Stop Looking in the rear view mirror... 

~ by Cherie Houston

I originally wrote this in the Fall of 2011 - and must admit I read it quite often to remind myself of the importance of "looking ahead"..  Two weeks ago, the 5th year anniversary of my 36 year old son Bobby's death came-we had a memorial mass and most of our family joined us for breakfast including all 12 of our grandchildren, 2 of whom are his little boys.. I have to admit that these last six months have been very difficult for me - who knows, maybe I'm finally facing the reality of it all...  But I know I'm not alone, so I thought I'd share this with you again and hope that you can find it helpful.. and now that none of us is alone on this unpredictable journey of finding that new normal after the deaths of our children...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Within months of our son Bobby’s death in September 2009, my daughter-in-law Jennifer (Bobby’s wife) and I and several friends met this amazing woman – Maureen Hancock…Maureen is blessed with several talents, one of which is helping people who are dying to become comfortable with what’s happening – the majority of her clients are children… Maureen is blessed, without a question, in being able to understand their fears and concerns which almost always have to do with the family they will soon be leaving behind..

Recently, Maureen made the following statement about one of her patients..

I met the bravest woman last week~Mary A. She's down to the wire with her battle with ALS. She has a beautiful family that surrounds her in blankets of love. Her one question..."Will I get to see my children grow up?" YES! I assured her. For all those healthy & reading this w/children...are you watching them grow up? Don't live to work, work to live. Maureen Hancock

When I heard this, I thought of all of us who have lost our own children who often become so lost in our own grief and longing for our child who has died, that we unintentionally, but sadly forget about our family who is still living…Not that we mean to, but it is so easy to dwell on what we’ve lost, that sometimes we lose sight of what we still have…  

It’s so important to begin to look and move forward – we can’t change what’s happened or what is behind us, but we can certainly have an impact on what is happening today at this moment and appreciate all the blessings we have – our own siblings, our significant others, maybe we are even blessed to have other children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, our own parents or in-laws, friends, associates – so many people who care about us..

Yes we all need to think about spending a little more time looking ahead instead of in the rear view mirror before it’s too late…

Thank you Maureen for this reminder...

Maureen Hancock is a nationally renowned spirit medium, teacher, lecturer, holistic healer, and author of the book, The Medium Next Door; co-founder of the non-profit organization, Mission for the Missing, providing assistance and equipment in missing children and adult cases. Maureen is an associate member of the Licensed Private Detective Association of Massachusetts. She has been featured in numerous articles and can be heard on radio stations around the country - she resides in a small town south of Boston, Massachusetts with her husband, two children and chocolate lab, Ally. Maureen, in my opinion is amazing..
check out Maureen's website:

www.maureenhancock.com

Will it ever be the same again?

Sorry, but it can never be the same again...   (author unknown)

When a child of ours has died, or any one else whom we love for that matter, we hope and even pray that things will somehow be the same…that our life – our family – will get back to “normal”  As time goes on, we realize that “it will never be the same.”  We will always miss our loved one who has died.  At special holidays and family gatherings, there is always one person missing.  Some family members and friends assume that we are back to normal.  They just do not understand.

Once the horrific initial shock and sense of total denial of the initial few months begin to pass, the enormous and sad reality begins to become clear and for most of us, that is the time that seems the most difficult.  Our grief seems unbearable and we wonder if our heartache and sorrow is our new reality.  But life does go on and we don’t have a choice – we will and must go through this. 

What seems to complicate our grief is that once a few months have passed, many of those around us – our friend, co-workers and even family members, feel we are “getting better” and “moving on” but we know that’s so far from the truth – we are simply surviving and existing or when we don’t “get over it quickly enough” many people who we assumed would be there for us, pull away out f their own frustration of no knowing how and what to do to help us.  This is so common.  It is believed that this can be attributed in part to a general lack of knowledge of what grief is, leading to unrealistic expectations being placed on those who are grieving.  Sometimes it is helpful to communicate about our loss with someone new, since some old friends often just want us to return to our old selves again, which is unrealistic on their part.

So many times during the first year of mourning, especially following the holidays or anniversary of the death, those around us, as well as those of us who are grieving, may expect that everything will finally be OK and get better…  Be careful not to expect too much; because if and when things don’t magically “get better” many become discouraged.  

There is and never will be a timetable for grief – it is different for each and every person on this journey and different for each and every time the journey is made…  So be gentle with yourself and those around you..  It’s best not to have unrealistic expectations and remind yourself over and over again, there is no timetable for grief.. 

EXPIRATION DATES DON'T APPLY TO GRIEF...

