Grieving Parent

Tag: Grieving

  • Christmas Morning 2009

    Christmas Morning 2009

    Dear Richard,

    It’s Christmas.

    You’re not here. It’s not the same without you.

    No country ham. We did have bacon, nice and crispy but not burnt.

    Sarah passed out the gifts. You weren’t sitting cross-legged on the floor to get yours. Your stocking was empty. Unless you count all the thoughts of love that we sent out to you.

    It was a nice morning – sort of.

    Not as nice as the twenty-two Christmas mornings that we had you here with us.

    And we didn’t go to the farm. Your uncle Stuart had to have back surgery a week ago and he can’t travel much. So we went to his house this time. You probably would have enjoyed it, even though you don’t like to change our traditions. They have a pool table and Foosball.  There was a lot of heated compitition – just the way you like it.

    Merry Christmas son.

    We miss you.

    Love,
    Dad

  • A Christmas Letter to God

    A Christmas Letter to God

    Dear God,

    I hope this letter finds you well. How are things in heaven? I hope all is going well. I guess they’d have to be pretty good, or they wouldn’t call it heaven would they?

    Down here on earth they say you are all knowing and all powerful. That you never screw up. In fact they say you’re infallible, because, well you’re God and all that.

    But there’s another thing they say a lot down here, “There’s a first time for everything.”

    I think you’ve made your first screw up.  I mean, can we talk?

    It’s about this grieving parent gig you’ve set up for us.

    I’ve been trying real hard for better than six months now, but I have to tell you God, this just isn’t working out. I’m just not cut out for this line of work. And I don’t think Debbie is either.

    You know how she is about Christmas. Heck, you’ve seen her through the years. You know how she always turns on the Christmas tree lights every night. It’s part of her daily routine during the Christmas season.

    Well I don’t have to tell you God, but we put the tree up at Thanksgiving; while Sarah was here. And the lights were turned on that couple of days she was with us. But now that Sarah is back in Texas, do you know that Debbie hasn’t plugged in the lights once? You know that just isn’t like her at all.

    And I’ve been trying to use the tools you gave me to handle this job. Sarah, that incredible, beautiful daughter you sent us, is really into positive psychology. She sent me a book called Strengths Quest that included a big test that let me discover my five core strengths. It kind of unlocks the way you made my brain function so I can use it better.

    According to the test results my core strengths are Learner, Intellection, Belief, Achiever and Analytical.

    Well I’ve been trying hard to learn the ropes here. I’ve got this big pile of books. One’s about grief. Others about life after death. I have to tell you God, that Learner strength has sure cost me a lot of money in books and courses down through my lifetime. But anyway, I’ve been trying to learn all about this grieving parent thing.

    And that Intellection strength – you know the one that says I like to think about stuff and work on problems? Well I’ve really kicked that into high gear. I don’t think about much of anything else but this grieving parent job and Richard. It’s like I have this 24/7 Grief TV cable channel wired directly into my head. It plays all the time. I try to turn the sound down sometime so I can think about something else, you know like the job I get paid to do or talking to someone, but I can’t ever seem to turn it off. It’s always there in the background.

    And the Analytical think is really a pain. When it kicks in, it just keeps coming up with all these “why didn’t you do this” and “you should have done that” kind of thoughts. Going back over all the things I should have done to keep this from happening to Richard. And that doesn’t seem very helpful. I mean, it’s too damn late now, you know? I just try to not let Analytical join in much.

    And Achiever is just lost. That part of my brain is looking for a goal, somewhere to aim all this mental and emotional effort. But what am I aiming for? Happiness? That went away with Richard. Can’t ever get that back. There only appears to be a hollow shell of happiness available to us now. And Achiever doesn’t find that a very exciting target to shoot for.

    And the Belief strength. It’s taken a beating here. First there is that core value of family. We just lost a big chunk of the family. I still love the parts that are left, that’s certain. But I feel like a big part of my soul is gone now.

    And of course at the top of the Belief thing is you.

    But I have to be honest with you here God, I was pretty pissed at you when you took Richard away. I’ve been trying to give you the benefit of the doubt and all. I mean I know I’m just a lowly person and don’t know your master plan. And I do believe you have one and everything happens in this world for a reason – your reason. But can’t you give a bit of a clue? I mean how hard is it to send an angel down to explain this to us?

    That Clarence guy from It’s a Wonderful Life, I liked him. Send him down. Or better yet, you’ve got Farrah Fawcett up there now. I mean, she was an Angel down here on earth, so she’d be a natural. Send her down to explain. I’d like talking to her.

    Or send Richard back to talk to us about it. I’ve read in some of the books I mentioned above, that when people leave the earth and move to the spirit world, they can come back and visit. I’ve read lot’s of accounts of it. But I haven’t heard a word from our son. What’s with that?

    Anyway, I think it is very obvious that we just aren’t cut out for this grieving parent thing.

    I know it’s hard to admit a mistake. But really, what were you thinkng?

    But the good news is you’re God. You can fix it!

    So just send Richard back. No harm no foul. You don’t even have to reimburse us for the funeral expenses.

    You could really help me out of a jam if you could get this done for Christmas. It would make a great gift for Debbie and I’ve just not been able to think much about what to get her for Christmas. Don’t seem to have the emotional energy to shop for gifts this year.

    So with that I’ll close this letter. Merry Christmas.

