Another Devastion

To all of Dee Incollingo’s followers:

This message is from Dee’s husband Johnny. Dee passed away in the early morning hours on March 14, 2018. Dee fought a courageous but ultimately losing battle with cancer. Dee and I found about the cancer on 8/30/2016. At that point it was already classified at Stage IV having metastasized to Dee’s lumbar spine. Dee underwent radiation therapy and then a complete round of chemotherapy which ended on 4/7/17. Dee had been non-ambulatory without a walker since onset but enjoyed an all too brief respite from mid-July until December 2017. During this time, Dee was able to climb stairs, shop and eat at restaurants.  CT scans showed a cancer recurrence despite Dee’s physical improvement necessitating a second round of chemo. This treatment did not slow the cancer’s progression and a third chemo was tried. A week after the third round started, I had to take Dee into the hospital and almost immediately, doctors told me to prepare for the unthinkable. We took Dee home two weeks later and briefly utilized home hospice care. Dee did not appear to be in any discomfort during the last few days but I can’t know that for sure (I can only pray that God spared her that). I miss her more than words can say.

When Dee started her blog she had no idea she’d be so good at it. Reading her blogs was amazing to me as was the worldwide (yes worldwide) response. Dee was a truly unique person. My sole comfort in all this is that I know with all my faculties that she is now in the loving caress of our Amy.

 

Thanks to all of you for the reciprocal comfort you provided Dee.

I Don’t Know How You Do It

 

As the needle searched for a vein to produce one vial of blood, I winced in pain until the tech said “got it”. Guess by now, almost one year since my diagnoses, it should be easier, but its not because I have tiny veins. As she packed up my specimen to send to the lab, she paused and said “I don’t know how you do it.” After she exited my house, I burst into tears and cried to my husband “as IF I have a choice.” I did not choose to have cancer and I sure didn’t choose to lose my precious child four years ago. Four years! I still cry when I allow myself to really comprehend that brutal truth.

August is an awful month for my family. Amy’s death date and birthdate are 8 days apart during this month. Regardless of what I plan or do, these are two dates on the calendar that hurt like hell. Even the days leading up to those dates are difficult to manage. I have come to accept the August pain as part of my life now. My youngest brother also died in August on the same date I was diagnosed with cancer. August breaks my heart.

Over the course of the last four years countless people have said the same words –“I don’t know how you do it” OR “I am sorry”. By now I know others search for words when it comes to addressing my cancer and the death of my child. What would I say if I were in their shoes? Probably those same words so why do I get pissed off or resent their words when I am the recipient of those words now? Is it the look of pity I see in their eyes? I loathe pity yet I do feel sorry for myself at times for these horrific whammies which now rule my thoughts and heart as well as have forever changed my life.

Trust me it is hurtful some of the things even my dearest friends say; i.e., comparing any problem in their life to my life as a way of putting their issue in perspective. No big surprise that I always have the worst life so they can brush them self off and go on their merry way knowing it could be worse.

This past year battling cancer has been painful beyond words. Now I can speak first hand on the physical pain of cancer and the emotional pain of losing Amy. I felt like an alien after Amy died and now that I have cancer, well suffice to say my world has become more unrecognizable even to me.

There were the friends and family who showed up to support me after my dear Amy died and now an even larger group who have supported me during this past year. Most of these same people remain present even now. I lost all of my hair and almost 100 lbs. and they still loved me. If the love from family and friends could cure me, I would be back to physically living my life again as a grieving mother instead of turning my life and body over to the medical community. Thank goodness I now have a pixie head of hair and I am slowly putting some weight back on since I have an appetite again, but physically I still struggle.

There have been no life lessons that I wanted to learn related to losing Amy or getting very ill with cancer. I will always envy the complete families who have all of their children here on this side of the veil. I detest that we are living without Amy and I also detest that my family has watched me suffer. Dammit — life can be so cruel and unfair to some of us. Yet I have never ever wished to join Amy as my pull has been to be with my wonderful husband and children.