~ by Lynn Hughes - "Hello Grief"

"Certain things need an expiration date. Milk, eggs, mayonnaise, meat, fish… there is a time we need to be done with them, and throw them away… I get all that. But does grief have an expiration date? For some reason, there seems to be an acceptable shelf life..6-12 months, and then grief should be off the shelf, out of the home and permanently removed with the weekly trash service.  If it was only that simple…

The “grief expiration date” myth must come from people who have never experienced a close death – otherwise they would know the truth. Everyone fears facing such a loss. They are hopeful that should death touch their world, it will only take 6-12 months to recover. No one wants someone they love to die. So, until faced with the reality, it’s easier to think ‘this won’t happen to me, AND if it does it will only be bad for a finite, short amount of time and then…there’s an expiration date and it is magically all gone.’ What a wonderful world that would be.

I've heard time and time again there is a societal expectation to “get over” grief in 6 months, and at the longest, a year. Those who aren't grieving believe it, and often those who are also believe it - this sets grieving people up for false, and ultimately disappointing, expectations.

The one year mark looms like some golden carrot over the heads of those who are grieving. It is a symbol of hope that if they make it to the one year mark they will be in a much happier and pain free place.

The reality is they won’t be over it, nor should they be. If someone spent years loving another person, the pain of that person’s death simply will not be removed due to a date on the calendar.

The opposite actually might happen – people who are grieving may feel even more pain in year two because the initial numbness, which often serves as a protective barrier at the onset of loss, has worn off and they begin experiencing the full intensity of their feelings and grief. This is accompanied by the realization that life with loss  is their “new normal.”

I lost my mother at 9 and father at 12. I remember feeling the expectation of a grief expiration date myself. I remember being 15, five years after my mother died and three years after my father died. If I had a tough day missing my parents, people looked shocked, or avoided the subject, or avoided me. Sometimes I would hear insensitive comments, like “ aren't you over that?” Or when someone experienced a more recent loss, I would get “Oh, poor [so and so]. What a tragic loss.  Aren't you glad you are over that now?”

I remember beating myself up and doubting how well I was coping. If you allow yourself to believe there is an expiration date for grief, you will start to think you aren't doing well if you still miss your loved one 5, 10, 20, 40 years after the loss. In reality – it’s normal. And it’s okay.

This is what I know to be true:  Grief is a life-long journey. 

Grief is an emotional handicap you get up, and live with everyday. It doesn't mean you can’t lead a happy life, but it is a choice, and takes work. The frequency and intensity of those grief pangs/knives should lessen over time, but the reality is every now and then for the rest of your life, you will feel those pangs. Everyone grieves at their own pace, and in their own way. There is no one way to grieve, and no certain order, and no timeline. There is definitely not an expiration date.

Grief will take on different forms in different people. Not everyone cries; others cry all the time. Some exercise a lot. Others talk about it a lot. Many seek counseling or join a support group, and enjoy the company of a good and understanding listener.

If years after your loss, thinking of your loved one missing a special day or milestone in your life, makes you sad, puts you in a funk, or makes you cry, don’t beat yourself up. Allow yourself the ability to grieve the loss of memories not created. As long as the frequency and intensity of grief eases—even if it is slowly over time—you are coping in positive ways. 

Alternatively, if years after the loss, you can’t bear the mention of your loved ones name, you sleep all day, you aren't participating in your normal everyday activities, you do things to “numb” or escape your grief, those are warning signs that you are not coping well, and should seek the assistance you need to begin healing.

Grieving in a healthy manner, taking steps to move forward, and rebuild your life with a new normal, doesn't mean you won’t have those tough days or tough moments.

There is no expiration date. Grief never fully goes away. That doesn't have to mean you can’t and won’t live a happy and productive life. What it does mean is the love you shared with loved ones lost, doesn't have an expiration date either"

When my child has died - please.......

Thank you to Paula B. from Beverly, England for sharing this - every mom whose on this journey, understands these statements all too well...

When My Child Has Died

~author is unknown but she knows she was a woman

When my child has died, please… 

• Don’t ignore me because you are uncomfortable with the subject of death. It makes me wonder if what happened means nothing to you.

• Acknowledge my pain, even if you think it shouldn’t be as great as it is… (because I’ve ‘only’ lost a baby or one of four!)

• Losing a child is one of the most difficult experiences to face and the depth of my grief will shock even me as it returns in waves. A tremendous number of emotional and physical hurts will come my way – please don’t minimize them.

• Please be aware that holidays and anniversaries will be particularly difficult times.

• If you invite me for lunch or bring a meal around (and please do) in the midst of my grief, please expect to talk about my loss. It’s all I’m thinking about and I need to talk it out; small talk neither interests nor helps just now.

• Please don’t change the subject if I start to cry. Tears and talking about it are the healthiest way for me to release my intense emotions.

• Telling me that So-and-so’s situation must have been much worse won’t make mine easier. It only makes me feel you don’t understand or can’t acknowledge the extent of my pain.

• Don’t expect that because my child is in heaven or ‘with God’ I shouldn’t be hurting. Even the most fervent believer in God would rather have their child with them. My arms ache to hold my child and I miss him or her so much. And God might not be finding favor with me right now.

