Pack 51

If Their Song Is To Continue

"If their song is to continue, then we must do the singing." We have to find that special way that will allow us to sing our loved one’s song loud and clear . . . Knowing you are doing something to keep your loved one's memory alive keeps you passionately busy, allows you to tell your sacred story, adds joy to your heart, brings an array of beautiful, loving people into your life, and rewards you with a meaningful life again. Your loud voice will echo in many hearts making sure your loved one is never erased from memory.

A Breeze Will Blow...

By Lyndie Pavalon formerly Sorenson

Another day on the horizon
Bright sunshine will light the sky
A breeze will blow across my skin
As my angel passes by

I love when you come visit
Leave that special sign for me
A rainbow sent from heaven...
butterflies that soar so free

Your spirit does surrounds me
You are close... but yet so far
This difficult life journey
Has left me here with such a scar

Tears that meet my mornings...
each day as I do wake
A mask I place upon my face
To hide this deep heartache

I was left behind with sorrow...
A love that transcends time or space
A wish for my sweet angel
For your gentle warm embrace

As the day drifts on towards night
Bright stars will light the sky
A breeze will blow across my skin
As my angel says good-bye

The Words Of The Uninitiated

The Words of the Uninitiated.
It's something we all encounter,
To a greater or lesser degree.
Some people who never lost a child,
Think they know better than me.
It is the scourge that can plague us,
When your child is forever gone.
'I know you won't get over it,
But you have to start to move on'. 
It's words like these that cut us,
And make us feel that we're wrong,
How dare they make assumptions,
That I am grieving too long.
'You need to get out and get moving,
It will do you good in the end'
How can they utter such platitudes
And still think they're a friend?
The worst one for me is comparison,
They think they have walked in my shoes.
They say they have lost a relative,
But a child is different to lose.
How can I explain what it feels like? 
How your life is so ripped apart.
How your heart wants to cease to function,
How every new day feels as bad as the start.
I know they don't mean to hurt us, 
They're wanting to help make us whole,
But when a part of your life is missing,
What's left is a huge hole in your soul
Yvonne Rhodes. 

Who Mat Was

Mat was funny and sweet and handsome and wonderful!
Mat was smart and clever.
Mat was someone you could call your friend and know that it was so!
Mat would do anything for a friend, sometimes that would get him into
some trouble, he felt it was worth it.
Mat was someone who thrived off of human relationships and bonds, someone
whose family was everything to him.
Mat was a perfectionist, what may have brought about his demise.
Mat loved music and SHOES, and American Eagle, and worn out jeans.
Mat loved learning about anything and everything. Mat loved to draw
and read a good Stephan King book on occasion.
Mat was kind and gentle and sweet.
Mat was a wonderful son who made us, his parents, proud beyond measure
on countless and numerous occasions.
Mat was a ladies man, and he was a romantic. He loved to buy pretty
things for his girl.
Mat was an exceptional human being, never again will he walk this earth
among us, and this earth is changed because of the decision that he made.
One night, in just a few moments, a few hours, his decision impacted the lives
of hundreds of people.
Because of a decision to end his life, countless others are now empty and without
his great and perfect love. Without his smile and his sweetness. Without him!
Mat may have been a million things, he may have been someone great or
should I say greater than who he was to us. An Einstein, an Edison, we will never know.
And that is my point exactly, we will never, ever know!