I beg you — should anyone read these ramblings, please do not post a comment of sympathy or mention you don’t know how I do it. Most of all, please don’t tell me to “stay strong”. What choice do I have but to remain strong because my kids are watching… They may not read my blog but they are definitely watching me. Even Amy. I struggle with referring to her as my guardian angel because it was my job to look after her and I am so sad that I have been robbed of that role. There is not a day that goes by that I do not ache for her.

Always remembering Amy.

What Happened to Me?

This week one of my best friends spent some time with me.  I admire this woman so much from her ability to think the best of me to her zest for life she has with her wonderful husband, who happens to be my good friend too.  As we revisited in conversation some of our happier times, I am reminded that life didnt always hurt this much.  This chapter of my life is dominated by losing my child and now cancer.  I cannot adjust to this type of world where my heart is so heavy and my future feels uncertain and scary.  How do you dance around these enormous elephants which sit on my chest?  I feel so unrelatable.   Yes, an alien among my own as others check in before returning to their what appears to me to be a normal life.

After losing Amy, I felt lost but now I feel as though I have lost all semblance of myself.   Chemo has taken a toll as I search for reasons to believe I can indeed survive. Why am I such a doubting Thomas?  My instincts want to warn me that after all I lost Amy which ultimately banished me from a warm and fuzzy comforting faith and trust which my world no longer provides.  The cancer has banished me even more into a solitary abyss.

Guilt sets in as soon as I write the word solitary.  My husband could have run for the hills but instead has been by my side every step of the way.  My dear sweet man whom I met almost 40 years ago.  Neither of us signed up for any of this.  One look into this man’s sad brown eyes tell his tale of what this has been like for him.  My heart is bursting with love and compassion for my Johnny.

Solitary doesnt begin to describe a woman whose two children have done everything and more to support and love me through this awful time.  My most precious prized role as mother … true or not, the way I feel is as though I am a fraction of the woman they call Mom.  My son and daughter were thrust into a role and life they do not deserve.  Wasnt losing their beloved sister enough?  But now they are my caretakers.  My son sleeps on the couch next to my bed a few nights a week to give his father a break.  My precious daughter tries to keep everything upbeat and picks up my slack whenever she can.  Both of my kids have demanding jobs and having a sick mom has to be a drain on their already taxed emotions.  As a mom, it is my job to bring them up not down.  I love my children with my entire heart.  I never ever kept any of that love in reserve.   My children own my heart and I wouldnt have it any other way.  Many people believe Amy is helping me from her side but I am not comfortable asking her for help or putting that responsibility on my child.

My mom, sisters and brothers all love and support me.  My sisters take care of me after chemo.  The 100 miles between us never stops them from rushing to my side.  I know it must be excruiating for them to see me in such a broken state.  It is humiliating what they have to do for me sometimes and I see the compasssion in their  eyes.  My mom is as sweet as a mom can be and I know she feels helpless to make it all better for me.  I feel the same helplessness with my children.

My friends who have stuck by me are beyond wonderful.  Some of the friends I counted on to be there are not.  When Amy died, I lost friends but its different losing them because I am sick.  Bailing on me after Amy’s sudden passing made me angry and hurt like hell.  Losing friends because I have cancer just makes me sad.  The first three months after my diagnosis is a complete fog but I now realize who is gone and I only have the energy to appreciate those who have stuck around.  My love and appreciation for those who choose to stick by me has taught me about true friendship.  I hope and pray I can reciprocate should they need me.

And lastly, there is my dog, Bailey.  A more devoted loyal being would be hard to find.

Currently, all of my relationships are lopsided because I need all of the loved ones I addressed in this post.  Thank you for sticking around with this lost soul. I love each and everyone of you.

What happened to me?  I still dont know what hit me.  Its the truth.  Nothing in this world prepared me for for this chapter in my life.

Always, always remembering my sweet beautiful lovely Amy Marie.  Oh how I miss you!

