The Christmas season brings memories of joy and pain at the same time. I remember the happy day when my son David was born in December and when we placed him in a stocking under the tree as he was our Christmas gift. I remember how we decorated the Christmas tree just in time for his birthday. I remember the joys of his childhood as he opened presents. I remember the excitement and anticipation and the smiles and laughter that we shared. I remember the joys of the past and wish that things were different. Now my home is quiet and sad. My son is not with us and the emptiness is so clear that it sends a dagger into my heart and soul each time we gather together. Our family is no longer complete. Instead of memories however, my eyes want to see him again. My hands want to touch him again. My lips want to tell him how much I love him. My ears want to hear his voice.
Saturday, December 23, 2017
Friday, December 15, 2017
Every Christmas I continue to sorrow. “I will be home for Christmas” brings tears to my eyes. My son will never ever be home again. I am tired of saying that he lives within my heart. I want him physically so badly. Knowing that this will never happen in this lifetime makes my soul rebel even more against death and its horror. My soul says “I do not want to celebrate another Christmas without him”.
Monday, December 11, 2017
After my son died, I began to read and read about grief. I found many books about grief. Many of these books are written by professionals in the field. They talk about grief as being work. They describe the stages of grief with no feeling or emotion and what should one do or not do. The information is cold and boring as they could not point to the pain and despair that I was experiencing and still experience. They could not because they did not lose a child and have no clue about these feelings. The books that helped me the most were written by parents who lost children. I began to write articles for the Compassionate Friends. These were published monthly. Finally I put them in a book titled "Topics in Grief" by Leila Koepp. It is on Amazon.
Friday, December 8, 2017
I am often desperately sad. The sorrow remains my companion. I imagined the world would have been different. I have lost dreams, emotional aches, and have a constant vague sense of annoyance that something is wrong. I often wonder if my sorrow and sadness annoy others. I try to be careful. I try to hide it, however tears can tell.
Thursday, November 30, 2017
I realize that I have been stubborn in my grief and refuse to listen to what others say that I should do or what I should say or what I should wear or what I should be. I do what helps me feel better even though I do not feel whole. As I go on I am experiencing a new way of living which is so different from the old way. It allows me to live more fully and at a higher plane of existence.
Saturday, September 9, 2017
There is nothing that I can do for David. I can however learn a lot of lessons from his life and continue to cherish him throughout my life. I can spread his message of love and kindness. I can talk about his giving spirit, about his loyalty and about his great love. My love for him is grounded in my soul. I will never forget his presence at important and critical occasions and his concern and caring. His beauty will remain with me and I can reach him all the time as he is tucked safely in my heart.
Friday, September 1, 2017
I pretend that I am fine when I am with people and then when I am alone I scream, yell, cry, and wail. It seems that there is no consolation in this type of loss. People think that as time goes by I should feel better as if my son is coming back. I miss David more as time goes by, and the loneliness is so severe even when I am with many people. My voice changed and even the look on my face has changed. At times, I cannot bear it. As the weather changes and September arrives, I begin an emotional journey of tears. I despair even though I am told not to despair. My pain does not change anything and sometimes I think that it is so stupid to grieve and yet I cannot help myself.