• Now is not the time to tell me about your own childbirth or child’s experiences… It reminds me in the most painful way of what I’m missing.

• Don’t remind me that I’m so lucky to have other children. I am and I know it. But my pain is excruciating for this child; the others don’t take that pain away. Indeed, they can add to it because I’ve got to comfort them as well.

• No matter how bad I look, please don’t say “You look terrible.” I feel like a total failure right now and I don’t need to hear that I look awful too.

• Don’t devalue my experience or my child – the feelings of deprivation are so intense. A child who has never breathed is nonetheless missed so if I’ve ‘only’ miscarried or my child was stillborn, don’t forget he/she was a very special, unique person.

• Please don’t suggest my child can be replaced by my having more. Would you say “Don’t worry, there are plenty more fish in the sea,” to someone who had just lost their husband?

• When you ask my husband how I’m doing – please don’t forget to ask him how he’s doing too. He has also lost his child. If you ignore his hurt it suggests that his pain doesn’t exist or doesn’t matter.

The first years of this grief journey...

The death of a child - a child at any age - is such a traumatic, life-altering experience.   At first, you can't even comprehend the facts, no matter how hard you try to absorb them - your heart isn't ready...  It's not denial, because in those initial hours, days and weeks, denial isn't even possible yet because you truly can't comprehend what has and is happening around you.....  


In the days, weeks and months to follow, ever so slowly you allow yourself to relive those initial moments over and over again - each time allowing yourself to "stay in those initial moments - just a little longer"..  Initially it's as though we are dreaming and if we can just dream a little longer we can change the outcome...  With time, we stay there a little longer trying to absorb our surroundings and what we are hearing - eventually we stay there as long as we do, not wanting to let go - for fear if we accept what we are being told - we will begin to let go of them and all that they were to us...  I think all of these moments are simply a way of our brain "bracing us" for the horrible truth & facts, yes our brain fortunately will only allow it in, in very small doses, bits and pieces at a time..  


The first year after my 3 children died I think we are always preparing for the next "first" very much like a new parent - only these firsts are all so frightening...  Those "first" holidays - birthdays, anniversaries, milestones.. And then of course all the every day things that can knock the wind out of us as though we've been punched! The pictures, songs, foods, smells, opening of closets & bureau drawers or even the door to their room or home, all of the simplest of things that we will eventually recognize and call "grief triggers" - those things that can catapult us without any warning back into the depths of that black hole...  Finally, just as we begin to prepare ourselves for the first anniversary of our child going home to heaven, to earning their wings, yes, it's 365 days later and so many of us have this misconception that we will finally begin to feel just a little better, and then we realize - we won't..  Not yet - we still have a long way to go on the journey..

Although we will feel different as we move forward on the journey, because thankfully the depths of our grief will never return to those initial dark hours, days, weeks and months...  But understand, that grief is a journey and the first year is simply the worst and most frightening part of the journey...  But as time goes on, accept that this journey will continue.  Differently of course, but it does continue...  

Many moms who've traveled this journey before will softly warn "newly bereaved moms" not to be surprised if the second and third year of grief are actually more intense in a different way,  than that first year. It is different - because again remember when we look back on that first year it so often feels like a bad dream, a total foggy blur..  Even for moms and dads who returned to work soon after, when they look back later - most remember very little about that first year - our brains never allow us to relive excruciating pain of any kind - and the heartbreak of losing a child is the most excruciating pain we will ever endure... Furthermore, we can't imagine how we made it through, but we did!! 

In the second and subsequent years, the reality really sets in with a piercing, almost "stop your breath" intensity. Be prepared - this is normal - no you aren't going crazy - your heart is continuing to heal, it just takes time..  This pain of grief is simply the price we pay for loving our children as much as we do...  


Continue to be patient, loving and gentle with yourself as you stay the course and continue on your unique journey - it is a journey from mourning to joy and yes, eventually you will find peace and joy and a new normal that works for you....  In the meantime, know that you are in the thoughts and prayers of all your sisters in grief..  ~ Cherie Houston

Accepting My Child's Death; What this means to me

~ Written by Judy Bruner (sent to us for sharing by Sharon M Collingsworth – Montpellier, VT - who recently lost her 11 year son Matthew and said this gives her hope that she isn't going crazy - something most of us can certainly relate to..)