With love,

Dee

 

 

 

Super Bowl Sunday Will Never Be The Same

Super Bowl was a fun “family” day for our family.  During Super Bowl XX, I miscarried a baby when Amy was just shy of 7 months old.  Without going into detail, it wasnt until after Amy’s sudden passing that Amy introduced me to “Amanda” in a dream.  Yeah, Amy even told me her little sister’s name.  In my dream, Amanda was a mixture of one of my nieces and oldest daughter.  Only one other time did I see Amanda — this time in one of Dr. Weiss’s guided meditations.  (Believe it or not?   Doesnt matter because I am just grateful for the gift of that dream and meditation and the opportunity to meet my beautiful youngest child, Amanda, with her straight brown hair and brown eyes.  Thank you, Amy Marie.

My family of five loved watching the big game together while munching on all of our special snacks.  Once my older two moved out and it was just Amy at home, we ordered overpriced gourmet hoagies.  Now, my husband and I dont care what we eat.

Every single day finds me crying despite the many reminders that I need to keep my spirits up to fight this cancer but let me assure you that my tears come from my broken disenchanted heart and not from willful, intentional behavior.

Life goes on for everyone but my husband, my children and I.  How do I pretend otherwise?  Is that what is expected of me?  Pretend.

Some people may say I always struggled with anxiety.  Sure, I suffer from anxiety but i have always been able to dance around it.  Not any more.  Now a dark dingy pothole has opened up and swallowed me.  Thoughts just recycle in my brain which drag me down further.

As I keep saying, i do not know how to live without this vibrant beautiful clever daughter who I adored.  I am sorry that I did not get to know Amanda but glad that Amy intriduced her to me in the most unconventional way.

Cancer has not distracted me from mourning my Amy.  I pity the fool who believes that is possible.  I want to beat this cancer.  I want to be a mom to my kids, a wife to my husband, a daughter to my mother, a sister to my siblings,  an aunt to all of my nieces and nephews and possibly some day become a grandmother and a mother-in-law.  My promise is to put 100% just as I always have into these treasured relationships.  I adore those who are in my life — especially those who have shown me unconditional love and friendship.

I am writing on my blog bc I am so tired of defending my right to grieve and be depressed.  I am writing on my blog because I am lonely and feel so misunderstood.  I am writing on my blog because I am so depressed and sad all the while I realize I desperately need to count my blessings too.

I am writing on my blog tonight bc I need a place to dump my truth.

I am writing on my blog bc I am always remembering Amy and today I especially remember Amanda too.

Please pray for me and my family and for all of those who are living with a heavy heart due to child loss and the pain and suffering caused by cancer.

 

 

 

Afraid to be Hopeful

When my sweet Amy died suddenly on Aug. 4, 2013, I lost my faith.  That was a double loss since I was born with a blind faith which sustained me through most of my life.   To lose one of my precious ones after all I put into raising my kids and setting a good example feels like a punishment.  Fast forward three years of dealing with my heavy heart and what felt like a shunning from God, and I learn I have cancer.  No symptoms.  Totally blindsided again.  How cruel to match my emotional pain w/the physical pain of cancer.  Why?!? me again!?!   There is no answer AGAIN!  This latest attack has left me trapped in my drugged grief head and searching for a merciful Lord who will grant me more time with my husband, children and loved ones.

Praying remains difficult and awkward but I find it helps.  So many people, including strangers, are praying for me which makes me want to pray even more.  Asking Amy and her new friends on the other side of the veil for help is not easy either but when I light a candle for Amy and her friends, I do ask them to grant me many more years here on this side of the veil.

Many would assume I would want to join Amy, but my pull is to remain here because I have more work to do on this side.  Life can throw you in a deep dark tunnel of despair more than once regardless of how you live your life.  There are no guarantees or rewards for good behavior.

My last scan showed that the chemo is working.  In fact after first three chemos, my scan results were amazing.  Most people would think I would be estatic, but I am afraid to be hopeful.

One more chemo treatment to go … So if you pray, please pray for me. If you light a candle, I would appreciate that too.  There are miracles and why not me?.?  Does God or the universe owe me a miracle?  My rational mind knows that miracles are not earned any more than a guarantee given that if my husband and I are good parents that we get to keep all of our children.

Faith believes in miracles and provides hope.  Oh how I need my faith now as I am always, always missing, loving and remembering my Amy while I pray to be restored to a good physical health on this side of the veil.

