I keep forgetting the most important fact about my miserable life. No one else cares. My pain does not make anyone hurt but me. My grief lives only within me. Being disabled now doesn’t make anyone else disabled. No one else can feel my pain. It hurts, but I can’t expect anyone to share the hell of the last seven years with me. I own it in a way no one else can. I feel alone, but so do many other people, we just don’t know each other. Anonymous mean “unknown. In reality, it means, it belongs only to me.
Posts tagged sorrow
What You Could Be
I look at him, same age as you,
when death snatched you out of the blue.
He’s just 15, but teachers say,
that he will make it big one day.
I touch your photo, hold it too,
each time I pass, your place, your room.
It looks just like it did that day
when Hell took you and life away.
I see him grow, a brilliant smile,
when he creates, he dreams, compiles.
The things I wish that you could see.
I wonder, Babe, what you could be?
It’s just so wrong that you aren’t here.
I see your face, your eyes, your fear.
Still, no one knows, but you and me,
The truth about what you could be.
I pray the day will not be long,
When something might take up the wrong.
And somehow just, please let me see.
The beauty of what you could be.
Tara was crying as I walked into her room. Alright, we were both crying.
“Dammit!” She screamed and threw the remote across the room, knocking over a glass cat. Her brother, my son, Jacob had collapsed and died suddenly while playing ball the week before.
We cried in each others arms, as she held the useless remote. “That’s what we need, Mom,” she sniffled, “a re-do, a reset. It seems everything has one these days.”
Even now, when she sees me holding his photo, crying, she will whisper, “Mom, there just isn’t a “reset” for loosing some one you love.”
I lost a precious, healthy 15-year-old while he was playing ball seven years ago. At first there were the disgusting “grief addicts” who actually came to my door and introduced themselves, all to give their “condolences”. I got critically ill because of his death, and felt that everyone was already “over” feeling sorry for my family. Life went on for everyone but me, even in my family, and I understand, I really do, but it still hurt-it hurts today when no one remembers the day and I feel like I am dying.
Some of my kids had just married, some married soon after, I’m now expecting my 7th grandchild when I had none when I lost my son. I lived, after finally convincing doctors that it wasn’t “just grief” (grief is a “JUST??”By that time, they told me I had three weeks to live. I have continued to be ill, Suffer from the results of misdiagnosis, (which, along with inadequate slow medical care, cost my son his life).
I live in pain, physical and emotional. Apathy is real, but I am afraid it is true that we cannot bear the burden for everyone-perhaps a select few. The agony of it would kill us. Even temporary condolence, even an occasional, “I remember” is nice. I suppose that is all we can expect.
Ok, it has been seven years since my precious son suddenly ran toward me, collapsed on the ball field as I got to him and never regained consciousness. It has been seven years since who ever called 911 did not stay on the line or give proper directions. Seven years ago, I stood stunned as someone who called themselves a nurse ran up, but never did anything a nurse would do. He would be 22 in a few weeks.
The Fire Department was in sight of the Ball Park, so I know that they did not get the call or proper directions. The first responders in this area-the Fire Department are lightning fast and wonderfully trained. I know they did not get directions that we were in the ball park right below them. If they had, my son would not be dead. It was 10-12 minutes until an ambulance came from town and I was forced to watch my beautiful healthy son dying. In the ambulance , they were defibrillating him. In the hospital, they worked on him an hour.
His life was lost for negligence, my life, health, faith and future were ruined. My family will never stop suffering. Few light candles on his memorial site anymore, The mementos of his grave have slowed down. He is still dead, for nothing. I have almost died five times. Please do not forget those who have lost children. They never forget-you shouldn’t either.
I dream of you-your face,your smile, how I cherished it
how it made my soul feel alive, even in the worst of times
and then I realize you are gone-never NEVER do I have
the slightest hope of seeing you, touching you again.
I wonder how many times I can die-drowning in this pain?
And I dream of those still here, yet so far away
wonder if I have any more chance of touching them, loving them
than I do those who lie among the flowers on the hill…
Hope-sometimes it dies because life has stolen it
and you don’t know why or how to fix it, even though it could be- somehow
and sometimes it dies when hearts stops beating.
