"Her"
in [Grief]
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From: Noon Cat Nick on 24 Jul 2008 23:46 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.
From: MelMenzies on 25 Jul 2008 04:36 On Jul 25, 4:46 am, Noon Cat Nick <chatdemidiSPAMBEG...(a)hotmail.com> wrote: > http://loraleeslooneytunes.com/2007/11/29/her/ > > I visited my son's grave today. Dear Noon Cat Nick, Different time frame but same date. The anniversary of my daughter's death is today. I was very moved by your post: the anger you felt about Her (understandably) and the way it was ultimately replaced by compassion. The way you forgave people who don't know what to say, or who say the wrong thing; the admission that you, too, often don't know the right thing to say. Isn't this how we move on? I wrote to Liliana recently and said much the same thing to her. You never forget the pain of losing your child, do you? But it's tempered by the compassion and understanding you feel for others. Those who have also lost loved ones. But also those who haven't; who are simply too afraid of the unknown to be any earthly good to those who've been through it. I quoted a verse to Liliana which has helped me, over the years. It's about 'comforting others with the comfort you've received.' And I've found that by looking outward, instead of inside at my own pain all the time, I've developed 'a passion to bring hope to those who are hurting'. In whatever way. Be it through death. Divorce. Whatever. You speak of your son being in the ground. I've never felt like that about my daughter. I went to see her in the mortuary and all I saw was a body. My daughter - the spirit and essence of her - was gone. I like to believe that she's with God. That she's at peace because she knows she's loved. And that she's fulfilled in a way she never was here on earth. I'm posting a bereavement poem on my website blog today in memory of my daughter. It's one I wrote myself because it says, in a non- religious way, that I believe life and death are a continuum. Just different parts of the same eternity. I hope the poem will help others to see that too. If you want to read it, you can find my blog by googling my name. (I'm never sure whether you're allowed to use your website URL in a group like this.) I'll be thinking of you today. With every sympathy - and hope for healing. Mel.
From: Daisy on 25 Jul 2008 12:44 I'm typing and crying at the same time.....I understand what you are saying for right next to my Buster is a family of eight that passed on christmas eve years before my son did. I was very young at the time and "curious" I guess you could say so my friend and I went to the funeral home to view this family...it changed my young life, it was so sad to see an entire family laid out together....... I miss visiting my sons grave since moving from Kansas to Kentucky...I used to pass it four times a day taking and picking up children from my childcare center, always stopped and played his favorite song and of course cried like a baby. I think it's wonderful that you think of your Bugs neighbor...very compassionate. It's hard to lose those we love. -- Daisy "Noon Cat Nick" <chatdemidiSPAMBEGONE(a)hotmail.com> wrote in message news:y0cik.268466$yE1.123042(a)attbi_s21... > 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.
From: Daisy on 25 Jul 2008 12:45 (((Mel))) thinking of you today sweetie. -- Daisy "MelMenzies" <author(a)melmenzies.co.uk> wrote in message news:93240c8c-af1f-422d-9616-4d8132442206(a)a21g2000prf.googlegroups.com... > On Jul 25, 4:46 am, Noon Cat Nick <chatdemidiSPAMBEG...(a)hotmail.com> > wrote: >> http://loraleeslooneytunes.com/2007/11/29/her/ >> >> I visited my son's grave today. > > Dear Noon Cat Nick, > > Different time frame but same date. The anniversary of my daughter's > death is today. I was very moved by your post: the anger you felt > about Her (understandably) and the way it was ultimately replaced by > compassion. The way you forgave people who don't know what to say, or > who say the wrong thing; the admission that you, too, often don't know > the right thing to say. > Isn't this how we move on? I wrote to Liliana recently and said much > the same thing to her. You never forget the pain of losing your > child, do you? But it's tempered by the compassion and understanding > you feel for others. Those who have also lost loved ones. But also > those who haven't; who are simply too afraid of the unknown to be any > earthly good to those who've been through it. I quoted a verse to > Liliana which has helped me, over the years. It's about 'comforting > others with the comfort you've received.' And I've found that by > looking outward, instead of inside at my own pain all the time, I've > developed 'a passion to bring hope to those who are hurting'. In > whatever way. Be it through death. Divorce. Whatever. > You speak of your son being in the ground. I've never felt like that > about my daughter. I went to see her in the mortuary and all I saw > was a body. My daughter - the spirit and essence of her - was gone. > I like to believe that she's with God. That she's at peace because > she knows she's loved. And that she's fulfilled in a way she never > was here on earth. > I'm posting a bereavement poem on my website blog today in memory of > my daughter. It's one I wrote myself because it says, in a non- > religious way, that I believe life and death are a continuum. Just > different parts of the same eternity. I hope the poem will help > others to see that too. If you want to read it, you can find my blog > by googling my name. (I'm never sure whether you're allowed to use > your website URL in a group like this.) > I'll be thinking of you today. With every sympathy - and hope for > healing. Mel.
From: MelMenzies on 26 Jul 2008 04:57 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
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