Thank you to anyone who reads this post and decides to say a prayer or light a candle for me.   xo — Dee

 

 

Immunity Denied Again — This Time: Cancer

After a painful sleepless summer where I was misdiagnosed, I was finally blindsided by a diagnosis I never expected. Cancer. I debated during my lucid hours in September and October whether or not to share on my blog my newest challenge on this so-called “journey” in life. Do I have a responsibility to share this horrible what is just “news” to 95% of the people who read my postings? Is an explanation required if I never ever post again?  Obviously, I made a decision to share my news.

Fight, fight, fight — is what they all say.   If only it were that easy.  I can almost hear them whispering, “you know, no wonder she got sick; she lost a daughter and she could not get over her grief.” I resent that anyone would insinuate that Amy caused this cancer. It happens. But is it unreasonable to think that losing Amy would have excused me from cancer? Well, it didn’t. Now I am back to the “thoughts and prayers” and “I am sorry” texts. Again, I am in the victim role. And here we go again … Poor Dee, she lost her daughter and now 3 years later she has cancer. If you are thinking that — well I agree.

I am not willing or able to share the details of this horribly painful health crisis I find myself sucked into. Here I am again isolated from the general population and being held hostage under circumstances which are out of my control. Simple tasks are no longer simple. Chemo is horrible but part of the fight. For those who have gone through this battle, once again there are no words to explain the physical pain it causes along with the psychological pain and frustration when your body betrays you.

Babies and children are not excused and I now have a new intimate understanding of this disease as well as a new understanding of that six letter word. There was a time when the word cancer was just a scary word, but now it rules my life. How dare this happen after I have suffered the worst thing that could happen? But just like child loss, cancer does not discriminate.  Seriously, God? Universe? Why?

This time there have been life lessons. Once again, you find out what you mean to others. I have learned that I am loved. That I know for sure. I find myself asking others whether they are supporting me because they think I am going to die or if they want to help me to live. I need Team Recovery supporters and cannot stress how much I need to believe I can beat this because I have learned I am not ready to join my precious Amy. How cruel to steal my daughter and then find myself living inside of another nightmare? How dare my family have to watch me suffer and live in fear that our small family will shrink again. Its not fair. Life isnt fair.

I am angry, sick, and tired. Chemo is as horrible as I have heard but couldn’t truly imagine. Radiation is no picnic either. Losing your hair steals the last sense you have of yourself. So you are forced to muster up the courage to look in the mirror to put on your “cute” scarf. People try to reassure you that you look just fine but you see the difference and it ain’t pretty.  I am so darn tired but Team Recovery wants me to push, push, push while my body screams rest, rest rest.

People are kind, thoughtful and generous to people who have this horrific disease. Well, at least MY people have been kind to me. Cancer takes a toll on relationships. Roles change. Resentment brews. Depression sets in. Responsibilities are overloaded and you quickly learn the true meaning of the vows you take — for better or for worse.

Hello! Who wouldn’t be depressed if they had cancer? Why would anyone question why I am so sad? And totally overwhelmed! However, I am also so grateful to every single person who has supported me in whatever way they could. I never spent one night alone in the hospital and I must have had over 50 visitors during the 3 different hospital/rehab stays and continue to have countless visitors, gifts and food at home.  We are so blessed to have the precious family and friends supporting us.  I cant say that enough!

After reading this post, please don’t comment about how sorry you are … or leave me with the thoughts and prayers pity phrase. Prayers are welcome! Light a candle for me. Light a candle or say a prayer for Amy. It goes without saying that this sucks and you feel sorry for me.  I feel sorry for me.

As we enter the most wonderful time of the year, I am once again so grateful to those who have showed up and supported me in so many loving ways these past 3 years, but how am I to manage being a bereaved Mom with cancer during this holiday season. I dont know how to be a Mom who lost a child and now one who is also battling cancer. Just so happens I have 2 chemo treatments (each 6 hour sessions) in December.  Joy to the world.