I am a mother who has lost a child. Because of my daughter's death in 1998, I have found the need to reach out to other parents who are also dealing with the loss of a child. I got an email from another "Angel Mom" whose son died two years ago, she was telling me about a trip to her doctor and discussing the meaning of acceptance. She had visited her doctor and told him of her depression. Like so many who do not understand the depth of pain that a parent lives with after a loss such as this, he asked her if she had "accepted" her son's death. She was very upset by this and told me in no uncertain terms that she would never, ever accept his death.
Having just recently made it through the 5th anniversary of my daughter's death, and being in tremendous pain myself in the recent months, I took the time to think about what acceptance meant to me. As the 5th year date approached I found myself in almost as much heart wrenching pain as I was when she first died. I was taken back to those last days of her life. Replaying the scenes over and over in my mind. Dwelling on all the "what-if's" and the "why's". Feeling the ripping out of my heart as the emergency room doctors told me that my child was gone from this earth.
Now having gotten myself through those painful days I feel as though I am back at where I started five years ago and am once again trying to find my way along this painful journey called grief. I have come to the conclusion of several things and would like to share what I have discovered.
I told my friend this: Sometimes it just hits. It's that time of year for me. I think it's better to cry, scream, yell, whatever it takes, than it is to stuff the pain inside and let it eat at you. It has to come out sometime, better now than later. We both know that it's a part of this journey, and we all go through those times.
I used to feel that if I accepted Ashleigh's death.....which for me meant to stop trying to find all the things that I should have done differently and to stop blaming myself and being angry that she was gone. I thought that if I accepted the fact that she was gone; then it meant that it was alright with me. That I no longer cared that she was gone from this earth.
I thought that if I began living again; eating, sleeping, taking care of myself, allowing myself moments of joy, and enjoying the life of my surviving child, then it would prove to the world that I had moved on. That I had forgotten Ashleigh and what her life meant to me.
I now know that those things are not at all true. For me acceptance means that I accept the fact that my daughter is not here anymore because I have no choice. But I do not have to like it! I accept the fact that my life is never going to be the same again because I cannot change it or bring her back. Everything is different now. Nothing is the same as it once was. I have to find a new normal.
I accept the fact that she was a wonderful, loving child, and I was lucky to have had her in my life! I accept the fact that the sun shone brighter, the grass was greener, the sky was bluer, and the air smelled fresher when Ashleigh was here.
I also accept the fact that it's okay to be sad and to feel the pain. This is the absolute worst loss that any human being ever has to face, and I am doing the very best I can dealing with it now. I have learned to take all the time I need to feel the sadness when it overcomes me. Over time, I will be okay. I just have to get through the valley of tears first. I accept that it's okay to miss her and to cry for her. After all, who decides how many tears are enough? There will never be enough tears to show how much I loved this child.
I have decided after five years, that it's also okay to find a way to live with all my feelings put together. That is the key. I do accept it, but I don't have to like it or be happy about it. I just have to do the best I can with what I have left and carry her with me as I move forward.

To My Beloved Son Bobby

TO MY BELOVED SON BOBBY

Dear Bobby, On the Second Anniversary of Your Going Home

I Wish I Could See You One More Time
Come Walking Through My Door
But, I Know That Is Impossible
I Will Hear Your Voice No More

I Have No Doubt You Feel My Tears
And Don’t Want Me To Cry
Yet, My Heart Is Still So Broken
No, I Still Can’t Fathom Why

Hard To Believe Two Years Have Passed
Since You Made That Decision
So Many Changes, So Many Tears
I Pray That Your Boys, Have The Life You Envisioned

I Pray Every Day That God Gives Us The Strength
To Help Us Find Peace And Help Us Get Through
As We Struggle With This Heartache
That Was Caused When We Lost You

So Much Has Happened, Some Good And Some Bad
But Despite All The Changes, Thoughts Of You Make Us Sad
And Through All My Tears, I Do Understand
God Didn't Take You From Us, He Simply Held Out His Hand

I Know That You Loved Us And I Feel You Nearby
Although We Can’t See You, Your Spirit Won’t Die
And I Know Without Doubt That When My Life Is Through
You’ll Be Waiting With Open Arms For Me To Join You

God How I Love You And Think Of You Daily
And The Day Your Walked Through Heaven's Gates
September 19, 2009

In Precious Memory Of My 36 Year Old Son Robert W. Wood
Adapted from a poem originally written by Teresa Shelton Bright

Permission to Be Crazy

When the following excerpt from Eline Stillwell's book was first sent to me in a prayer card after my son Bobby's death, I was surpised by it. I remember thinking it a curious thing to receive - after all I didn't remember having done any of the things in the clipping when either of my two little girls, Randee or Robin died in the early 70's..

But now as we approach the second anniversary of Bobby's death, I realize that I obviously just forgot how crazy grief can make us - yes I was definitely wrong - oh so wrong...

Because since that horrible phone call on September 20th, shortly after midnight telling me that Bobby was gone forever - without a doubt I've done these and many other strange things since that horrible call... And I must admit it's comforting to know that I'm not crazy - I'm simply a mom who is learning to accept a new normal without another one of my children - so if I'm a little crazy from time to time, I know that it is OK.. there is no right or wrong to surviving a loss, but especially when the loss is that of a beloved child.

So please be patient with yourself on your journey through grief.. it's OK to be a little crazy - it's just normal... Cherie Houston...

