those around them. I do not claim to know what it’s like to walk in someone else’s shoes nor do I claim to speak as an expert on grief. I would not presume to know what anyone else is feeling nor what they are experiencing. Everyone is different; each situation is different; each grief and griever is unique. The only thing I know is what we experienced. But, if my speaking about what we went through can promote even a small degree of understanding, then I have accomplished what I set out to do.”

Thank you Becky for your kindness and support. Thank you for your guidance and compassion.

7. http://johannisthinking.com – This blog is filled with beautiful poetry. The heart of this lovely blogger is contained in her own words “my heart bleeds with all those who lost their lives this day…and all who mourn their lost…WE can all do better…for the memory of all those who have died…let us try to BE our best selves always!” Thank you for your friendship and support! http://johannisthinking.com/category/poetry-solitude/

8. http://beebeesworld.wordpress.com – Beebee ia an advocate of Parent Heart Watch, an organization that promotes education on the prevention and care of those with heart issues. Beebee’s 15 year old son died of a sudden heart attack whilst playing baseball. Beebee is a brave mother and has become a cyber-friend. She writes beautifully and courageously. Thank you BB for your kind words of encouragement.

9. http://forphilip.wordpress.com/2013/04/06/they-found-him-day-2-part-2/ Denise Smyth is the loving mother of two children, Philip and Natalie, who are (of course) the great loves of her life.

Denise writes “On February 23rd, 2012, I found out that my son, who had turned 21 the month before, died. It was sudden and unexpected. I was devastated, heartbroken, terrified, none of which comes close to describing what I really felt. It’s just the best I can do at the moment.”

Denise’s’ blog is a brave blog. It is filled with raw emotion and unconditional love.

10. http://jmgoyder.com/

Julie lives on a retired dairy farm in Western Australia with her “99.9% lovely, teenage son”. Julie is a retired lecturer in English and Creative Writing at a local university. Julie’s beloved husband Anthony has cancer, dementia and Parkinson’s disease.

Julie blog is a beautiful love story filled with her fears and anguish of seeing her Anthony slip deeper and deeper into another world. Julie arranges wonderful outings for Anthony and includes their friends in his world. I admire her that she is not trying to “hide” her husband from the cruel eyes of the world. Her love is unconditional and inspiring. She writes beautifully and has been a great source of comfort to me. Thank you dear friend for sharing your love and pain with us.

Thank you for your kindness and friendship. You are a very special person.

11. http://lymphomajourney.wordpress.com

Andrew is the author of an e-book, Living with Cancer: A Journey,

This eBook captures his first three years of Lymphoma diagnosis, treatment, recovery, relapse, treatment, and again recovery. He keeps a daily personal journal to capture both the medical and personal things going on during this journey. I find Andrew’s blog to be filled with not only facts but also his“journey”. He is a very gifted writer. Andrew has become a friend. Thank you for your continued support Andrew!!

12. http://behindthemaskofabuse.com Zoe is a wonderfully gifted author who has had two books published on Amazon “Buckwheatsrisk-Abuse Survival”, and a poetry book entitled “If I Could Write my Heart” Zoe has endured dreadful abuse, at every level, as a child. Zoe is working so hard at healing…Zoe has 658 followers and receives lots of comments. Yet, every day there is a “Hug” or “Like” message from her. She has emailed me…Zoe, I appreciate your support and caring. Thank you for taking the time to email me!

13. http://doilooksick.wordpress.com/

Rachel referred to Vic as a “China Doll”… How precious was that comment?? I was drawn to Rachel’s blog because she suffers from endometriosis. Vic too suffered very badly from endometriosis… I recall the first time I read one of Rachel’s posts she wrote about the searing pain of endometriosis. I was able to understand Vic’s pain better from Rachel’s blog. Rachel’s blog is about music – as a coping mechanisme. There are real good songs to listen to on this blog.

14. http://tothatplace.wordpress.com/

Aarthi dedicated another beautiful poem to Vic and I –http://tothatplace.wordpress.com/2013/04/13/we-were-one/ Aarthi is one of my favourite poets and Vic and I enjoyed her work immensely. Aarthi has become a compassionate friend. Please visit Aarthi’s site (linked above) and read the beautiful poem honouring Vic. Thank you Aarthi for your love, compassion, friendship and sharing your gift!!! Thank you for bringing joy to Vic’s life when she found very little joy in living anymore.