I will write again when my energy permits. In the meantime, I am battling cancer and appreciate your prayers that I can beat this and will be granted more time to spend with my loved ones on this side of the veil.  Please join my Team Recovery by saying a prayer for me. I feel the angel hugs from my Amy who reassured  my heart she is doing just fine without me. That knowledge does not make me miss her less or make her death ok. I still want her back. I will always want her here with me.

Please pray for me while I am fighting this hideous disease and always loving and missing my Amy.

 

The Invisible Wound

Those of us who have lost a child carry an invisible wound which we realize most of our loved ones and friends are not capable of viewing or comprehending. The wound is raw, bleeds frequently and yes, at times it is ugly.  The world is unable to capture a photo of this deep painful wound so truly no one is prepared to witness the depth of child loss and come back for a second look.  Seems since they cannot fix it, it is just easier to stay away from this unrecognizable pain.

In many cases, their offer to help is like the offer to help when you are moving … Hoping you won’t call.  Carrying on a friendship with a grieving parent requires stepping way outside of your comfort zone as you helplessly watch the devastation of what losing a child does to your friend.  I lost a dear friend because I was too screwed up to support her in the way she deserved.  She wrote me off very easily as well as the rest of my family.  I imagine she even wrote off Amy.  Now that is cruel.

And then there is the “everything happens for a reason” bullshit line that people say.  Seriously?  What are you smoking to say that to a parent who lost a child?  Hello!?! We are not talking about getting fired from a job and landing a better job or getting dumped by a cheating boyfriend?

How many of your loved ones and friends have written you off because they do not know what to do with this grieving parent with the dead eyes and the apathetic disposition.   Indeed, they assume your new disconnected behavior must be willful and its best to just leave you alone.  What they dont realize is that all of the wires in us have short circuited and we have no idea how to reconnect with ourselves let alone those around us.

Clearly, the means of support is impersonal as it comes in the form of an email or text message.  What happened to picking up the phone?  Or coming for a visit?  Luckily, I do have a few friends, my sisters and Mom who support me personally rather than electronically.  How did we evolve into electronic relationships?  That is not friendship.  Sad, but true.  People do not have time for people.  Many times they are too busy trying to fix rather than just listen.  No griever requires 24/7 support.  And as time goes on, their needs change as true lonliness sinks in.  It is beyond lonely living here without one’s child.

When I exited that hospital on that beautiful Sunday morning, I was transformed into an alien because nothing and no one looked the same.  My life as I knew it was now over and I was helpless to do anything other than get into autopilot mode to make “arrangements.”  Make arrangements for my 27 year old precious youngest child while a voice inside of me was screaming no, no, no.   Yet we do what we must because that is what parents do for their children.  We take care of them whether they are alive or dead.  I stood next to Amy’s coffin accepting condolenses for many hours.  Protecting her in my own mother’s way yet what the hell was I protecting her from?  I asked the funeral director’s son to please leave a light on for Amy that night before the funeral mass because Amy was afraid of the dark and he assured me he would.

I could not shed my mother role and just hand her over to God.  Why were so many people trying to reassure me she was in a better place now?  How did they know?  Did they watch her go there?  Had they been there themselves.  Which one of their loved ones would they like to send to that better place?  Just crap people say.  I probably said the same crap but I promise I would never utter those words in any out of order death.  None of those words gave me solace; I just wanted Amy to wake up and come home with me.

Three years later my veil between my grief and my public mask is transparent.  I am who I am now.  Amy’s death has changed me and dont look for my book on how losing my child has enlightend me or made me into a better person.  I still do not know how to gracefully live without Amy.  I still love others but part of me is still so shattered that I probably am not capable of loving with a full heart yet.

August is a devastating month for me and I share these thoughts as a means to release them.  I write all of my posts as a means to release the words oozing from my invisible wound.  Hopefully September will be kinder than August… Or maybe not.  The world has no problem kicking you when you are already down.  Immunity from further pain and heartache is never guaranteed regardless of what you already endured.

It goes without saying that I hope it wont always be this way.  Time will tell.

Always, always  remembering my Amy.