~ by Elaine Stillwell from “Healing After Your Child’s Death”

It’s OK to do strange things, anything that gives your heart sense of peace, as long as you don’t hurt someone.

Whether you’re running down the beach, standing in the shower, or riding in your car screaming at the top of your lungs, releasing balloons with notes attached, talking to an empty chair, wearing their clothes, baking a cake for their birthday, signing their name on cards, decorating their grave with things they loved, or collecting angels in their memory ~ it’s OK.

No excuses are necessary.

You have learned to do what your heart needs, and that is a BIG step!

Does anyone undesrstand what we are going through?

~ by Cherie Houston

July 31st, 1972 - 39 years ago today, my beautiful daughter Robin died.. She was a beautiful healthy and happy little 7 month old - sharing the nursery with her 16 month old brother Ric - their very patriotic red, white & blue nursery with matching cribs, hers had a beautiful canopy top... We awoke early that Monday morning, to the shock that Robin Marie, our beautiful little girl, had died during the night, a victim of SIDS - yes 39 years ago today, our world seemed to go into a tailspin, that was the day we lost our 2nd child.. God this can't be happening again, but it did.. Our first daughter, Randee Marie, had died the year before on March 17, 1971 - a little more than 9 hours after she'd been born 12 weeks prematurely, but despite the heartache of losing Randee, we were blessed ~ her twin brother, Ric - who was also only 3 lbs - had survived and now again Ric was our "only child".

I've kept a diary since high school and from time to time I go back and read entries from years gone by - funny, sad, philosophical, complaining, angry, proud, amazing, hopeful - such a wide variety of emotions and it helps to see where I've been... I recently went back and read my diary a year after Robin died - not sure I've ever gone back and read the few weeks after her death-that's too painful, but a year later was OK. I was already expecting again - and would be blessed with a little baby boy - yes Ric had a new baby brother - Bobby was born Aug 27th, 13 months after Robin's death and 7 years later we were blessed again with another beautiful baby boy - Sean... Blessings and tragedy seem to be intertwined - on September 19, 2009 our 3rd child would die, when our 36 year old sone Bobby took his own life on September 19th, 2009..... I want to share with you what I wrote one year aftr Robins death, because it reminds me that maybe those around us who can't understand our pain, just truly can't...

Tuesday, July 31st, 1973
I don't remember when or where I heard the expression "the only two things in life that are certain are death and taxes" But I know it's a common statement, so why is it that no one seems comfortable with understanding what death does to those who are left living? Why can't anyone around me understand how painful it is when someone we know or loves is grieving and heartbroken over the loss of their child, parent, spouse or close friend. Why doesn’t everyone around us understand what we are going through? After all everyone is going to experience loss at some time in their life. Or is it that grief is so terribly painful that no one wants to talk about it and those of us who do, we just makes others uncomfortable.

How did this happen – one year ago today my beautiful little girl Robin died, gone – only 7 months old and in just a moment, this healthy happy little girl who had just pulled herself up and took a step was gone… How can this be and why is that no one seems to understand what I’m going through. I watch other young moms and dads who have lost their babies to SIDS and why is that no one around any of us seems to understand the impact that this loss has had on us. Instead, it seems as though others around us, want to yell at us and say “straighten up and get on with your lives – you are young, you’ll get over it – you’ll have another”… Yes, maybe that’s true – after all I am excited about being pregnant again and I’m nervously looking forward to the arrival of this new little girl or boy in a few months, but why can’t anyone understand that I also want Robin back and that this new baby, although he or she will be loved, will not and can never replace Robin – I just want my baby girl back…

It's not fair-what did we ever do wrong to be thrown into this nightmare – like a spooky fraternity with the deaths of our babies in common - yet we have no idea what to do, how to act, what is normal and we are all wondering the same thing – are we all going crazy?? Dr. Sturner has been so wonderful - who could have guessed the medical examiner to do Robin's autopsy would become such a close friend, but he's helped me so much this last year including establishing this SIDS chapter, but he’s a grandfather and although he’s lost a grandbaby to SIDS, he’s blessed that he has all his children – he can’t fully understand how overwhelming this loss is… I’m amazed at the number of “outsiders” who have whispered to us that they themselves, their moms, aunts, grandmas, etc have had a baby who died of ‘crib death also” but they never talk about it – how can that be, I just want to shout it from the roof tops – my baby is gone, my heart is broken, can’t anyone help me… how and why can you keep death a secret??

Each parent I meet, the feelings we share are the same, feelings of devastating pain, all we want are things the way they were ~ we want our life as it once was and our babies back ~ God why cna't anyone understand that this pain is crippling ~ our hearts feel as though they are totally shattered and we aren’t sure if we will ever get through this, how can we cope, will we ever feel better – doesn’t anyone understand how much we are hurting… Is this what we are going to feel forever – it’s been a year, but it feels like this morning – the nightmare repeats itself over and over again in my mind – whether I’m awake or asleep – like a movie that never stops…

But then again I can't be going crazy – because each and every parent I meet who has suffered this same horrific event is feeling the same things, so this must be normal, this must just be what grief is.. But if that's the case, why then, can’t anyone around me understand what I’m going through, because after all – some of them must have been where we are, they must understand what we are going through – because after all everyone is going to suffer the loss of someone they love – after all taxes & death are the only 2 sure things in life that are certain..

