Sunday, October 7, 2012

What to say...

This is a re-post from the journal I kept during the first year after losing Trey.  This is the affirmation that we need, this is what you should say.

You are the strongest person you have ever met.

You have suffered EVERY parent's worst nightmare. You have lost the very thing you spent your love and your life trying to make. You watched a part of you perish. You watched the hopes and dreams that you had for your child vanish. You were robbed of the maternal rights that you earned when you conceived that baby. You were forced to let go of the very life that you cherished. Your baby lost a fight that they fought with every ounce that they had. Your child's room is empty and their photo albums are not nearly full. You are angry that your child suffered.Your arms are empty and your heart is broken. You have resentful answers to those who try to comfort you. You are angry with God, the world, people who don't deserve the happiness you wanted, the people who didn't want the happiness you wanted but got it anyway, fate, and fairness. You wonder when you will ever be happy again. You watch others experience happiness, and your new self is not 100% into it the way it used to be. You watch others who are pregnant or have children and your emotions and thoughts are ruthless. You lay awake at night or wake up frequently for no other reason than the torture of silence. You watch others not appreciating their children and you want to take those children into your arms. You remember how ever much time you spent with your kid and wish there were one more day, year, or lifetime.

You were left to wonder why. You wished it were you instead of your child. You analyze what you could have done differently. You torture yourself with blame. You are saddled with what you can't have. You struggle with your not-so-conventional role as a mother. You don't know what to do with yourself because however long you spent being a mommy in the physical world, the spiritual world has taken the reigns. You have resentful answers to those who try to comfort you. You are angry with God, the world, people who don't deserve the happiness you wanted, the people who didn't want the happiness you wanted but got it anyway, fate, and fairness. You wonder when you will ever be happy again. You watch others experience happiness, and your new self is not 100% into it the way it used to be. You watch others who are pregnant or have children and your emotions and thoughts are ruthless. You lay awake at night or wake up frequently for no other reason than the torture of silence. You watch others not appreciating their children and you want to take those children into your arms. you listen to people tell you how awful death is but you wonder if they have ever lost a child. You have wanted to hole yourself up, scream, cry, yell, be silent, throw things, squeeze things, hit things, lay on the floor, sleep, drink, be still, be active, stay busy, be lazy, talk, be alone, lock yourself in your child's room, hold their things, avoid their rooms and their stuff, create, destroy, run, stay still, escape, curse anyone and everything, eat, starve, fix, break, fall, rise up, be, brave, be weak, be strong, and submit. The lives of others move on and yours stands still. You repeat everything you say, feel and think and you forget what you've told, expressed, or thought, so you repeat yourself again. Every hour, day, date, month, and year have a meaning to you and suffer through those moments with pride, sorrow, or a little bit of both. Maybe some of those landmarks will fade, but then again maybe they won't, only time will tell. You are learning the ultimate lessons of mortality, recourse, and patience. Your attitude sucks and your normal self would be disappointed at your cynicism, bitterness, callousness, hopelessness, faithlessness, and bitterness. BUT YOU CAN'T HELP IT!!!

Your loved ones are suffering and you witness this alongside your own grief. There are people close to you who are inconsolable, and normally you would be able to hold them up. The tears you once cried for your loved ones are now cried with them. You are well aware of the disappointment and sorrow of those who are close to you. People look at you and speak with you with a hint of pity. You mortify people who are not made privy with the news. The tears of your loved ones level you, although you are comforted that they share and don't hold in. You have trouble going into social situations that are unfamiliar since your child's angel date. You put on a smile, yet cry inside, so that others will not shower you with pity. You wonder what people are thinking and how they are feeling. You want people to talk about your child one minute and shut up about them the next. Though your friends and family hold close, you feel alone. You get to watch the faces and tears of loved ones and want to take it all away even you if you don't have the energy, space, or time. You walk through life fearing the attention but yearning for the recognition. Your friends and family know that nothing they say of do will take this away, but they try anyway, maybe they try to hard or not enough. But at least you know they try. You wish with all your might that you knew what to tell them to do and how to tell them to act but you have no idea what to ask for. All you want is your child back, and no mortal can do that.