 

 

 

The Death House

Amy collapsed and died in our home, the home that she loved dearly.  Often she would comment on how much she enjoyed living here and prior to Devastation Day (DD) so did I.  But DD sucked the peace and joy right out of our home.  This once upon a time house does not feel like a home since Amy died yet my wonderful husband will not consider moving (yet).  He truly does everything he can to keep both inside and outside our home in good condition and he is still able to find comfort here.  However, it feels to me as though my home should be draped in black.

We had discussed that I need to change everything around here in order to continue living here.  We remodeled the bedroom but it now definitely has become a shrine to Amy.  A bookcase complete with all of my personal Amy treasures along with thoughtful gifts given to me in honor of losing my youngest child.  There are photos galore scattered all over the room; all which serve as a reminder that Amy died.  Suddenly my pretty bedroom turned into a torture chamber for me.

My living room has little shrines all over the place.  It has become impossible for me to sit and relax without this house screaming Amy died.  I didn’t even realize how Amy’s death had overshadowed my peace here until last Friday which was Amy’s birthday.  I was crying to my oldest wise beautiful daughter about how difficult it was to live here when she looked around and said:  Is all of THIS helping?  Without batting an eye, I responded NO.  Suddenly I took inventory and noticed how overwhelming it was to have reminders of who is no longer here.

While I am not trying to pack my Amy stuff up as a means to end my heavy grief, living in an Amy Death Shrine is not helpful now.  I need to surround myself with joyful reminders of Amy; not the sad pings that keep me in such deep despair.

My dear friend sent me the most lovely lifelike photo of Amy in a hummingbird frame.  It comforts me to see her big beautiful smile and I find myself talking to that photo and kissing it.  I keep that along with a beautiful candle and crystal hummingbird (also gifts from bereaved Moms) in my room.  This is helpful.  However, the sad death poems and death trinkets — some which contain Amy’s birthday and death date do not help me.  While the intentions were beautiful, the reality is too much now.  No one other than those of us who live with child loss will ever realize how complicated our lives are without a child.

Every day on the other side of my personal devastation day torments my mind and heart.  Its important to stay aware of what is no longer helping.  Support groups stopped helping my husband and I one year ago.  As the newly bereaved join the groups, from where I am in my timeline of grief, I have nothing hopeful to say to reassure them.  They have indeed landed into a living hell.  It’s a life sentence and it will be many years until the grief releases them into a better functioning state.  Or so I have heard.  I wouldn’t know because that has not happened in my life yet.

Talking about how devastated I am in a therapy session just makes me sadder.  What else can I say and how many times can I say it?  I have worked hard through my grief in numerous ways and for now, releasing my feelings on my blog is all I am capable of doing.  Many of my friends and family stopped reading my blog posts which at one time offended me but now allows me the freedom to write my heart without the fear of worrying or hurting someone else.

This has been the summer from hell.  I hurt my back in mid-June and still in pain.  Struggling to sleep has caught up with me and I am exhausted but mostly I am exhausted from living 3 years without my youngest child whom I miss from deepest part of my heart and soul.

Three years have not healed me.  I am still grieving my Amy and as I attempt to take the death pings out of my home, I am always, always remembering Amy.  I don’t need all of the memorial keepsakes to remind me who is no longer here.  My broken heart reminds me each and every single day.

 

Happy Birthday Amy!

Amy came into the world at 11:53 pm on August 12, 1985.  The minute I held her in my arms for the first time, her beautiful eyes were wide open looking right back at me.  She didn’t cry; just looked around as though she was re-acclimating herself.  Many have told me Amy was a very old soul.

I had gone into labor at the doctor’s office and remember how I tried to patiently wait for the receptionist to call me back but the pains were so steady and frequent that instead I decided to let her know I was in labor.  Wow — did things move quickly after that …

My husband was at a nearby Pizza Hut with our two older children and again I had to patiently wait for them to return to pick me up.  Imagine his surprise when I told him we had to drop the kids off at his mother’s and head to the hospital.  Labor was quick and uneventful and in only a few hours I was cuddling my new 8 lb., 7 oz. beautiful bundle of joy.

