In Love Longing

In love longing
I listen to the monk's bell.
I will never forget you
even for an interval
Short as those between the bell notes.
~ Izumi Shikibu

Another Thanksgiving without you.
The day is gone and past.
I took a chance and went to the family gathering.
It was hard but I did it.
My sister-in-law Cathy, made up some cards for people to write a memory of Nick or a lesson that Nick had taught them. I really liked that. It was a way to honor Nick and help me to know that everyone loves Nick, remembers Nick, and misses Nick too. There were no names on the papers, but I can sort of figure out who wrote which lessons. It doesn't really matter who wrote what, what matters is that our sweet Nickolas will always be remembered. I will share them below. I am glad I went to Thanksgiving. It was good to be with family. Nick loved family gatherings. He loved having all his friends and family around to share good food, good memories and love. Here are some of the memories and "lessons" people were thankful for from Nickolas:

"Bringing me a bracelet from Ecuador (that I still have)"

"I will always remember Nick ad playing with Brady in the basement during the holidays."

"Patience & not to sweat the small stuff."

"Stay strong in the toughest times."

"To smile and laugh more, to appreciate my health and family."

"Big hair never goes out of style."

"That despite the worst, there is always something good to look forward to."

"Our wedding....Nick was so very handsome all dressed up." "To me Nick was a treasure."

"I am thankful for Nick teaching me how to swim in the pool. I miss my Uncle Nick."

"Nick had a teddy bear. I like it."

"Nick taught me how to eat ice cream."

"To laugh a lot, enjoy the beauty of nature; stop...enjoy where you are."

"Nick fought to live and never complained. He endured pain & suffering to try to get well. He was able to show love and affection to those he loved. He enjoyed simple pleasures and he was kind and thoughtful to all those he met."

I love you my sweet Nickolas. I love you more than a wagon full of puppies. I missed you today and I will continue to miss you every day for the rest of my life. Please come and see us soon. Love and hugs to you my wonderful son. Mom

Holiday Heartbreak

Tomorrow will be our second Thanksgiving without Nickolas.
How can I begin to explain how horrible that feels? I have been having a rough time for quite a few weeks now. People ask me how I am and when I answer honestly and say, "I am not doing very well" they then ask me, "Why?"
I think to myself....Why? WHY? WHY? How can you ask me that?
Because my beautiful and wonderful son is still dead and I am coming to the horrid realization that this is a permanent situation! I barely remember last Thanksgiving or last Christmas. However, the fog is lifting and I am fully aware that another Thanksgiving is now upon me and my son is never, ever, going to be a part of another holiday. No more memories of Nickolas, no more photos of Nickolas, no more hugs from Nickolas, no more Christmas for Nickolas, and no more life with my sweet son. Holidays are usually a time of joy and happiness. Holidays are a time to gather and celebrate. When your child is gone the sadness is permanent. Celebrating the holiday is the last thing one wants to do. Mourning the loss of your child is a process and finding joy in life again takes a long time and a lot of patience and understanding from family, friends, and loved ones. It is hard to watch everyone smiling, laughing, having fun and carrying on the "normal" family rituals as if nothing has happened. It is hard when your heart is bleeding as if it is a fresh wound no matter how long it has been since your child has left this physical world.

One of the many mothers who lost her young son to cancer wrote the following on her Caring Bridge site today. She lost her sweet son James only ten months ago. This is her first holiday without him. I think her words say it so well.
"Today marks 10 months without James. I can't believe it has been almost a year without him. It seems longer at times, but in other ways, the months fly by. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and it will be our first without James. For the last two years, I have posted how thankful I am to have James in my life and in my arms. This year I do not feel very thankful. Yes, I know Michael and I are blessed to have Adeline, but she can never fill the whole in my heart that James left behind. She brings me so much joy, but the pain of not having James is still there. I just want both of my babies in my arms tomorrow, and I can't have that. It's funny how you learn to push the pain aside and live day to day, but you can't hide from it on the holidays. When anniversaries, milestones, or holidays come around, the pain is just as strong and fresh as the day we said goodbye to James. I am just hoping that tomorrow will go by fast, and that Adeline will keep me busy and distracted enough to make it through."

Another grieving Mom, Angie Prince, writes this blog with her husband, Tommy. They lost their beautiful daughter Merry Katherine four years ago in a car accident. They write about their grief journey every day from many different perspectives. Anyone who would like to learn more about those of us who are grieving the loss of a child, I urge you to read their blog as it will help you understand the magnitude of child-loss. With knowledge comes power and perhaps you will be able to find ways to help anyone you know (including me) who has lost a child. On this particular post Angie wrote a poem about the dread that is often felt when it comes to celebrating holidays after we have lost a child. I think Angie's poem says it beautifully.

Two days before "Thanksgiving"

With disgust in my heart--

For man-made festivities,

I don't want any part...