A Year Later

Am I different now?
Sometimes it seems that way--
That I have only one identity:
A mother who has lost a child.
Do others think of me that way, too?
The pain has seared my very soul
And left scars on my psyche.
Do they show?
Do strangers mark me as one who mourns?
I do sometimes laugh now,
But I never truly forget.
I remember HIS laughter
And wish I could hear it once more.
I feel guilty whenever I forget for even an instant
That he is gone and will never come back.
But my heart goes on beating
And my lungs go on breathing
And the days go on passing,
One by one.
I begin to take small pleasures,
Just baby steps at first--
Sights or sounds or colors or tastes.
But soon I am running again
And sometimes I even feel joy.
Then I remember
What joy HE always found in life,
And then I don't feel guilty any more.
I can almost see him smile
As I finally learn this lesson!
  Mat~ always in my heart where you started~ ~forever the brightest star in my sky~
                           ~as long as I have a breath left in me, my beloved,  I promise to keep you alive! Mama

Jenn Bostic "Jealous Of The Angels" (Lyrics Video)

jessica Andrews - you will never be forgotten lyrics.avi

Jo Dee Messina - If Heaven Was Needing A Hero

Loving you forever Mat!







Mama!

The Fray - Be Still (Lyrics)

Damien Rice - Sleep don't weep

Evanescence- My Last Breath Lyrics

If You Could Only Imagine

You say it's time for me to "move on" in my grief. Perhaps you're 
right or perhaps you just don't realize what you're asking. So, why 
don't you try this little exercise and maybe it will help you get a 
better perspective on what I am going through. 

To make this really hit home for you it should be practiced for at 
least 24 hours; the longer the better. Don't blow this off as a 
stupid idea. It works along the same lines as blindfolding yourself 
to experience being without sight. 

First of all, think about your child. Now imagine that child is gone. 
Whatever age or stage of development, whether he or she lives with 
you or not, 
just imagine you won't ever see that child on earth again. Call all 
your family and friends and tell them your child died. 

Next, go to a funeral home and discuss caskets, markers, burial 
plots, etc. Pick out a favorite outfit for your child to be buried 
in. Sit down and write out the obituary for the newspaper. Get in the 
floor or closet and cry until there are no more tears. Then repeat 
until you think you're losing your mind. 

If you made it through that part you are ready for the next step. 

During all of this remember, the world hasn't stopped. If you have a 
job, you will have to return to it. The power company and everyone 
else still wants their payment each month. You may have doctor's 
bills, ambulance bills, and attorney fees if an accident was 
involved. If your child died at the hands of another, there will be a 
trial and publicity. 

If you were blessed to have other children, you will have to deal 
with their grief as well as your own. They will still have homework, 
tests, reports, projects and the class bully. 

Next comes the "firsts". Birthday, anniversary of death, Christmas, 
etc.When everyone is singing tra-la-la and jingle bells, you won't 
be. Your heart will be too heavy. The hurt will be so intense you 
will marvel if you can get out of bed each morning. Every morning 
when you take your other children to school you'll be reminded that 
you AREN'T taking one too. You'll see their friends going on with 
their lives and it will cut you to the quick. When they all graduate 
from kindergarten, middle school, etc., your child won't. 
When you start getting wedding invitations in the mail for these 
other children, you'll be reminded again of your loss. 

Don't forget that when you go shopping you'll see things that you 
wanted to buy for your deceased child. You'll see places the two of 
you USED to go. 

At home when you prepare a favorite meal of the child who is gone, it 
won't taste the same to you. The pictures, cards they made for you or 
sent you, toys and other possessions of your baby will be both 
harmful and helpful. They are a link to the past, a way to remember 
more about what you've lost and at the same time they are a link to 
the past and a way to remember more about what you've lost. 

Funny, huh? That family portrait you were always so proud of? Well, 
it will take on a whole new meaning now. 

Didn't mean to ask too much of you. Believe it or not I could write 
dozens of other things for you to imagine. Fortunately for you, it's 
only an exercise. I live it every day. 

IF you have the guts to stick it out - this little experiment - 
Congratulations. I don't think you will be so quick to utter those 
words now. Not if you really did imagine. 

Suicide Prevention: A Mother Speaks Out

I have posted this before as I am again. I believe Barbara has a wealth of information. Very thankful I have been blessed to hear her talk!