15. http://grammarofgrief.wordpress.com – Una

I am unable to articulate words for Una’s blog so I will use her own: “When you’re stuck in the quicksand of grief, coming unstuck takes time, tenderness and a loving tribe. You’re feverishly seeking answers. What will help fix the plumbing of my leaky tear ducts? Will I ever feel normal again? How many weeks or months will it take for this awful, gut-wrenching pain to go away?

The Grammar of Grief is where I attempt to unscramble the craziness of grief for you. It is a resource for both the grieving and those who need tips and tools to support loved ones who are mourning. This is both your safe space and how-to resource. There’s room for everyone.”

Una has been a source of great comfort to me. Thank you Una!

16. http://myjourneysinsight.com/

Judy Unger’s son, Jason, was born with a serious congenital heart defect called “Transposition of the Great Vessels.” As with most heart defects, his was “one of a kind.” Jason had surgery when he was two and a half months old. He had another one when he was five. He died following that surgery.

It doesn’t seem to matter that I addressed my grief for years and years after my son’s death. Eighteen years later Judy finds it painful to write how it felt to have her beloved son’s soul amputated from her heart and body.

Judy writes beautiful songs and dedicated two songs to Vic:- “I know that soon you will leave” and “Never gone away” http://myjourneysinsight.com/2012/12/20/how-will-i-ever-say-goodbye/ Judy is an incredibly gifted illustrationist. She writes beautiful words and songs! She has held my hand throughout Vic’s journey and now mine. Thank you dearest Judy for your love, support and compassion. One day we will meet!!

Lots of love and thanks to each and every one of you who has supported Vic and I in our journey. She was grateful that I had found an “outlet” and support in Blogging!

We were one

I had my first counselling session with the Hospice psychologist. It was terribly difficult and emotional.

So often when Vic and I chatted Vic would say “I am so worried about you Mommy…”

In November last year when Dr Sue, Vic’s palliative care physician, broke the news to Vic that her organs were failing Vic’s first words were “Oh Mommy, I am so worried about you – How will you cope?”

When our housekeeper went on leave late December, Vic said to her that they would not see one another again…that she was dying…. Vic asked our Betty to look after me because she was worried about me…

My standard answer to Vic was “I will be okay baby!”

Vic would say “I know, but I worry about you. Promise me you will see someone professional after I am gone?”

“I will be fine. I will be grateful that your suffering is over…But I promise I will!”

I did not know what I was talking about when I said I would be fine… Vic knew me better than I know myself. Nothing could have prepared me for the tsunami of grief that hit me, the void in my life…

So I walked into Alan’s office this morning. I noticed the strategically placed box of tissues, the crumpled ones in the little wastebasket next to the chair…I crossed my mind that he only deals with grief.

We spoke briefly about the boys, but Alan firmly said that today we would focus on me…

I bravely started talking without waiting to be prompted. After all, that is why I was there.

“I knew that I would miss Vic after her death but nothing could prepare me for this” I said

“Vic was diagnosed with Osteogenesis Imperfecta at 18 months. The doctors said she would not live to be older than 12 years.”.

I spoke clearly and succinctly about Vic’s medical history. It was familiar territory. I have share this information with many doctors, research centres, medical professionals… I spoke about Vic’s blotched back surgery and the devastating effect it had on the rest of her life. I ranted about Drs S + V. I articulated my hatred of them, my anger at their arrogance.

I spoke at length about how I fought doctors, tried to find solutions, cures… How I would not leave Vic’s side when she was in hospital or ICU. I told him about the ventilator been switched off and Vic starting to breathe on her own again…

I sobbed my way through Vic’s uncontrolled pain; the doctors telling her that she was a morphine addict…The doctors refusing her adequate pain control post-surgery because of her so-called morphine addiction…

I battled to tell him of Vic’s incredible will to live – sobs wracked through my body.

I share with him my guilt at being the one who administered her sedation at the end of her life. It took me a couple of minutes to get Vic’s final words of “Mommy, I love you…” out.

I saw Alan look at the clock on the wall. I knew our time was almost up.

He sat forward on his chair, his elbows on his knees. His voice and eyes were gentle with compassion.