You are still standing. After all you have been through you still exhale, put one foot in front of the other, and attempt each moment, hour, day, week, month, year, and lifetime. Your strength inspires others to take a better stock in their lives and appreciate their blessings. You fight your child's battles well after death by being an advocate, educator, and example. Your loved ones draw from your strength and grow as people. You weather the lows and the highs of your grief, and reach out to others in the process. You are the pride of your risen angel. You strive to live a better life that your child will be proud of. You light your candles in remembrance and brag about your offspring. You wear trinkets of their life, talk about your child, and promote their lives. You help others through their grief and share their journeys. You embrace your fellow mommy mourners and hold them up in their times of sorrow. You listen better, learn more, grow higher, do more, love more, forgive more, and live more. You survive each day no matter what it takes because you have no choice. The need to reach the children you have loved that are in heaven takes a back seat to the life you want to live to get to them in heaven. You celebrate your child's special day with tears, laughter, and memories. You want to put your chin up and wear your strife as a red badge of courage. Life goes on and you walk the beautiful wildflower field of grotesque weeds to get through it. 

Friday, October 5, 2012

A Leaf

During the happiness of Spring a leaf emerges.
The sounds of the birds coax its little life to blossom.
It continues to bloom as the verve of the season buzzes around,
A leaf peeks further out to catch a glimpse.
The warming of the air draws its veins towards the sun.
It drinks in the liveliness that lands on its skin.
In the glow of Spring a leaf expands and settles with ease.
It sways with the breeze and dances in the rain.
The moisture invigorates it and gives it rest during dryness.
It thrives as a playground to the inhabitants of its home.
It observes as the bustling around it prepares.
It never knows where life is leading, or does it?
A leaf turns itself into the cool kisses of the wind.
The wind kisses it back bringing in the change ahead.
The night's settling chill draws the leaf in.
The relief of day begins begins to provide smaller comfort.
Day by day a leaf retreats further into the night.
A leaf depends less on the day to warm its shiver.
Retreated as far as it can go,
A leaf begins to create its own warmth.
It blushes in the sunlight and hides from the moon's deceiving light.
A leaf's blush becomes as rash with time.
The color warms a leaf more than the sun ever could.
A leaf begins to feel power in its hue and shines brighter than ever.
A leaf watched his brethren emit in the same way.
Their colors speak to each other and sing the sounds of Autumn.
Slowly the singing dies down, as does the scampering of life
Nature is beginning its rest, withdrawing its warming life.
The retreat spawns the gradual fervor silence.
A leaf's family leisurely succumbs to the lull.
The once bright accolades fade with the gaining gale.
While beholding such grand evolution,
A leaf fails to recognize its own advance.
The complexion that once inspired a leaf has drained it.
As it gazed upon the beauty of change around it,
A leaf has surrendered itself to its purpose.
Its blaze has begun to seethe through.
The bluster cause a leaf to withdraw from the sunlight more.
Its edges begin to curl in, wary of the fading comfort.
Bitterly, a leaf tries to assuage through its vibrance.
This last stand leaves it faded and listless.
A leaf welcomes the release that the breeze has to offer.
It chooses the whim, the euphoria,
The life that is being carried away on the breath of Fall.
The disengage leaves it soaring,
Beneath the beacon of light that has been its friend.
A leaf hang glides to the morphing tempo.
Whispering, swaying, drifting towards its rest.
Once snuggled against the kissing blades of grass,
It once again basks in the stagnant sun.
Seeking withering support, it rests without hindrance.
The excitement of its decent has left it tranquil.
At peace with its journey, a leaf concedes.
In the fading warming light of the season
A leaf accepts its fate and basks in the final rays.
Oblivious to the gusts of change around it
A leaf withers, and settles into the earth
With the help of an innocent step or lawn mower.
The pieces of the leaf settle in
To the last that warmth the icy ground has to offer.
Hibernation warms a leaf as it resurfaces with the warming of Spring.
Yet a leaf does not evolve whole,
Does not present itself as it was.
A leaf thrives through the life of the coming season.
It fuels the vibrance of the revolution.
The radiance it once showed
Flows through the veins of a new bud,
A new leaf,
A new life,