Amy and I were only in the hospital for two nights.  The night before we came home, I remember hearing a woman screaming down the hall.  When the nurse brought Amy to me for a feeding, I asked about the woman and was told that she was laboring to give birth to a stillborn baby.  While holding Amy close to my heart, I cried and prayed for that woman and thanked God for my baby.  Even now, I still think of that mother.

I will never understand the painful challenges and experiences some of us are forced to endure.  Life lessons?  No.  That’s just a cop out way to shine a silver lining on tragedy.  I remember in the early weeks after Amy’s sudden death actually thinking while I was crying, “why me?” and then continuing the thought with an answer of “why not me?”  Trust me I didn’t stick with that school of thought for long.  There are times I wonder what I ever did to the universe to justify losing my child?  There is no justification for why some of us deal with the tragic losses of out of order deaths.  There is no life lesson to be learned in the midst of tragedy.  Living without a loved one hurts like hell and forever changes our lives.  That’s the reality, not the lesson and tomorrow will be heartbreaking for me as I am not far enough along that the memories won’t hurt.  What mother wants her child to be an angel in heaven instead of here?!?

What I HAVE learned is that the soul survives the body and their beautiful energy continues.  That is not a lesson as I could easily escape this lifetime without this enlightment if it meant I could keep my Amy here.

I recently found this poem which I posted before … If only I could truly allow these words to sink into my broken heart because there is a part of me which believes.  I HAVE to believe….

Death is Nothing at All

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we are still.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
With the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.

All is well.

— Henry Scott Holland

Happy Birthday Amy!  I miss you so much … time will never ever change that!  I must believe that I will see you again, my sweet child.  Love never dies.  I love you, Amy.

 

 

This Will Never Be Okay!

Despite reading numerous books, attending numerous support groups and pouring my honest heart out in counseling for most of the last three years, I have come to the conclusion I am not wired to lose my child.

Of course I realize I am not the only mother to have one of their children die, but if I am honest and I usually am, it truly does feel as though I am the only mother who is drowning in this living hell.  Oh I am so sick of the disclaimers I am expected to add about how happy I am for others as they skip merrily along unscaithed.  Yeah, yeah, no one is granted immunity.  Blah blah.  Quite frankly, it still hurts to witness happy.  That has not changed in three years nor have I wished anyone I know to carry this heavy cross of child loss.

Friday is Amy’s birthday.  Her birthday gift which I bought prior to my devastation day, August 4, 2013 remains in the Amazon box. I cannot bring myself to touch that unopened box because it screams my reality that my Amy died 8 days before her birthday.  WTF!!!!

You know what?  I really don’t care if I am the only blogger, which I know I am not, ranting three years later about how devastated I remain that my youngest child died.  Trust me that I have tried everything to move through this but at the end of the day, Amy is still dead and that will never be okay.  Nope.  It is totally unacceptable.

Going to the cemetery to make sure her grave reflects someone who was here and loved will never get easier.  Sometimes I just sit in the car and weep.  Many times I refuse to look at her lonely name.  My beautiful sweet girl has dates on both sides of that hyphen.  My family tree hurts.

Forever in our hearts is written on the tombstone as well as on a marker in our memorial garden in our yard.  That memorial garden does not give me peace.  Instead its a tragic reminder of this horrible chapter in my life and not of my Amy who loved to sit in our peaceful back yard.  Amy loved our gardens and one day she brought me a garden stone which reads:  “Mom, I know God loves me because He gave me you.”  Now that stone sits in her memorial garden.  What would I do if it ever breaks or cracks?  The treasures and memories are all we have left. Blah blah blah to that too because I will always want my girl back and never ever get used to Amy being a “memory.”

As shattered as I feel inside, I will always be grateful that Amy graced my life.  And if I knew how it would end, I wouldn’t trade a minute of her precious short life in order to save me a lifetime of this horrible pain.  I may not be wired to be a bereaved mother, but I assure you I was wired perfectly to be Amy’s Mom.  Death can not change that I am Amy’s Forever Mom and she will always be my Amy, forever in my broken heart.

Always remembering Amy.