I Am a Survivor

It has been almost a year, one that feels as if it is an eternity. My sorrow has not lightened, my heartbreak is just as sharp. The pain and memories still are as they were then, they have not turned to smiles when I think of you my darling. Only longing in my heart for you and an ache in my soul that is beyond words and explanation. My love has not changed it remains as true and strong as the day I first saw your eyes for the very first time. I cannot imagine the years to come, will it ever go away? I think there is an answer to that question, NO NEVER! Never my sweet son. I have never read anything as close to how I feel everyday as this. Years from now I am sure I will look back and this again will have evolved. What is in these words will change a thousand times throughout my life. I can only hold on to my memories, they are all I have!

         I am a Survivor. I am the Mother of a Suicide. 
My child killed himself, and that fact is always just under the surface of
everything else that exists.

Please be patient with me. Though it has been nearly a year, I am not the
same person I was, I doubt what I ever was, and what I am now is still
evolving. While I can look and sound quite regular, I am not.

If I had a broken leg, you would allow me some time to heal but yet accept
me when I tried to return to normal life. You would hold the door open for
me,
walk a little more slowly to be with me, and still give me credit for sense
even as the regular things I used to accomplish had now become strained and
awkward.

I have a broken heart. I never anticipated this, never prepared for this.
My
"cast," my support and protection while I mend, is your friendship and
understanding. Daily I find new ways to live and survive, but everything is
different, strained, evolving. I need you to recognize this. I need your
help in lots of little ways.

The brain is a mysterious thing as it tries to heal the heart. I focus on
forgetting, and it works too well. I forget where I set my keys, my shoes,
my purse.

I forget your name, what we discussed last, what day it is, where I
left your phone number or address, whatever appointments I made. I forget
to
cook, to eat, to tuck the tag into the back of my shirt or check the mirror
before
I leave. I am embarrassed. I try to focus on remembering, and I remember
too
well. My mind wanders while I am trying to listen to you.

Our friendship or our conversation reminds me of something he said or
something funny that happened to him, or the scent of the Autumn air
reminds
me of the last season I spent with him. Your sons and your children and
your
daily
joys conflict me--I was once there where you are, or maybe I would have
been, if only... I feel guilty for short-shifting our friendship, after all
you have
done for me.

Everything has changed. I am disabled but healing. My purse and briefcase
have been traded for a backpack to give me a measure of security over
misplacing them.

My keys are now tied to a string around my neck (when I can find them). My
freezer is full of quick frozen meals that I can whip up as effortlessly as
possible, if I have the energy to shop for them. I rely on medications to
shore up my thin veneer and keep me positive and almost normal-looking.
Sometimes I forget them, too.

Don't be afraid to ask me about or comment on what you see; I need your
perspective on anything, everything, my friend, because I am re-learning to
trust my own judgment again. Once I was confident. I learned too late that
my
love
for my child, something I took for granted as simple and sacred and strong,
was not strong enough to hold him in the world I brought him into, and this
loss
has shattered the very foundation of everything I've ever believed in.

I need to talk about what happened-I like it when you care enough to ask.
Don't be afraid you will say the wrong thing, and especially, don't become
anxious or uncomfortable if your tenderness or the memory of my child makes
me teary.

This is simply the rain on the roses, and it will pass. If I am ever to
bloom again, this is as important as the sun, which does come through these
clouds more often as the months go by. You are helping me heal.

I need to feel good. It's a struggle sometimes. When I begin to enjoy
myself, it is quickly interrupted by guilt.
"how dare I laugh again when my baby is dead?"
"have I forgotten him so quickly that I can feel happy again so soon?"
"maybe I didn't REALLY love him enough, and that's what REALLY killed
him..."

These tapes are deadly. These thoughts are a downward spiral. Help me drown
out those painful voices by reassuring me that life is for the living and I
deserve to live again. Remind me to have fun. Let me laugh with you and
forget for a moment.

