An Open Letter

It's not my job to hold your hand and help you through my grief.

It's not my job to consider your feeling while I grieve. 

It's not my job to make you feel comfortable after I've lost my child.

My grief doesn't end when yours does.

My pain doesn't go away when yours does.

My life doesn't go back to "normal" like yours does.

I won't ever go back to being the person I was before my great loss.

You... You will move on quickly.

Your life will continue just as it once did.

You'll have days,

Weeks,

Months,

Maybe even years where you won't even think about it.

You will be whole again.

I will hurt long after your pain has ended.

I will mourn long after you've moved on.

There will always be a huge piece of my heart missing.

I will never be the same as I was before.

Because my world was flipped off its axes.

I won't be able to see the world as I once did.

I won't be able to do the things I once did.

I won't enjoy the things I once did.

The sun doesn't shine as bright.

Ice cream doesn't taste so sweet.

The cold isn't as cold as it once was.

I can't help you understand how I feel.

I'm confused and don't know up from down.

It's not my job to help you through your grief.

It's yours to help me.

And if you don't want to that's fine.

I don't have the energy to reach out to anyone anyway.

I'm tired.

I'm always tired.

I'm sad.

And I'm angry.

And I'm just really really sad.

I can't think of you while I struggle to live each day.

I can't help you when all I can do is cry.

I can't be the friend that you need me to be.

You have to be one for me.

You shouldn't stay away because it's hard for you.

It's harder on me.

The person you thought you knew died with my child.

It's a major life change to comprehend.

It's a major life change to live.

You can spout all the stereotypical lines you want  but they won't help me.

Be gentle on me for my heart is broken. 

** I wrote this as a grieving mother speaking to those who have not lost a child. It's to no one in particular, yet to everyone. I'm still struggling with my words, spoken and written. I find I fumble more than I succeed. I'm struggling always. Life will never be the same without my son. I will never be the same.  

   

 

April 26 2016

(April 26,2015)

 

I did something today that I haven't done since my son was alive.

I volunteered in his preschool class.

...

...

...

 

You may not recognize it,

but that was HUGE.

 

Every time I had to go in there,

I'd go in before the kids got there.

Then I would sneak out before they all arrived.

 

(April 26 2014)

 

I was scared.

I was nervous.

I was a wreck.

 

There are so many emotions.

 

I saw how far these kids have come.

The two little girls who wouldn't even talk,

and when they did it was Spanish,

they giggled,

laughed,

said hi,

and they talked a lot.

In perfect English.

 

Most the kids got really excited to see me.

Most of the hugged me.

One little boy wrapped his arms around me as I read to them.

He kept saying "I'm hugging you",

and refused to let go.

Several little girls latched onto my arms while in lines.

I had a kid attached to me almost the entire time.

And when they weren't attached,

they followed me around.

 

(April 26 2014)

 

I sat there and watched their morning routine.

I smiled.

I wanted to cry.

I could feel Liam there.

His square sat empty,

but I could feel him there,

participating in everything they were going.

 

I wanted him to be there.

I needed him to be there.

 

I thought maybe if this was a nightmare,

this would be the time I'd wake up.

When I'd look up and see him sitting there in class.

 

But it wasn't a nightmare.

I wasn't asleep.

This was just more reinforcement that this is my reality.

Not a reality I want,

but mine all the same.

 

I know it's not going to change.

I know I won't wake up from this.

I know it's not a nightmare.

But I can't help those little slivers of hope that work their way into my heart.

 

(April 26 2014)

 

I watched as these kids learned.

As they laughed.

As they showed us how far they've come.

I was proud of them.

And I had wondered how far Liam would have come,

if he was still here.

 

It's a parents worst nightmare.

Loosing a child.

Then trying to live without them.

A nightmare I've been so scared I might have to live for so very long now.

I've been scared since my first pregnancy when I miscarried.

I was terrified from the day Liam was born.

I let my guard down in his last 5 months.

I let myself believe he was out of the woods.

I let myself believe that the worst was over.

 

I always say "if I'd only  known".

There are so many things I would have done if I'd only known.

So many things I would have changed.

But I didn't get to know.

 

Why can't we choose our own journeys?

Why can't we go back and change things?

Why can't we have what our hearts truly want?

 

Because that's not how life works.

 

If only that sentence alone could change everything.

How we feel.

How we act.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Bright Light

 

Because life is confusing.

It's not perfect.

It's not pretty.

It's ugly and cruel.

 

Except for those little glimpses of light within the darkness.

 

Liam.

My bright light.

My happiness.

My reason.

 

And now it's all gone.

I'm left with only the memories of my bright light.

 

Both my children gave reason to my life in their own way.

 

 

 

Lanie was my rainbow baby after a miscarriage.

I had wanted to be a mom so badly,

and was devastated after the miscarriage.

Lanie brought back my happiness.

 

She was the little girl who wore bows,

smiled for the camera,

and wore dresses to play in the mud.

 

Her imagination trumped all others.

She was the little girl who made huge messes.

 

 

She changed me.

I loved (and still love) her with all my heart.

 

But there was still something missing.

My little boy.

My little lamb.

 

 

His birth wasn't ideal.

His health far from perfect.

But he was my perfect little boy.

 

My little boy who loved his cats.

And his dogs.

His cars.

Football.

NASCAR.

 

 

He was the missing piece.

The missing link.

And I needed him.

 

He was the little boy I always wanted.

And now he's gone.

 

The bond we shared is unlike any other.

Unlike the bond I share with my daughter.

I'd like to think that bond could never be broken.

Even though he's in Heaven.

 

Though his life brought us a lot of heartache.

A lot of stress.

He brought that bright light.

 

Even though he is in Heaven,

his light will still shine in my heart.

In my memories.

 

I know that right now I'm grieving,

but one day my heart will open up again.

Until then I grasp at the small moments of bright light that reach my broken heart.

The light that shines through my daughter,

and through the memories of my son.