    Sincerely,
    Joe

  • Precious Child by Karen Taylor-Good

    Precious Child by Karen Taylor-Good

    We will be attending the Worldwide Candle Lighting tomorrow.  On the web page about this event there is a video. It features the song Precious Child by Karen Taylor-Good. The song grabbed me. It’s beautiful and amazing. I found a video on YouTube that just has the song – no info about the Candle Lighting.

    Warning – if you’ve lost a child, this video will make you cry. Sometime you just need to cry. Here is the perfect mood music for the occasion.

    The lyrics say it all.

    In my dreams, you are alive and well
    Precious child, precious child
    In my mind, I see you clear as a bell
    Precious child, precious child

    In my soul, there is a hole
    That can never be filled
    But in my heart, there is hope
    ‘Cause you are with me still

    In my heart, you live on
    Always there never gone
    Precious child, you left too soon
    Tho’ it may be true that we’re apart
    You will live forever… in my heart

    In my plans, I was the first to leave
    Precious child, precious child
    But in this world, I was left here to grieve
    Precious child, my precious child

    In my soul, there is a hole
    That can never be filled
    But in my heart there is hope
    And you are with me still

    In my heart you live on
    Always there, never gone
    Precious child, you left too soon,
    Tho’ it may be true that we’re apart
    You will live forever… in my heart

    God knows I want to hold you,
    See you, touch you
    And maybe there’s a heaven
    And someday I will again
    Please know you are not forgotten until then

    In my heart you live on
    Always there never gone
    Precious child, you left too soon
    Tho’ it may be true that we’re apart
    You will live forever… in my heart

    You can get a CD single from The Compassionate Friends website. You can download a free mp3 of the song from Karen Taylor-Good’s website.

  • The Trees Fall

    The Trees Fall

    We’ve had our house for more than 25 years.  There is a huge maple tree beside the house. It’s not in very good shape. We’ve feared it would come crashing down on the house. For most of the 25 years we’ve been here, there’ve been plans to have that tree – and others – cut down.

    But every time we got the money together to get it done, something would come up. Something that required money. Usually something having to do with school. One of the kids would need books, or extra fees and tuition. Or one of their cars would need work or new tires. It was always something.

    And the big maple tree kept standing.

    The tree cutting crew is in our yard this morning. We are having 5 trees removed.

    It’s sad to see them go – they’ve been like part of the family for more than 2 decades.

    But it’s saddest to see them go because the only reason there is money to have this done is because Richard died.

    There are no tuition payments. No rent for his apartment. I know he won’t be coming along next month with a list of books he needs for class. If a car breaks down we have several spares.

    It’s nice having a little extra money.

    I’d rather have my kid back.

  • Emotional Tug-of-War

    Emotional Tug-of-War

    Last week was a bad week.

    Maybe it was because the holidays are getting near- Thanksgiving is this week, Christmas just around the corner. Maybe it’s because they’ve been advertising the benefits of generic drugs at work – but they left out the dead kid benefit part of the story.

    It could also be today is the six month anniversary of the day Richard died. Yeah, I know it says May 28 on his tombstone, but I know he really died on the 23rd. Half a year ago.

    I have this continuing tug-of-war between my brain and my heart.

    On the day Richard died, a Saturday, we were at my dad’s farm having a celebration for my niece Hannah. She had just graduated from college. Richard wasn’t there because he had to work that night. Well, we thought he wasn’t there because he had to work. He really wasn’t there because he was dead. But we weren’t expecting him.

    He told his mom the day before, he was going to try to get home on Sunday.

    Late that evening I went out and sat on the big side porch on the farm house. I sent Richard a text message asking if he was going to make it home. I didn’t get a reply. I remember sitting there, looking out at the stars, and having an uneasy feeling.

    My heart was saying, “He didn’t answer, there may be something wrong.”

    My brain replied, “You’re always worried about there being something wrong. You’re just being a paranoid parent again. Knock it off.”

    As the week progressed this little back and forth continued between my heart and my brain.

    My heart somehow knew something bad had happened. My mind refused to believe it.

    As the week wore on my heart got more worried. My brain tried to comfort my heart by telling it, “You worry too much. You know Richard would be pissed if you go bugging him because you’re worried.”

    Then I got the call from the coroner.

    When my brain heard “Feyette County Coroner’s Office” on the phone, it instantly knew – “Richard is dead. There’s no fixing this, he’s gone.”

    But my heart said, “No way. There’s no way that happened. There has to be a big mistake.”

    At the funeral home my brain said, “His gone. He’s in that oak box and we have to get it together and take care of him one last time.”

    Heart said, “Oh no, we’re not playing that game. We’ve never seen him you know. Who knows, he may not even be in there. There’s no way Richard is dead.”

    On visits to Richard’s grave brain would say, “OK Richard this isn’t funny. Get out of there. Come on, give me your hand and I’ll pull you out of there right now.”

    And my heart tried so hard to drag Richard back up out of that hole in the ground.

    But my brain knew that wasn’t going to happen.

    And still my heart doesn’t believe this can be real. It’s still waiting for my brain to wake up and end this really bad dream.

    And now my brain looks at the time, and it thinks six months is a long time, and still my heart isn’t believing this and is still broken and suffering.

    And my brain wonders how it will ever be able to get my heart through possibly decades of this sorrow and pain.

    And I don’t know the answer to that question.