Mother's Day Thoughts
That first Mother's Day after Raymond died was a dark day. I had not only lost my son, but, in losing him, I was no longer a mother. The telephone didn't ring; I felt very much alone. I let the tears fall and fell asleep lying on Raymond's bed.
While I was sleeping, a neighbor came by with a small pot of miniature white mums with a note attached...'Now everyone in heaven knows what a great mom you are.' That simple message liffted me, and I was able to smile.
Now, I don't think I'm a great mom. I am but a pretty good mom - and I'll always be Raymond's Mom, no matter what! Nothing can take that away. Rather simplistic, you say? Yes, but sometimes we need to think in simplistic terms to experience the joy hidden within the sorrow
Joanne, TCF-West Suburban/Cleveland,OH
Sometimes
Sometimes the anguish of my child's death is an echo of my heartbeat.
At other times, the longing for my child tears at my soul.
Always, the love for my child is a river flowing, pushing me ever onwards - through life.
Judith,TCF-Winnipeg, MT
Getting Better
My tears feel warm on my cheeks now...not burning hot. Is this a sign I'm "Getting Better?"
When I cry now, I am most often alone - in the car, or in the shower, or on a walk. I do not cry in public or feel as much panic. Is this a sign I'm "Getting Better?"
I sleep the night through sometimes and awaken without tears...for a while. They come now while I'm brushing my teeth...or making coffee...and are gone before I say "Good Morning." Is this a sign I'm "Getting Better?"
I am able to hug again...and laugh and read and eat. Is this a sign I'm "Getting Better?"
Yes, I think so...but when does the pain end? Perhaps when I no longer ask, is this a sign I'm "Getting Better?"
Shirley,TCF-Little Rock, AR
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To My Little Girl on Father's Day
We were basking in the joy of new parenthood when your doctor stepped into our room and softly told us you were having problems. Our pride was suddenly replaced with fear.
As we stood over you in NICU, I wanted to apologize to you; to explain why all these machines and needles were necessary. I felt so helpless! I am your Daddy, but there was nothing I could do to help you. It ws obvious that you were going to die.
Later, you slept in my arms, as I marveled at your perfect beauty. We listened to the soft little sighs you made with each exhale, "knowing" these were the only sounds we would ever hear from you.
As my tears fell on your cheeks, I kissed you good-bye, hugging your little lifeless body close to mine, and promised you would never be forgotten. For a short time, we babied you, then we handed you through a magic window, back into the arms of God.
After you died we mourned for the life that would never be - our little girl dreams. All the fantasies we had for our future together - your first words, the holidays and birthdays, your wedding day, the birth of your babies, your hugs and kisses. For nine months our perfect dreams were filled with you, but now, these too died and were buried with you.
One of the most important things I learned from you is that by sharing my grief with your mom, I became a stronger man. I've found it takes more courage to share my pain than keep it hidden. Neither one of us is feeling brave now, and I think your mom needs to see my tears more than my pretending your death didn't hurt more than anything in my life.
Every day I think of you. Especially today on Father's Day, while your sisters cuddle up close to me and say, "Happy Father's Day, Daddy. We love you."
I never heard you say those sweet words, but you will always be my precious little angel-child. I will hold you again in heaven, and I will hold you forever in my heart. We will love you and miss you always!
Paul, Linday Nicole's Dad
-TCF-South Central, KY
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