A Grief Expressed
The Deep Grief Of A Mother Who Has Lost Her Child
MAY 2013. I have already written a little bit about losing my daughter last November to cystic fibrosis - scattered words here and here and here, and bursts of emotion now lost and hidden among random other things on my Facebook timeline - but I want to write more, much more, though I am not sure I have the emotional strength.
She is never far from my thoughts. There is always an ache in my heart.
I still cannot believe she is really gone.
Photo by Ryan Myer. All rights reserved.
Pain And Love Beyond Words
She was only 25. I want to write about her. I want to write about her last days on earth. There was such profound love and beauty in those days - and a heart-horror that I am not sure I can describe.
My friend Charlene tells me that if I write it, she will read every single word. The first week, Charlene sat beside me on my couch, my living room still filled with plastic "patient belongings" bags from the hospital, a fluffy plush creature on the coffee table that was a get well gift to Caety from another friend, cards, and flowers; and she listened as I told her everything that had happened: Caety's last words, hugs, and breaths, and moments so raw and painful that no one should ever have to speak of or hear.
Charlene and I have a sacred bond, for she lost her teenage son three years before. She too knows the unfathomable loss of a child.
So I will write if I can, because I don't want to lose the memories. In January, I wrote a poem about that very thing; I will share it with you now.
Preparing To Write About It
(A Poem)
Soon I must go to the dark below,
Recover those days before the haze
Of time and mind and life prevent,
Transcribe them one by one with pen
Then let my child go again.
Sharing My Sorrow With The World
I will come back here to write more. My Facebook friends have graciously, patiently, and compassionately read and responded to many emotionally graphic status updates over the past few months. That means so much to me. They are not looking away (!) from something that must also feel painful for them to read. Sometimes I wonder if it seems obscene to some. If so, they have lovingly withheld verbalizing that thought, and I am grateful.
I will probably move some of those Facebook posts here so I can keep them all together.
One thing that seems so strange to me is how my heart keeps finding things to feel passionately grateful for in this darkest time of my entire life, a time that holds no promise of even ever improving. How do intense pain and gratitude share such close quarters in my heart?
A Grief Observed - C. S. Lewis (Caety's Favorite Author)
Precious Gift, Profound Grief - A Father Ponders The Possible Loss Of A Child
"If the universe granted me a single wish, it would be that when I die old, my daughter will yet live. But the universe makes no such promises. There is only this: the knowledge that parenting is a privilege, a gift not granted fairly to all. The awfulness, the horror of losing a child, is only possible if you have somehow been fortunate enough to become a parent in the first place." ~ David Valdes Greenwood
- When Children Die First: A Meditation on the Unthinkable - ParentDish
This article by Greenwood is the most comforting thing I have read at this point. A father ponders deeply and compassionately what it would mean to lose a child as he holds his own daughter close after the death of his friend's child. It is written w
Thank you for reading. I would love for you to "sign the guestbook" and to return to read more as my heart allows me to share.
I read about your tragic loss on another writing site we share. I will again express my deep sympathy. I cannot imagine loosing a child or grandchild. Your poor heart is still broken, I am sure.
I'm so happy to have "found you" here, my friend. Love, Mary
Losing a child is possibly the worst pain ever but my experience of reincarnation exposes the fact that we return to life. We live and die and return. It also states that in the Old Testament where the potter reshapes and reworks us until perfection is found. Your lovely daughter was handicapped and then set free to return in a new body unhindered by disease. You are probably coming to terms with it now and my love goes out to you for your pain, which will probably never go away completely. Be inspired and look beyond religious teachings for answers. Hugs
- AUTHOR
@Wednesday-Elf: Thank you. <3
I'm so, so sorry. Judging by the photo, your daughter was beautiful and you look so happy together. May that image stay in your heart and mind forever.
I'm so sorry for your loss. It's good that you can write about it. It will help you remember all the details that tend to fog over with time.
I can't imagine how deeply you grieve. I believe that loosing a child has to be the most heart rending experience there is. I hope that in writing and sharing your sorrow you are able to absorb the strength we, your readers, send to you.
I'm so very sorry you lost your daughter to this horrible disease. This must be so hard for you, I can't even imagine how hard that is to lose a child. It is good that you share about it and express yourself, all the emotions, etc. It helps, I'm sure about that. Thank you for sharing what you wrote so far. Take care!
- AUTHOR
@janfran_50: I'm sorry about your loss as well. Thank you for your kind comments. <3
Thank you for sharing your heart. Though I lost a child at 8 months of age, I can't see myself ever having the courage you have shown in writing about your daughter. Much love and peace.
Thank you for sharing. I am so sorry for your loss and I admire your strength. Wishing you comfort and peace.
Indeed it is quite a difficult topic to write about, so thank you for sharing.
Very well written on an important and difficult topic. Thank you for sharing.
- AUTHOR
@anonymous: Thank you for your kind words, Camilo. I am very sorry for your family's loss too. <3
Dear Melanie, Internet is like a pandora box never know what is going to happen, I was reading about bass guitars in a blog, and I saw a comment about your son playing bass (I do play bass too, and thought you looked like a cool mom) so somehow I entered your blog, and eventually this blog entry....first of all let me tell you that I am sorry for your loss, and I can somehow understand your grief, because my sister passed away three years ago because of a brain tumor at age 21 (previously she had other types of cancer) and I think that what I've seen in my mother since then relates to what you've written. In fact, I wonder if you both could even have a good relationship (considering she speaks no english whatsoever, and we are a world appart...and she is a cool mom too!!) perhaps this makes no sense, but it somehow tells you that you are not alone in a situation like yours, and that situation repeats a lot in the world (just like for us here in Colombia).
Melanie,
I'm sitting here with my daughter, home from college now, and I cannot even begin to imagine a day without her. I often think of you and Caety because of all you have shared. It gives me a lot to think about and reminds me how much I should enjoy the moments. Thanks for trusting that your readers hear your words.
What a beautiful way to work your way through the grief. I have a profound admiration for you right now and I sincerely look foreword to coming back and learning more.<>
What a beautiful article. We lost my sister to an accident in 1989 when she was only 36. She left behind 3 young children - we though we'd never go on. But, the loss of your daughter was different. I'm so glad you have friend to help you through this very dark time. I cannot heal your heart but I can bless this article.
What a beautiful article. We lost my sister to an accident in 1989 when she was only 36. She left behind 3 young children - we though we'd never go on. But, the loss of your daughter was different. I'm so glad you have friend to help you through this very dark time. I cannot heal your heart but I can bless this article.
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