You will know when I am ready to talk. A genuine, "how are you doing?" will
bring one of two responses. If you get a quick, "great, fine, how are you?"
then probably I really am, and let's keep going from there.

Please. If you get a quiet, furtive, "fine, thank you." then I am probably
NOT fine. Asking "what can I do for you?" does not help. It will probably
bring
"nothing-really-thanks anyway."

Here is what I really need: Encourage me. Listen to me. Do small normal
things for me that I may be too absorbed to do for myself. Help me care for
my family. bring dinner. Drop by and feed my cat. Drop by and bring me
lunch,
or tea, or chocolate (lots of chocolate) or share an evening with me just
visiting.
Ignore the state of my house when you arrive-it mirrors the state of my
life. Water my plants.

Lend a hand where you can. Get somebody to mow my lawn or rake my leaves or
offer to drive the kids to their appointments. Remind me of my
appointments.
Cover for me if I am not where I should be and then go looking for me. Ask
me out, take me out, get me out.

Let's go do normal things, like shopping or
folding laundry at your house or going to a meeting together or hot-tubbing
on a Saturday night. Help me rediscover the satisfaction and even joy that
everyday
life brings. Believe me, I am acutely aware that every moment is precious.

Check in with my children-they are hurting, too. Encourage them to talk and
heal. Pizza and an ear helps. Help me keep an eye on them when they are out
of my sight. Feel free to be a friend or to "parent" them, too. They are
just
as disoriented as I am. They are also at risk. They are survivors who have
lost
both their sibling and the stability of a home they once knew.

Treat us like any other survivor of a fatal illness, always living in a
tentative, strange remission between the lost past and the ever present
fearful new possibility that another child, another someone we love will
shock us again.

We are not contagious, except for that first excruciatingly painful moment
when it dawns on you that this could happen to your child or someone you
love, too.

Treat us just as you would a cancer survivor over the long term, with
respect, support, tolerance; expecting and riding through setbacks yet
forging ahead to make every day just a little bit more pleasant.

Our Angel died only once. Survivors of suicide die a 1000 deaths. William
Shakespeare once described: "Grief fills up the room of my absent child,
Lies
in his bed, Walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, Repeats
his
words."

Macbeth left brave advice: "Give sorrow words. grief has need to speak,
lest
whisper o'er the fraught heart and bid it break." My grief has need to
speak, and each time I am fortunate enough to be allowed to talk and share
or
speak
to help spare someone else this sorrow, I gain a renewed strength that
heals
my heart. I am honored that somehow Grace gives me a voice to explain all
this.

Daily I am reclaiming some bit of treasure from this tragedy, and my broken
heart mends just a bit more. Please bear with me.

Written by Holland, Mother of Nicholas

I Am So Alone

I am so alone in this darkness,

I don't know what to do!

I am so lost my darling, 

So very lost without you. 

I am going through the motions,

each and every day. 

I count down every

second that you've been gone away.

I wander through this life now, I no longer

feel this is home!

How does a mother live through 

the breaking of her heart?

How does one recover from a pain

no one should bare?

Move on, remember to breath they 

say, Oh just go away! 

You do not know of this sadness,

and God I pray you never will!

My heart it has stopped beating,

and my soul forever changed. 

My angel he's in Heaven, but dammit

he isn't here with me.

You cannot comfort me!

My only comfort lies, 

a million miles away.

There are no words now, that can bring

him home tonight.

Neither will there be as long as I am 

alive.

So bring me home to him Dear Lord,

bring me to his side. 

As long as I'm alive Dear Lord, I feel 

we're only wasting time!

Take me home Dear Lord, my babies

missing me.

Love you forever sweet darling, missing you every
single second of every single day!
Mama

GENTLE BOYS

This one's for the gentle boy
Who wrestles with his pain,
His easy-bruising, tender heart,
And ever-active brain.

He feels much more than others do,
And tries real hard to hide,
With laughter or bravado,
The gentle boy inside.