- To my son Trey, your will forever evolve with the cycle of our lives

What not to say...

I am re-posting this from my journal of the first year after losing Trey for the benefit of CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012.   This post was published by churches trying to understand grief and by publications hoping to reach out to those who have never lost a child.

I am a grieving mother to an angel baby. It has not been long since my
> loss and the wound is still fresh. I am not sure what I need right now and
> what I want cannot be in my arms safe and healthy. I don't know what to tell
> you that I need because I do not know. My hopes and dreams for this baby are
> shattered as is my heart. The sorrow I feel permeates EVERY aspect of my
> life and cell in my body. I have an amazing husband who was not allowed to
> be the father to my son as he expected to. I have a beautiful house with a
> nursery that is not in use. I have a wonderful career that I had to leave
> only to lose my son. I have the best family and friends ever who have to
> watch me suffer and suffer with us. I can't escape it, block it out, or make
> it go away. Sometimes I want to talk about it and sometimes I don't. Just
> know when I do communicate about the situation and the pain, my words do not
> even scratch the surface or the misery I am dealing with. When I do I need a
> good listener. One who ask questions about how I feel and what I am thinking
> so that I can further delve into my misery therefore healing a little more.
> I don't need someone to give me advise based on their experience unless it
> is similar to mine or I ask for it. Sometimes I need to talk about something
> else as to keep my mind off of this sorrow and have a new focus. I need to
> be active but want to do nothing. I need to have hope and faith but I want
> to crawl in a hole. I need to keep my chin up but I want to feel all of
> this. My emotions and thoughts are on a constant roller coaster and there is
> no exit. I can't see past the present and don't feel or know that
> everything is going to be made right. I am living moment to moment hoping
> for peace. I know you are hurting with me and for me so sometimes its hard
> to socialize. Everyday is a struggle to get through and every night is
> filled with fear of trying to get through tomorrow. Every morning is filled
> with anxiety about making it through the day. I have a hole that nothing
> will ever fill. Although the words are meant to comfort, not much can be
> said to me that makes me feel better. I have a crass answer in my heart
> every time a comforting phrase is said. "This is God's plan" is met with "I
> hate God's plan right now". "God didn't do this to you?" is said in the same
> breath and dis met by "Well which one is it? God's plan or something he
> didn't do". "He is in a better place" is met with "He should be here with
> me". "He is no longer sick" is met with "He shouldn't have been sick in the
> first place". "God will give you more children" is met with "I don't know
> that and I wanted THIS baby". "It was for the best" is met with "Who's
> best?". I would never say those things to people but they are in my heart. I
> don't mean to sound ungrateful for those people who try to support and
> comfort me, I can only be honest about what I am feeling. My brain agrees with and understands all of their sentiments, but my heart does not. I know these
> feelings and thoughts will not last forever, but they are with me now and I
> hate it. I am not usually this way. I don't want people to be distant but I
> do not want the spotlight either. I just want to get through this in one
> piece and with peace in my heart. Thank you to everyone for their love and
> support. I would not make it through this without it.
> > Sincerely,
> > Sharon

Monday, October 1, 2012

Capture Your Grief Project

Day 1: The sunrise, not of the event, but of Trey's first birthday.
Day 2: Me before our loss
Day 3: After our loss
Day 4: Most treasured possession 
Day 5: A Memorial
Day 6: What not to say...