I cannot recall the last night I slept. Was there one? I cannot remember anymore so really I don't think I would know. I see everything differently, unfortunately it's not as I should. I have become angry. Angry at life, angry at God, angry at times with you. I made a memorial site for you and I have found a mother that described exactly what I feel. I hope if she reads this as one grieving mother to another I am only displaying this because I couldn't have described how I actually feel as well any better! Thank you Harley Walls mamma!:
A MOTHER'S HOPE
I hoped it was a mistake.
I hoped he would come back.
I hoped for acceptance.
I hoped for peace.
I hoped this feeling would go away.
I hoped for reprieve.
When my so died, I hoped it was a mistake...it was not
I hoped it was a dream...it was not.
Before my son died, I hoped for enough time in the day to clean my home, provide my family with clean laundry, taxi service and healthy meals. I loved dinner time with my family. After my son died I didn't know what day it was. Cleaning our home or doing laundry were things I no longer thought of.
I did not cook; I did not shop for food; I did not eat.
I hoped he would come back...he did not. I hoped I would gain understanding...I did not. I couldn't understand how I could wake up on a perfectly normal morning, and my Son was gone from his room, gone from our home and gone from our lives.
I hoped for acceptance...I found none. I hoped those around me would understand me...they did not. How could they understand me? My Son was dead. They could not have any way to understand unless they had also lost a child. How could my beautiful,vibrant,healthy Son be gone?
I hoped for peace...I had none. I hoped for sleep...I had none.
I hoped for courage to resume my daily life...my life was out of control. The only thing I was sure of in the early days of my grief was that our lives would never be the same again. I had hoped this empty feeling would go away...it did not.
I had hoped that some day my family would be normal again...we were not. I hoped I could stop looking for our son in every young man I saw that was tall, a little chunky and had brown hair...I could not.
I hoped that I could become the parent to my surviving children that I knew they deserved...I could not. I knew how much they were hurting, but I could not help myself and I could not help my children. My younger Son need my comfort,my only Daughter needed my comfort. I was their Mother but their was no comfort in me to give.
I hoped I could be a wife to my husband...I could not.
I never hope for laughter. How could I laugh when my Son was dead?
I hoped the feelings that consumed me every waking moment would somehow change so I would not feel as though I could never again be in a public place without crying.
We all have a future; we have memories. No matter how long our children were part of our lives, we have memories.
When my Son was a baby,a toddler,a young child,a teenager and young man, I watched over him. I thought I could watch over him for my entire life. But I was wrong. I hope with all my Heart that now he is watching over me.
I know my joy will never change every time I think of my Son, share a memory with someone or look at pictures of him. My hope as a Mother is that we all will find peace and cherish the joy our children have brought to our lives.
Written by a grieving Mother
I hoped he would come back.
I hoped for acceptance.
I hoped for peace.
I hoped this feeling would go away.
I hoped for reprieve.
When my so died, I hoped it was a mistake...it was not
I hoped it was a dream...it was not.
Before my son died, I hoped for enough time in the day to clean my home, provide my family with clean laundry, taxi service and healthy meals. I loved dinner time with my family. After my son died I didn't know what day it was. Cleaning our home or doing laundry were things I no longer thought of.
I did not cook; I did not shop for food; I did not eat.
I hoped he would come back...he did not. I hoped I would gain understanding...I did not. I couldn't understand how I could wake up on a perfectly normal morning, and my Son was gone from his room, gone from our home and gone from our lives.
I hoped for acceptance...I found none. I hoped those around me would understand me...they did not. How could they understand me? My Son was dead. They could not have any way to understand unless they had also lost a child. How could my beautiful,vibrant,healthy Son be gone?
I hoped for peace...I had none. I hoped for sleep...I had none.
I hoped for courage to resume my daily life...my life was out of control. The only thing I was sure of in the early days of my grief was that our lives would never be the same again. I had hoped this empty feeling would go away...it did not.
I had hoped that some day my family would be normal again...we were not. I hoped I could stop looking for our son in every young man I saw that was tall, a little chunky and had brown hair...I could not.
I hoped that I could become the parent to my surviving children that I knew they deserved...I could not. I knew how much they were hurting, but I could not help myself and I could not help my children. My younger Son need my comfort,my only Daughter needed my comfort. I was their Mother but their was no comfort in me to give.
I hoped I could be a wife to my husband...I could not.
I never hope for laughter. How could I laugh when my Son was dead?
I hoped the feelings that consumed me every waking moment would somehow change so I would not feel as though I could never again be in a public place without crying.
We all have a future; we have memories. No matter how long our children were part of our lives, we have memories.
When my Son was a baby,a toddler,a young child,a teenager and young man, I watched over him. I thought I could watch over him for my entire life. But I was wrong. I hope with all my Heart that now he is watching over me.
I know my joy will never change every time I think of my Son, share a memory with someone or look at pictures of him. My hope as a Mother is that we all will find peace and cherish the joy our children have brought to our lives.
Written by a grieving Mother
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