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From: Daisy on 26 Jul 2008 11:12
I, like yourself fall apart from time to time, and my husband is there for
me as well. It's so hard to lose anyone that you've loved all their lives I
understand what you are going through...now I'm off to visit your website :)

--
Daisy
"MelMenzies" <author(a)melmenzies.co.uk> wrote in message
news:734b0076-4d1d-4929-a88c-3dd5fd95d940(a)s50g2000hsb.googlegroups.com...
> Thank you Daisy. I thought I was okay yesterday morning. But my
> youngest daughter rang me - full of excitement because
> was icing two cakes for her twins fourth birthday party. She said
> she'd forgotten how much pleasure she had from doing something
> creative like this. Yes, I said. It's part of the joy of being a
> mother isn't it. 'You only had one cake to do,' she said, ruefully.
> 'No, I had three,' I replied. 'But not all at the same time.'
> She realised immediately what she'd said. It just slipped out - I
> know that - because my daughters are very caring compassionate
> people. But when I came off the phone, I just howled my eyes out.
> That little conversation on the phone had sent me back, in my
> imagination, to when my middle daughter was a little thing - long
> before she died. And you just feel all that pain again. The life
> she's missed out on. The pleasure of companionship, mother and
> daughter, that you've both missed out on.
> My husband knew instantly what was up. He just puts his arms around
> me and strokes me and doesn't need to say anything. Thanks again for
> understanding. My poem's up now on my website if you want to see it.
> Love Mel www.melmenzies.co.uk


