Finding Our Way -
learning to live life, as grieving parents of not one, but now two, of our three children.
"Grieving the loss of a child is a process, it begins the day your child passes and ends the day the parent joins them." BJKarrer
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Just For Today
Just for today I will try to live through the next 24 hours and not expect to get over my child’s death, but instead learn to live with it, just one day at a time.
Just for today I will remember my childs life, not just his (& her) death, and bask in the comfort of all those treasured days and moments we shared.
Just for today I will forgive all the family and friends who didn’t help or comfort me the way I needed them to. They truly did not know how.
Just for today I will smile no matter how much I hurt on the inside, for maybe if I smile a little, my heart will soften and I will begin to heal.
Just for today I will reach out to comfort a relative or friend of my child, for they are hurting too, and perhaps we can help each other.
Just for today I will free myself from my self-inflicted burden of guilt, for deep in my heart I know if there was anything in this world I could of done to save my child(ren) from death, I would of done it.
Just for today I will honor my child’s memory by doing something with another child because I know that would make my own child proud.
Just for today I will offer my hand in friendship to another bereaved parent for I do know how they feel.
Just for today when my heart feels like breaking, I will stop and remember that grief is the price we pay for loving and the only reason I hurt is because I had the privilege of loving so much.
Just for today I will not compare myself with others. I am fortunate to be who I am and have had my child for as long as I did.
Just for today I will allow myself to be happy,
for I know that I am not deserting him/her
by living on.
Just for today I will accept that I did not die when my child did, my life did go on, and I am the only one who can make that life worthwhile once more.
by Vicki Tushingham
Today is 7 months ago since we've seen Brad. I'm still having such a hard time wrapping my brain around this cold, hard, fact. When Paul and I left our home that night, at 5:15pm, back in October, we NEVER dreamed that we would never see our son again. At 6:05pm, I called and talked to Brad- he told me what he wanted me to bring him home from the restaurant. He ordered a steak, baked potato and fries. I asked him how his steak should be cooked. I thought rare, he corrected me with, "medium well." By 6:50pm, Brad was gone. Fire engulfed his room. Smoke filled our home. Our son, was gone. We never got to say goodbye to him. We never again laid eyes on his face. He was gone. It's hard to say goodbye to someone that you can not actually see. It's hard to say goodbye to your child whether or not you can actually "see" them. But for us, it was especially difficult because Brad's funeral was a closed casket.
It's so hard to try and make sense of all that has gone on in our lives over the past 25 months. Sometimes, I think that maybe it was me who died. Maybe I'm looking down over my family. Or, maybe I've been in a coma for the past 25 months. I mean, seriously, how can this be happening? Not once, but twice.
So, Just For Today, I will try extra hard...but I can't make any promises for the days, months, years to come.
I miss my son. I miss my daughter. I miss the way my life used to be. I miss the 'old' me. I just can't get to know this 'new' me. And sadly, dammit, there is not one single thing I can do to change any of this.