Who says we're to celebrate

On that specific day

When holidays infiltrate

thanks-givings ev'ry day!

How ~ for crying out loud,

Do I party in a crowd:

"Turkey's ready ~ Ham's a fryin' --

Will you ask her to stop cryin'?!"

"Good ~ everybody's here ~

Are you sad again this year?"

"Okay ~ it's time to draw names --

Your child's missing? We can't be blamed!"

"You don't have any time t' grieve today --

We've got to shop and buy all day!"

"Picture time ~ put on that smile...

It's holidays ~ forget that child!"

"Now let's take time to give thanks ~

We'll name our kids ~ Just leave yours blank..."

Uhmm... I can't come...I'm on a diet ~

I'll stay home, have...peace and quiet!

How thankful I am this year...

God comes close to catch each tear...

Here's The Tiny House

Stage Fright

Thirty plus years ago, I remember diligently studying the Kubler-Ross, Stages of Dying. People seem to like stages. They suggest a distinct time frame for a particular sequence of events and tend to provide an orderly progression that people can understand easily. Lots of things come in stages, like baby food, diapers, dating, marriage, pregnancy, relationships, and life. Somewhere along the way it was discovered that people who are dying go through stages too; and it would follow that those grieving a death would also go through some similar stages as well. The problem with death, dying, loss and grief is it is not orderly or uniform. It is very individual and "stages" do not allow for us to be human. The problem with stages for grieving is people want you to get through them as quickly as possible so discomfiture is limited for all concerned. Another problem with defined stages for grief is if you do not progress through the stages in the proper order and in a timely manner, people began to think something is seriously wrong and perhaps horror of all horrors; you have become "stuck" in your grief. These stages put a lot of pressure on a person to conform to these "expected" mile markers along the way. Fortunately in recent years, new research data and studies on grief and the people who are grieving have been forthcoming. (And I should say that after thirty years, it's about time!) It is now more widely accepted and understood that everyone does not need to go through any or all of these stages and there is certainly no proper order or time frame for a person to work through their grief.

Grief is a journey. There is no finite end point to grief that will result in the old you returning as if nothing ever happened. There is no magical formula that will "heal" a person who is grieving. There is no road map to "get over it" mountain or the "I'm all better now" resort.

Losing Nickolas has been the single most painful and devastating experience of my life. Why wouldn't I be forever changed by something this traumatic and horrible? Why must I work so hard to help people to understand that? This wound is invisible to others, but I am in a world of hurt every day. Can I die of a broken heart? How broken do I have to be? My grief is all I have right now. My grief is a tangible reminder that my sweet boy is gone FOREVER. Don't try to take it away from me. I won't allow my grief to be pigeon-holed into stages so everyone can breathe a sigh of relief when I am "done." I will never stop grieving for my son. So I guess I am stuck in my grief and I don't give a damn. I have all I can do to stay upright and keep putting one foot in front of the other. Call me angry and I'll deny it!

The Five Stages of Grief by Linda Pastan

The night I lost you
someone pointed me towards
the Five Stages of Grief
Go that way, they said,
it's easy, like learning to climb
stairs after the amputation.
And so I climbed.
Denial was first.
I sat down at breakfast
carefully setting the table
for two. I passed you the toast---
you sat there. I passed
you the paper---you hid
behind it.
Anger seemed so familiar.
I burned the toast, snatched
the paper and read the headlines myself.
But they mentioned your departure,
and so I moved on to
Bargaining. What could I exchange
for you? The silence
after storms? My typing fingers?
Before I could decide, Depression
came puffing up, a poor relation
its suitcase tied together
with string. In the suitcase
were bandages for the eyes
and bottles sleep. I slid
all the way down the stairs
feeling nothing.
And all the time Hope
flashed on and off
in detective neon.
Hope was a signpost pointing
straight in the air.
Hope was my uncle's middle name,
he died of it.
After a year I am still climbing, though my feet slip
on your stone face.
The treeline
has long since disappeared;
green is a color
I have forgotten.
But now I see what I am climbing
towards: Acceptance
written in capital letters,
a special headline:
Acceptance
its name is in lights.
I struggle on,
waving and shouting.
Below, my whole life spreads its surf,
all the landscapes I've ever known
or dreamed of. Below
a fish jumps: the pulse
in your neck.
Acceptance. I finally
reach it.
But something is wrong.
Grief is a circular staircase.
I have lost you.

With what a deep devotedness of woe
I wept thy absence - o'er and o'er again
Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain,
And memory, like a drop that, night and day,
Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!
~Thomas Moore

Scrumbled Blue

Scrumbled blue
A different hue
The color of my
missing you.

Like Andrew's song
Dark blue, dark blue.
My heart's been broken
Straight in two.

Poem bigD © 2010