Grieving Parent

Month: December 2010

  • The Blogroll From Hell

    The Blogroll From Hell

    I’ve built a lot of websites.

    One of the most important things for a website is links. It’s the life blood of the Internet. The search engines such as Google view links from other sites as votes for that site. The more links, the more votes, and the higher a site will be in the search results.

    So I’ve added an additional feature to the sidebar of this site. I call it the Blogroll From Hell. It has links to other sites. You’ll find it towards the bottom of the right-hand sidebar.

    Trust me, you don’t want a link there.

    Sites I link to in the Blogroll From Hell are blogs and websites of other grieving parents.

    There are only a few links now. As I become aware of other such sites I’ll add them in.

    I hope there are never any new ones to add.

  • Christmas Decorating at the Cemetery

    Christmas Decorating at the Cemetery

    This past weekend Debbie and I went to the cemetery with Christmas trees.

    Once again we took small, real trees. We plan to take them and plant them somewhere later. Hopefully we’ll retrieve them before they disappear this time.

    Richard's 2010 Christmas tree.
    Richard’s 2010 Christmas tree.

    Last year Debbie made strings of cranberries to put on the trees.

    Richard liked cranberries. Not that Jello looking stuff you plop out of a can, but the real deal. He and Debbie would cook up real cranberries in our big cast iron skillet. When he was young he liked to help stir the sugary berry mix and watch the cranberries pop. I think he was the only member of the family that really cared much for them – though the real thing was much better than the canned version. We had cranberries every Christmas because Richard wanted them.

    Debbie also thought the birds would like the fresh berries.

    Well the birds didn’t pay much attention to them, and Richard didn’t reach out and pluck any of them off the tree either. So this year she decided it wasn’t worth the work. She bought some strings of red beads and put them on the trees. There are also some small balls and ribbons.

    While we were there, we met another set of grieving parents, the Longs. Their son Michael Todd Long is one of Richard’s neighbors now. He died at the age of 15. That was about 13 years ago. They were there to decorate their son’s headstone.

    The Long's decorate the top of their son's stone.
    The Long’s decorate the top of their son’s stone.

    Like us, they have parents buried close by and will join their son there some day. She told me she wasn’t in any hurry to die, but she wasn’t afraid of it either, because she knew she’d get to she her son again when it happens.

    Exactly.

  • The Lost Christmas Eve

    The Lost Christmas Eve

    It may be a long night.

    I’m sitting here listening to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra album called “The Lost Christmas Eve.” I’m on the second repeat so far. There will probably be many more. When I get in these moods, I can listen to the same music over and over for hours.

    The lost Christmas Eve… the lost Christmas spirit. It’s now our life. Christmas has gone away.

    DO ANGELS KEEP THE DREAMS WE SEEK
    WHILE OUR HEARTS LIE BLEEDING?

    I remember Richard’s first Christmas. He was 4 months old. We put him on the floor in front of the Christmas tree. He would light up brighter than the bulbs on the tree, squeal with delight, and try with all his might to wriggle to that tree.

    As he was growing up he liked to crawl up under the tree, lie on his back and just lay there looking up through the branches at the lights.

    Richard always made sure the lights on the tree were plugged in. He wouldn’t let us vary much from our Christmas traditions and rituals. He loved it.

    AND THE TIME AND THE YEARS
    AND THE TEARS AND THE COST
    AND THE HOPES AND THE DREAMS
    OF EACH CHILD THAT IS LOST

    Last year we only turned on the lights a couple of times – when we put up the tree at Thanksgiving and again at Christmas.

    So far this year the tree is still in the box.

    SOMEWHERE IN THE DARK
    BEYOND ALL THE COLD
    THERE IS A CHILD
    THAT’S PART OF MY SOUL

    And now Christmas is lost. It’s buried in an oak box, under a couple of feet of earth. And I don’t know how to find it. And I sit in the wee hours of the morning riding the music, when I should be sleeping.

    THE LURE OF A DREAM
    AND I’M AFRAID TO WALK BACK THROUGH THAT DOOR
    TO FIND THAT I’VE AWAKENED

    I feel guilty because I can’t find Christmas. I still have a beautiful daughter. A great wife. A loving and supportive family. Friends that care.

    GOT TO GET BACK TO A REASON
    GOT TO GET BACK TO A REASON I ONCE KNEW

    And I know Richard has now reached the great promise of Christmas. That same promise tells us we’ll be with him again when the time is right.

    But that’s such a hard thought to hold onto.