With wit and style and artifice
His secret's kept so well.
Who dreams the brave facade you see
Conceals some private Hell?

Meanwhile, the brutes live on and on
Their unexamined lives.
The low, the clueless, and the cruel,
The sluggish idiots thrive.

To fill the world with empty talk
And greed and hate and noise,
To breed, carouse, and make life Hell
For all the gentle boys.

Some gentle boys grow heartsick
And so tired of this charade.
They blow themselves right off the Earth,
Or fight, then fail, then fade.

If you should love a gentle boy
There's little you can do.
If he decides his time has come,
He'll leave the Earth and you.

He cannot see that if he goes
You'll never fill that space.
You'll spend your whole life searching
For that laugh, those eyes, that face.

How can the gentle boy not know
You love him beyond death,
You'd help him any way you could,
Unto your dying breath?

Someday when justice reigns on earth
We all will greet, with joy
A world where it won't hurt so much
To be a gentle boy. 

by Mary Withers in memory of her son William

~~ GRIEF ~~ by Joanetta Hende

Don't tell me that you understand
Don't tell me that you know.
Don't tell me that I will survive,
How I will surely grow.

Don't tell me this is just a test,
That I am truly blessed,
That I am chosen for this task,
Apart from all the rest.

Don't come at me with answers
That can only come from me,
Don't tell me how my grief will pass
That I will soon be free.

Don't stand in pious judgment
Of the bounds I must untie,
Don't tell me how to suffer,
And don't tell me how to cry.

My life is filled with selfishness,
My pain is all I see,
But I need you, I need your love,
Unconditionally.

Accept me in my ups and downs,
I need someone to share,
Just hold my hand and let me cry,
And say, "My friend, I care."

Suicide and People That Call It "Selfish"

  There's no questioning that suicide is catastrophic. It's absolutely incomprehensible to me and most others that a person would feel so terrible, so trapped, so desolate that she would want to end her own life.
Yet, it seems every time the topic of suicide comes up, someone attacks suicide victims by calling them "selfish." I've heard it in real life; I've read it in articles; I've seen it on Facebook. But this attitude is disgusting and abhorrent, and completely misunderstands what it means to be suicidal.
According to a poll conducted in May 2013 by Gallup, only 16 percent of the country finds suicide to be "morally acceptable." But the moral acceptability is not an issue. Suicide is the tragic, distressing result of severe mental illness. By definition, it takes lives. We don't question the moral acceptability of other often fatal diseases such as cancer; we accept that they're awful and terrible and search for ways to cure and prevent them. We certainly don't attack cancer victims for getting sick. Suicide should be looked at in the same way -- we shouldn't be arguing the justifiability of the victim's actions or the ethics of ending one's own life -- we should be looking for ways to stop it.
  But every time a suicide occurs, some little self-assured voice is going to attack the victim. The same victim who felt inadequate enough to end his or her own life. The same victim who found solace in death. The same victim who assumed the world would be better off without them. This smug character will go out of his way to insult a suicide victim, calling them "selfish," and "attention-seeking," asserting that "everyone faces obstacles, they should have sucked it up like the rest of us." I've seen it happen countless times.
  What kind of arrogant, insensitive mindset causes a person to believe that he knows what is going on in a suicide victim's head, to assume because that he sometimes feels sad, he knows what it's like to actually want to kill himself? It's a baffling attitude. A person just died because that seemed like a better option than living. I really can't, and no non-suicidal person can, imagine feeling that completely hopeless and worthless and out of options.
   I've felt sad before, yes. I've felt bad about myself before, yes. But I haven't actively wanted to die, so why should I pretend to know what that's like? I've had the flu before, too, yet I don't know what cancer is like.
   I'm tired of the victim blaming that makes light of one of the most tragic and upsetting scenarios imaginable. This attitude is shameful and does absolutely nothing to prevent suicides in the future; it merely diminishes mental illness and disrespects the deceased.