So why can’t they understand my grief or is it that they do understand. Yes maybe they do understand more than I think they do, but maybe - just maybe - for them it’s just too painful to go back, so they scurry away from us - almost as though we are contagious and they might catch our grief - and maybe they have to turn their backs on us because they are just grateful that it’s not them…

What is Normal after your child dies?

~ by Tara & Heath Carey in Massachusetts after they tragicall lost two little girls, Violet and Iris, in 2002, when natural gas caused their apartment to explode..

Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realize someone important is missing from all the important events in your family's life.

Normal is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays, Christmas, Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, New Years, Valentine's Day, July 4th, Passover or Easter, anniversaries or just because...

Normal is feeling like you can't sit another minute without getting up and screaming, because you just don't like to sit through anything anymore.

Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand what if's &; why didn't I's go through your head constantly.

Normal is reliving the accident continuously through your eyes and mind, holding your head to make it go away.

Normal is having the TV on the minute you walk into the house to have noise, because the silence is deafening.

Normal is staring at every child who looks like your child and then thinking of the age they would be now. Then wondering why it is even important to imagine it, because it will never happen.

Normal is every happy event in your life always being backed up with sadness lurking close behind, because of the hole in your heart.

Normal is telling the story of your child's death as if it were an everyday, commonplace activity, and then seeing the horror in someone's eyes at how awful it sounds. And yet realizing it has become a part of your "normal."

Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor your childs's memory and their birthdays and survive these days. And trying to find the balloon or flag that fit's the occasion. Happy Birthday? Not really.

Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of something special your child loved. Thinking how they would love it, but how they are not here to enjoy it.

Normal is having some people afraid to mention your childs name and Normal is making sure that others remember them.

Normal is after the funeral is over everyone else goes on with their lives, but we as parents continue to grieve our loss forever.

Normal is weeks, months, and years after the initial shock, there are days when the grieving gets worse, not better.

Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to this loss, unless they too have lost a child. Nothing compares. NOTHING. Even if your child is in the remotest part of the earth away from you - it doesn't compare.

Losing a parent is horrible, but having to bury your own child is unnatural.

Normal is taking pills, and trying not to cry all day, because you know your mental health depends on it.

Normal is realizing you do cry everyday.

Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone but someone stricken with grief over the loss of their child.

Normal is sitting at the computer crying, sharing how you feel with chat buddies who have also lost a child.

Normal is not listening to people make excuses for G-d. "G-d may have done this because…"

I know my children are in "heaven," but hearing people trying to think up excuses as to why my beautiful children were taken from this earth is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to this grieving mother.

Normal is being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned the house, did the laundry or if there is any food.

Normal is wondering this time whether you are going to say you have two children or no children, because you will never see this person again and it is not worth explaining that your children are dead. And yet when you say you have no children to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as if you have betrayed your child or children who have died.

Normal is asking G-d why he took your child's life instead of yours and asking if there even is a G-d.

Normal is knowing you will never get over this loss, not in a day nor a million years.

Normal is having therapists agree with you that you will never "really" get over the pain and that there is nothing they can do to help you because they know only bringing back your child back from the dead could possibly make it "better."

Normal is learning to lie to everyone you meet and telling them you are fine. You lie because it makes others uncomfortable if you cry. You've learned it's easier to lie to them then to tell them the truth that you still feel empty and it's probably never going to get any better -- ever. And last of all...

Normal is hiding all the things that have become "normal" for you to feel, so that everyone around you will think that you are "normal."

When my child has died, please....

~ Although anonymous, the original writer of this was a woman.

When we say that our children have died, please remember that our “child” can be of any age – it means that we as parent’s have outlived our children – so whether ”our child” was unborn or an older adult in their 60’s, Our love for and hopes for our children start long before they are actually born, so when someone miscarries they have many of the sensations of an eighty year old who has just lost their adult child, as parents  it is expected, that in the ‘natural’ order of things, we will die before our sons or daughters and when that natural order is disrupted, it is devastating to say the least.

When my child has died, please...

Don’t ignore me because you are uncomfortable with the subject of death. It makes me wonder if what happened means nothing to you.

Acknowledge my pain, even if you think it shouldn’t be as great as it is... (because I’ve ‘only’ lost a baby or one of four!)
Losing a child is one of the most difficult experiences to face and the depth of my grief will shock even me as it returns in waves. A tremendous number of emotional and physical hurts will come my way – please don’t minimize them.

Please be aware that holidays and anniversaries will be particularly difficult times - whether our child died this year or many years ago.