“Tersia, it is normal to grieve. Vic has taken up all your time and energy for 38 years. You never separated from her. In your mind you were one…”

That is so true. That is why I feel as if part of me has died. Vic and I were so close. She always remained my baby girl. I never became Ma, Mom or anything but “Mommy”.

On the 9^th of October 2012 I posted these words

https://tersiaburger.com/2012/10/09/is-there-pain-after-death-post-2/

As a family we have lived with Vic’s pain and her excruciatingly slow journey towards death for the past eleven years. For eleven years we have heard her scream with pain, moan with discomfort, we hold her hair back when she is doubled up over a toilet bowel, vomiting until she fractures a vertebrae. We have nursed open wounds, changed colostomy bags…. We have watched our daughter and mother suffer the most horrendous symptoms.

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…

It is okay to let go my angel child.

Vic and I discussed this post… We cried then, and I cry now.

I pray that I will find peace.

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

Posted by missmorgansmom in Uncategorized and tagged with a day to remember, accountability,anger, Deb Cicchini Dingus, Dreams, drunk driving, Facts, faith, family, fear, frustration, grief, Have Faith in Me, hope, hopelessness, life, living, loss, love, Morgan Ray Dingus, purple, SADD, sweet sixteen, truthApril 11, 2013

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!

Mothers and daughters

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 21^st 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…

Vic writing the boys final letters six days before her death.

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.

Vic’s angel

Wednesday I found another white feather floating in the sea…

Thursday we went to a famous wine farm, Spier. Spier has bird and cheetah sanctuaries. We wandered around and decided against the rather sophisticated meals served. We decided to find a coffee shop or boutique restaurant – something quainter than the rather commercial option available.

We were fascinated by a beautiful falcon and even more magnificent looking owls. Spier is a wonderful place to visit.

We left and decided to be adventurous and ignore the GPS. We drove in an unknown direction on the lookout for something quaint. We drove for two kilometres when we found an interesting sign…Aspidistra Nursery and Tea Garden.

We decided it sounded quaint enough.

It was the most amazing Tea Garden. I expected fairies to jump out from the beautiful flowers. Chimes merrily tinkled and chimed in the gentle breeze…

We had a delightful meal. It was so peaceful we just sat and chatted. WE spoke about how much Vic would have enjoyed the garden and how much we miss her. We exchanged funny stories about Vic and decided to have desert. I ordered the scones (Vic and my favourite). The presentation of the scones was amazing!

“Mom would have loved this!” I said

A white feather floated down onto the table…

“You got your white feather Oumie!” Jared said.

I must be honest that when I started looking there were white feathers everywhere. There were white pigeons sitting in the trees.

After our leisurely lunch we walked through the nursery part of Aspidistra and my wildest expectations were surpassed! It was beautiful. Plants and flowers were displayed in beautiful handcrafted containers; ribbons were swaying in the breeze.

Then I saw it! The perfect angel for Vic’s garden of remembrance!

It is a handmade, one of a kind, angel – just like my angel child. Perfect – just like Vic!

The angel is being couriered to our home next week.

I desperately miss my little girl. I don’t want to be planning her Garden of Remembrance – I want to be planning our trip to Italy. I want to be having a cup of coffee with my child not putting an almost empty bottle of coffee in a memory box.

I walked back into our home after a wonderful 12 day vacation in Cape Town and the grief overwhelmed me again. The emptiness of the house truly got to me again today…

Will I ever feel happy again? As I am typing I can hardly see the screen of my laptop. I cannot stop the tears.

I cannot believe I ever thought it would be better for Vic to die… I cannot believe I have to face the rest of my life with this empty hole in my heart. I cannot bear the sorrow. I want to hold my little girl and hear her say “I love you Mommy”.

I want to see her smile when I say “I love you with all my heart Angel”

Fracture 39, 40 and 41…

Vic with her right leg in plaster-of-paris

Two weeks after our arrival in Johannesburg we celebrated Vic’s 3^rd 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…

1977

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 3^rd 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.

An empty bottle of coffee

Vic's favorite beverage — Vic’s favorite beverage

2 months, 6 days or rather 65 days totalling 93,600 minutes or 1560 hours since Vic died…. Each minute feels like a lifetime of misery.

Every minute that passes pushes me further down into this horrible well of misery and despair.

