Friday, January 29, 2010

6 Months

Another day...another milestone...

Can it really be half a year since our world turned upside down?? Half a year sounds so long, yet often it feels like just yesterday that I held Noah, or heard his infectious giggle, or picked up the tupperware off the floor for the millionth time. I'm sure some days I still here Noah dragging his pumps across the floor.

A couple of weeks ago another boy we met at the Oley Conference lost his battle. I was able to attend his service online (thank God for the wonders of the internet). At the service someone talked about the image they had of that young man standing at heaven's gates, and dropping his backpack (his TPN backpack that was such a part of him), leaving it behind at the gate as he entered heaven. I love to think of Noah doing the same. Knowing that he no longer needs those things does bring some comfort. Kailyn decided there must be quite a pile of backpacks there already.

Someone asked me when the pain of this intense grief becomes manageable. It made me stop and think. And I realized that, yes, somewhere in this time, the pain has become more manageable. No, I don't miss him any less, the pain will always, always be there, and many days the aching of my empty arms is still so very intense. But I am slowly finding ways to put one foot in front of the put meaning to it begin to figure out how to live this new life without my son.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Bedtime Prayers

"Dear God, I pray that Noah's having a good time in heaven..."

Joshua's bedtime prayer, every single night.

Monday, January 11, 2010

New Year's Resolutions


I Resolve:

That I will grieve as much and for as long as I feel like grieving, and that I will not let others put a time table on my grief.

That I will grieve in whatever way I feel like grieving, and I will ignore those who try to tell me what I should or should not be feeling and how I should or should not be behaving.

That I will cry whenever and wherever I feel like crying, and that I will not hold back my tears just because someone else feels I should be "brave" or "getting better" or "healing by now."

That I will talk about my child as often as I want to, and that I will not let others turn me off just because they can't deal with their own feelings.

That I will not expect family and friends to know how I feel, understanding that one who has not lost a child cannot possibly know how I feel.

That I will not blame myself for my child's death, and I will constantly remind myself that I did the best job of parenting I could possibly have done. But when feelings of guilt are overwhelming, I will remind myself that this is a normal part of the grief process and it will pass.

That I will not be afraid or ashamed to seek professional help if I feel it is necessary.

That I will commune with my child at least once a day in whatever way feels comfortable and natural to me, and that I won't feel compelled to explain this communion to others or to justify or even discuss it with them.

I will keep the truth in my heart--the truth that my child is always with me in spirit.

That I will try to eat, sleep, and exercise every day in order to give my body strength it will need to help me cope with my grief.

To know that I am not losing my mind and I will remind myself that loss of memory, feelings of disorientation, lack of energy, and a sense of vulnerability are all a normal part of the grief process.

To know that I will heal, even though it will take a long time.

To let myself heal and not feel guilty about not feeling better sooner.

To remind myself that the grief process is circuitous--that is, I will not make steady upward progress. And when I find myself slipping back into the old moods of despair and depression, I will tell myself that "slipping backward" is also a normal part of the mourning process, and that these moods, too, will pass.

To try to be happy about something for some part of every day, knowing that at first, I may have to force myself to think cheerful thoughts so eventually they can become a habit.

That I will reach out at times and try to help someone else, knowing that helping others will help me to get over my depression.

That even though my child is dead, I will opt for life, knowing that is what my child would want me to do.

~From the Brooksville/Spring Hill FL. TCF Newsletter

Saturday, January 02, 2010

Goodbye 2009

It's been a difficult year to let go of...

moving on into 2010...

a year that holds no memories of Noah...a year without my sunny boy.

I'd much rather hang onto 2009...the good, the bad and the ugly...

for 2009 knows my son.