If you invite me for lunch (or bring a meal around (and please do) in the midst of my grief, please expect to talk about my loss. It’s all I’m thinking about and I need to talk it out; small talk neither interests nor helps just now.

Please don’t change the subject if I start to cry. Tears and talking about it are the healthiest way for me to release my intense emotions.

Telling me that So-and-so’s situation must have been much worse won’t make mine easier. It only makes me feel you don’t understand or can’t acknowledge the extent of my pain.

Don’t expect that because my child is in heaven or ‘with God’ I shouldn’t be hurting. Even the most fervent believer in God would rather have their child with them. My arms ache to hold my child and I miss him or her so much. And God might not be finding favor with me right now.

Now is not the time to tell me about your own childbirth or child’s experiences... It reminds me in the most painful way of what I’m missing.

Don’t remind me that I’m so lucky to have other children. I am and I know it. But my pain is excruciating for this child; the others don’t take that pain away. Indeed, they can add to it because I’ve got to comfort them as well.

No matter how bad I look, please don’t say “You look terrible”. I feel like a total failure right now and I don’t need to hear that I look awful too.

Don’t devalue my experience or my child – the feelings of deprivation are so intense. A child who has never breathed is nonetheless missed so if I’ve ‘only’ miscarried or my child was stillborn don’t forget that “my child” was a very special, unique person.

Please don’t suggest my child can be replaced by my having more. Would you say “Don’t worry, there are plenty more fish in the sea,” to someone who had just lost their husband?

When you ask my husband how I’m doing – please don’t forget to ask him how he’s doing too. He has also lost his child. If you ignore his hurt it suggests that his pain doesn’t exist or doesn’t matter.

I pray that you will never know or experience this pain and heartache...

Turning Tragedy into a Positive

A Friend shared this story with us recently and I'm sure it is a story much like so many of ours - this is the story of a mom from Abilene, Texas ~ Written By Local Reporter Kyle Peveto 5.15.2008

For months after her 9-year-old son died in a bizarre car accident, Myra Dean remained in shock. She took a job in Saipan, a commonwealth of the United States in the Pacific Ocean, and had no idea what to do with her grief until she read about the Compassionate Friends group in a Guam newspaper. The newsletters she received from the organization of bereaved parents helped her understand that she was not alone and that she would be forever changed.

When the StoryCorps Airstream trailer came to Abilene this spring, Dean's boyfriend insisted they reserve a spot to record her story. Her emotional telling of the death of her son Rich struck StoryCorps producers enough that they edited the 40-minute session into a shorter feature that is tentatively scheduled to run on National Public Radio's Morning Edition at 5:30 and 7:30 a.m. Friday.

"It's very raw. She talks about how painful it is. She talks about her feelings, about God and about how she overcame this over time. A bereaved parent is always a bereaved parent. The pain never leaves you," said Gary Jamison, Dean's boyfriend, who conducted the interview in March.

"It comes across on the (recording). It speaks to you; it pulls at your heartstrings."

While living in Kansas City, Kan., 31 years ago, Dean separated from her husband and moved into a home on a quiet street with her son. He was riding his bicycle one Friday evening in May when Dean was preparing to spend a night out with friends. When she went to pick up the baby sitter two blocks away, she left Rich riding his bicycle with his friend, telling him to watch for cars.

Returning, she saw a crowd near Rich's friend's house and an ambulance. Immediately, she knew it was her son. "Some people don't believe that you can know that," she said in her StoryCorps interview. "I don't know if it's the tie between a mother and children, or me and Rich in particular, but I knew."

Rich had been playing in the yard, watching the sunset, when an out-of-control car flipped over the hedge and landed on Rich and his friend. The friend was unscathed. Rich was crushed.  Her father died later that summer, and Dean felt amazed that no one understood her pain.  "Expectations are that in a year, you'll be better. But after the first year, the shock is just wearing off," she told the Reporter-News. "After that is the real roller-coaster ride."

Years later, after founding the first Compassionate Friends chapter in Abilene, she began speaking each semester to an Abilene Christian University class on death and dying. She tried to help the students empathize with a parent who has lost a child.

"When you lose your child, that was your future. ... Even genetically, I was a part of my parents, but they were not a part of me," she said in the interview. "Richard was genetically, physically part of me. And when I talk I always try to find ways to explain to people about the pain, and I say it's as if you've had an invisible amputation." "At some point you get over the pity and say, 'This is life.'"

Jamison heard her speak last fall and encouraged her to write a book or tell the story to other bereaved parents. Then he scheduled the time with StoryCorps. Dean said her life is "like a soap opera." She also has survived kidney cancer and bears an S-shaped scar from the surgery.

Tuesday was the 31st anniversary of Rich's death. For years, she remembered him painfully, but now she acknowledges the day. Now, Dean is the development director for KACU, Abilene's NPR station at ACU. Next to her desk is a framed drawing by Rich of an ocean scene with blue whales and men swimming with tridents.