Vic was an absolute coffee addict. She would systematically drink her way through a 200g bottle of Jacob Kronung coffee per week. Vic drank a minimum of least 15 cups of coffee every day of her life. Vic stopped drinking coffee just before Christmas. It made her ill. She starting drinking Energade – naartjie flavour. For the last month of her life it was all she drank.

Well, Vic’s last bottle of coffee is almost finished…I am dreading anyone asking for coffee…I want the coffee to last. It is a link to my child. How stupid does this sound?? Stupid or not it is the way I feel. I have an unused bottle of coffee in the pantry. I am weeping because of an almost empty bottle of coffee!

At night I lie on my sofa in my TV lounge waiting for her to either BBM or shuffle down the passage… “Could I please have some coffee Mommy?” I have cried myself into oblivion this weekend. Danie is in Cape Town and the boys are with their Dad. It is safe to cry.

The nights are so long without our chats.

I love you Angel Child

100_7810 — Vic and her boys on her 38th birthday

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 8^th of April they will meet the Hospice Psychologist. On the 25^th 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 will not close down my blog

This is a very emotional time in all our lives. It is 8 weeks and 2 days since Vic died. We have all lived on our nerves for a long time and although we thought it would be a relief that Vic’s suffering was over, the grief has been overwhelming. Not only for the boys and I but also others that loved Vic…

I know the family is concerned about me. I know their concern stems from love.

I however need to blog. I need to hear from other bereaved parents that I am not going mad. That my grief is normal and that it is okay to grieve for my beautiful child.

I have subscribed to several blogs or sites for bereaved parents and it is not working for me. It is other parents words.

I will however borrow these words from another grieving parent

Dear Clueless

I would like to share with you my pain but that isn’t possible unless you have lost a child yourself and that I wouldn’t want you to have to experience. So with that being said, I would like to say this. I will try to my best to understand you if you try to understand me. I lost my child. My life will never be the same. I will never be the same again. I will be different from now on. I no longer have the same feelings about anything. Everything in my life has changed from the moment my child left to go to heaven. I will, on some days be very sad and nothing you say will changes that so don’t feel like it is your job to make me feel better on those days, just allow me to be where I am.

When you lose a child you not only lose your reason for living, you lose the motivation to go on. You also lose your sense of self. It takes a long time to come to some kind of understanding for why this has happened, if ever. Of course we who have lost children know we have to go on but we don’t want to hear someone else tell us too. Especially from someone who has not lost a child. It makes me and anyone who has lost a child want to say who are you to tell me that? Did you bury your child? I don’t want this to sound like I don’t appreciate everything you say because I know you mean well, but I just want you to appreciate where I am coming from too. I want you to understand that some of the things you say hurt me and others like me without you really knowing it. I know it must be pretty hard to talk to people like myself, not knowing what to say. That is why I am writing this letter.

If you don’t know what to say, say nothing or just say I’m sorry. That always works for me. If you want to talk ad say my child’s name feel free I would love to hear his name anytime. You not saying his name didn’t make me forget it, or what happened to him. So by all means say his name. When special dates come or holidays come please forgive me if I’m not myself. I just can’t keep it up on those days. I may wish to be by myself so I can think about my child without putting on a front. Most of all I want you to know I’m having a hard time with the death of my child and I am trying my very best to get back into life again. Some days it may look like I have accomplished that, and other days like I am at square one.

This will happen the rest of my life periodically. There are just no words to explain the living hell this feels like. There are no words that could ever do it justice. So please bear with me and give me time and don’t put your own timetable on my grief and let me be the person I am now and not have to live up to the person you think I should be. Allow me my space and time and accept me for me. I will try my best to understand you.

Love, Your Friend in Grief https://www.facebook.com/pages/Whispers-from-Heaven/604565892890783

So, if you are going to read my blog read it through my eyes and see my heart. If you are unable to handle the rawness of my words know that you are reading my soul. Remember that I don’t easily verbalize my emotions and this blog is my coping mechanism.

I have found hundreds of notes and journal entries in a file called “Our Story.” Vic loved my blog and wanted me to share “Our Story”. It was her wish. I will continue to do so.

So, love me in my time of sorrow and allow me to cope whichever way I can…. I love you too and appreciate your caring.

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Vic, this award is for you my precious, beautiful, brave baby girl. I love you Angel Child!

1. UntraveledRoads

Peter Wiebe has closed down his blog. Yet I am compelled to nominate Peter for this award.

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