From: Liliana on 26 Jul 2008 20:04
On Jul 24, 11:46 pm, Noon Cat Nick <chatdemidiSPAMBEG...(a)hotmail.com>
wrote:
> http://loraleeslooneytunes.com/2007/11/29/her/
>
> I visited my son's grave today.
>
> There was no special reason. No holiday or anniversary. No family or
> friends that live far away who wanted to pay their respects. I was just
> driving and saw the snow on the ground and wanted to check on my son,
> clean up his grave, and remove the decorations that I put up for Autumn.
>
> Matthew is buried in a beautiful spot. We put him next to family, a
> cousin of Jonathan's that was killed in a car crash with his grandmother
> when she was only 19. It makes me feel better that his cousin is close
> by. I will be buried near him, but not next to him because that space
> was occupied, which makes me very sad.
>
> It used to make me angry.
>
> The grave right next to my son is occupied by what they call a "Pauper
> grave". Meaning, that the plot was donated and the family doesn't have
> the resources for a headstone. There is a metal marker that has an index
> card with typing on it. The womans name has been obliterated. All I know
> is that death occurred in July of 1998 and that she was only 41 at the
> time of passing.
>
> In the four years since my Little Bug has passed, my feelings about
> "Her" have changed. It"s still hard to know that this stranger gets a
> place that I yearn to have, but instead of being angry, I began to be
> curious about this neighbor of my son. Who was she? What was she like?
> Did she have any family?
>
> It's hard not to think about "Her" when I visit the cemetery. She makes
> her presence known. That marker is quite close to Bug's headstone and
> has very sharp corners. I don’t think that there has been a gathering
> there where someone's pants, legs or coat don't get ripped on the edges
> of that sharp, cold metal.
>
> I also notice her because she has never, ever had one flower or sign of
> visitation in all the years I've been going to see my boy. It made me
> feel so bad for this woman.
>
> For "Her".
>
> My family felt bad as well. So now, whenever we decorate or bring things
> to Bug, we put a little something on her grave, too. It's the least I
> can do for someone who will lay next to my little one for all time.
>
> It has come to give me a little comfort in a place and situation that is
> terrible.
>
> Going to the cemetery to see my son is very difficult for me. I don't go
> there often. I know that many people take comfort in visiting the graves
> of their loved ones, it brings them peace. It is not that I don't WANT
> to go. I do. Because I miss my son. There are times where my desire to
> go and be in the same proximity of where my baby boy is is so
> overwhelming that I've gone up in the middle of the night in my pajamas,
> just to lay down on the grass and cry.
>
> Still...Being there is very hard on me.
>
> I am a highly tangible person. When Matthew died, I ran around like a
> crazy person buying duplicates of every toy, blanket and special outfit
> I could find. Because I wanted him to be buried with the things that he
> loved in life, but I could. not. part. with. them. I needed those things
> to hold, cuddle, smell and cherish.
>
> It's hard for me to visit the place where he is buried because it is
> horrible for me to picture what has become of the little body that I
> loved and watched over. It's hard to be there freezing and shivering and
> not freak out because I can't do anything to make him warm. I know it
> makes no sense. I know that he can't feel anything, but BABIES ARE NOT
> SUPPOSED TO BE COLD.
>
> Not MY babies.
>
> Not on MY watch.
>
> I am very forgiving of people who "Say the wrong thing" to me. Really, I
> am. I know that you just don't know what to say. Who would? Even I get
> tongue-tied around grief and loss like mine and have difficulty knowing
> the right words to utter, so how on earth could I get upset with someone
> who is just trying to give me comfort?
>
> Still...There are things that hurt. That frustrate and anger. Every
> person who has a loss like this has a "Trigger phrase" that is
> intolerable to them. The worst one for me is when someone that is well
> meaning tells me not to worry about the physical body of my son and that
> he is buried.
>
> "You need to know he isn't THERE anymore."
>
> Oh, YEAH?
>
> I beg to differ.
>
> To me, he IS there!
>
> What I loved, bathed, snuggled, lotioned, sang to and kissed IS BURIED
> RIGHT THERE UNDER SIX FEET OF EARTH AND HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE THINGS ARE
> HAPPENING TO HIS SWEET LITTLE BODY. And there is not one damn thing that
> I can do about it. Me, his mother. His protector. The person who is
> supposed to stop any and all bad things from touching his sweet toes is
> completely powerless to do or change anything about it.
>
> I try very, very hard to not go there in my head, but some days it is
> just takes over and I'm sent to this special kind of hell. It's more
> than I can bear.
>
> So, going to see him at this place, this tangible reminder of the worst
> day of my life, is hard to do. To get through it I take comfort in
> whatever I can, whenever I can.
>
> And today?
>
> I got a little bit.
>
> I parked my car, walked to Bug's grave and saw that someone brought
> flowers to "Her".
>
> Someone remembered she was there.
>
> Finally.
>
> Even better? There was a card. Maybe I shouldn't have read it, but after
> so many years and so much wondering, I had to know something about her.
> It was a simple statement written on the back of a Winnie-the-Pooh
> florist card:
>
> "Mom, We love you and miss you dearly - The 4 of us are all here
> together for the first time at your grave since July 9, 1998. Love,
> Michael, Angie, Tony (Dad), Brandy".
>
> It made me ridiculously happy. While there is still no first or last
> name that I can give to "Her", I know that she had the best name ever: MOM.
>
> She had a family. Loved ones. People that loved her and cared about her
> and missed her. People that I could see, for whatever reason, were not
> able to watch over her final resting place and tend to her as they would
> like to.
>
> I also felt grateful. Grateful that as long as I draw breath and have
> family, my child's resting place will not be forgotten, but cared for
> and loved and watched over.
>
> So will "Hers".
>
> I'll make sure of it.

I would visit James more often at the mausoleum . This Sept. I am
finally putting up his headstone. I would change the vases, have a
different floral theme for the seasons, change the pictures,left a
small album there, so others could see it, brought candles, but now I
am tired. The flowers have remained the same for some time. I don't
leave him notes anymore. I make the rounds and look at all the young
people who have died. I take note of who has changed the flowers and
who still has the Christmas decorations.
You expressed so much of what I also feel. OUr minds go in so many
different directions.
We visit what is left... the earthly remains of our children.
I often think that if overly religious folk say, they are not there..
the spirit etc. etc. then why do we have so many relics of dead
saints.... a lock of hair, a bone, a fragment of them. People flock to
be beside what used to be them.
I hear you and understand so much of what you convey.
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