Rich's death changed her life. She said she knows she will never "get over" his death, but she has learned to live with his memory.

Getting thru Valentine's Day with a Broken Heart

~ By Cherie Houston

February 1st 2010 and we've made it thru our first holiday season without our son Bobby: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years and lurking just around the corner is Valentines Day. My reaction to the chocolates, heart shaped cards and stuffed animals surprised me - it actually took my breath away - but then again, Valentines is more than just a holiday for lovers.

As soon as our children begin school, so does the tradition of sharing valentines and so, it is another holiday that reminds us of special times we’ve shared with our children and for those moms who have lost infants, it is a reminder of special times that will never be… Either way, the sense of overwhelming loss is once again thrust at us.

At first I feared it would be another painful day, but I don’t think it has to be.  Instead I hope we can celebrate our love for them - nothing and no one can ever take away the love you shared with your children, so we should honor them – celebrate that mutual love.  As usual I searched the internet for suggestions and found several that I think apply to those of us who are remembering our children who are gone too soon  ..

I believe what is important is for each of us to find a special way to celebrate their memory and their relationship with us no matter how brief their stay with us might have been… We are who we are because of them - no matter how short their stay - and that is something to celebrate for sure…

• Honor your Valentine’s Day traditions – do them in your children’s memory.
• Write them a valentine or note and save it in your memory box (if you’ve done this in the past, explore your memory box and enjoy the memories)
• Decorate and light a special candle in their honor
• Write them a note, put it in a balloon and send it off towards their new home in heaven
• Volunteer some time – whether it’s at a hospital, shelter, hospice, or food pantry-there’s no doubt that helping someone else can ease our pain
• Listen to their favorite songs
• Look back thru pictures or videos if you have them - it's okay to smile and it's okay to cry
• If your child was older, consider sharing the day with his or her young family, it might help you all as you share memories together
• Make your loved one’s favorite breakfast or dinner and enjoy it in their memory 

As with all holidays, special days and anniversaries the anticipation is often worse than the day itself. But being prepared for the day helps us to get thru it – the important thing is to remember our children, remember our love for them and their love for us, and as moms, that is something we do without the tag of Valentines Day..

Celebrating the memory

~ Written By Joanne Cacciatore, PhD, MSW, FT, Founder of the www.missfoundation.org, in Peoria, AZ, after the loss of her child, Migi

To let go of the pain does not mean we have forgotten the child who has gone ahead of us. There are many ways to keep our children alive in our hearts and in the hearts of other people as well. There are rituals we can perform or little things we can do to keep the relationship with the one who has gone ahead of us.

Migi had always been fascinated with dinosaurs, and in the first year after his death, I found myself buying every little dinosaur book that I could find in the bookstore. Perhaps this was my way of coping and remembering him. I've since ceased to shop for the books, but the collection remains in a chest filled with his favorite toys.

This experience reminds me of a sad story I heard about a lady whose only daughter died at birth. For many years until she had a child again, she would buy a doll during her daughter's birthday and bring that to her grave. Her family and neighbors could not understand the gesture, and thought she was going out of her mind.

It was only many years later, when she told the story to her counselor, and the counselor said, "What a lovely gesture" that she broke down and cried. All those years she had been hurting from the comments of neighbors and friends, and it was only when this one person appreciated and understood what she had been doing, was she able to work through her grief.

There are countless ways to celebrate the memory of a beloved child. On a birthday, for example, you can release balloons or plant a tree in your garden in his or her honor.

You can also do something nice for the young patients at the hospital where your child died (if the child passed away in a hospital), or celebrate his memory by spending the day with less fortunate children and doing your bit to help them. You can also begin a crusade or an awareness campaign if the death was a violent one or a tragic one.

I have found that it is in reaching out to others, in stepping out of the shadow of one's sadness that one is also able to heal. Investing oneself in activities that give meaning to the loss helps alleviate the pain and aids in building a new life that would keep the memory alive and well in our hearts and, I am certain, make our children proud.

HOLIDAYS AND ANNIVERSARIES

~ Originally published by American Hospice Foundation © 2002
~  www.americanhospice.org

• Don't be surprised at the intensity of your grief. Feelings of anger, panic, depression, despair, guilt or regrets, fearfulness, loneliness, as well as physical symptoms feel stronger during this time. This is normal. It is not a setback; it is how grief is.
• Help yourself by gaining an understanding of the grieving process. Read a book on grief, attend a lecture or attend a support group.
• Remember what has helped you earlier in your grieving - these techniques will help you again.
• Tell important people in your life that this is a difficult season and let them know what they can do to help. Don't expect people to remember or to know what to do.
• Don't be surprised if others struggle, too, or if you see others hesitate to speak of the person who died. They are probably afraid they will make you feel sad, and are unsure whether you want to talk about it.
• Be gentle with yourself and others - grief is a difficult process and different for everyone