There is no breath, no life, what was is frozen in time,
all that is left is night, darkness, dreams…
I wonder, here, alone in the cold and darkness…
which is worse, the death of hope or the death of life
or is there really any difference?
I struggle to live and breathe when I see,
The love that you have for the broken, sad me.
In spite of my pain, you touch me and say,
I love you, my mom,I’m here,It’s OK.
if only you had what you really need.
Your brother alive and the mom I should be.
Hold my hand, my sweet baby, so I won’t slip away.
There’s part of him in you,and both want me to stay.
Every night, I lay my head, upon your pillow, on your bed.
And I a crying, feel like dying…
If I could die, I wish I knew, if I cold really be with you?
You know I’m trying to keep from lying….
I want to know, in the morning, would I be here, you still there?
I if did not wake up in the morning, would I care? I just don’t care.
Every time this house is filled with the people you left here,
I feel I’m trying,to keep from dying.
I pretend to care or really feel that it matters that I’m here,
I’m through with crying, I feel like dying.
Where’s my heart, my wicked soul within this world I can’t control?
My soul is dead, my heart is too, they both died when I lost you.
There is a place that I still go, no one but you will ever know.
You are there and I am too, no one else, just me and you.
If we’re both dead and they are right and we are in some other life,
I don’t care, fire or ice, just so we’re here, you and I.
I close my eyes one more time, it’s over, life, it’s over, time.
I run to you, you run to me, just like that last night, it would be.
We’d go around, we’d dance and sing, spirits of a bitter spring,
Together, we will always be, death cannot take you from me.
You are with me, a child, a man, I look at you, you take my hand.
This world is sad, though skies are blue, I only need to be with you.
Childhood-is there anything I would change? That opens so many doors. Of course as a parent and grandparents, there are many philosophies, ideas, decisions that we all wish we could change. Since it is late and I am tired I will stay with one thing that I wish I could change about my childhood and one thing I wish I could change about being a mother.
I was an only child. I hated it. It was often lonely, I never really felt good about myself or happy. It wasn’t for lack of love, perhaps, I had more than I could handle. I lived next door to my grandparents, and my aunt and uncle. They had not children. We even had a “party line” telephone. You have to be pretty old to remember when two people shared one :line” and even though they had separate phone numbers, if one “person was on the phone, not only could you hear their conversation, you could not make a call of your own. Imagine being a teen sharing a phone with six adult who could listen in or pick up the phone at anytime. I have always referred to my childhood as “Life under the microscope.”
The natural wish for an only child ho hated it is to ant a big family of her own. Through many trials and difficulties, I did have a big family-4 boys and 2 girls. There are so many things that a parent wishes they had done differently when the numerous decisions of being a parent have to be made. NO! becomes an echo, of sorts. Each child is different. One approach to a problem make work well for one child and not at all for another. I always felt it was important for my teens to learn to say “No’ on their own. I would tell them, they we welcome to say, “I can’t do that, mom would kill me if she found out.”, but one day. mom or dad may not be there and they would have to have the courage to say “no” on their own. I think I did a good job with this philosophy on the big decisions, but one winter, when my 5th child,a son told me he didn’t want to play baseball on the school team, I was elated. I had been having thoughts and dreams about something happening to him elated to baseball. The thoughts and feeling really didn’t make sense. I never liked baseball, and thought that maybe it was just that I was glad I wouldn’t have to put up with the practices and games in bad weather, the schedule conflicts and such.
My son, nearly 15, did not play in spring or summer. My heart was so relieved. I actually believed God was helping me avoid some crisis when he decided not to play. Then one day right after school started, we were getting ready to leave when his friends and a father who was going to coach “fall ball” zoomed up our driveway and begged my son to go to their last practice. Out of boredom, he decide to go, it was just one game. he still liked to play, just not on an organized team.
I reluctantly said it was alright, but when he came home, he slammed down the new hat and jersey and said, Mom, I don’t want to play” and they just threw the uniform at me and said “See ya at the game.”
“Call the and tell them you aren’t playing>’ I said, reminding him that he had promised not to play.
” I can’t”. He said, his he turned to the floor, “They said they wouldn’t have enough players without me and I can’t disappoint my friends.”
I wanted so bad to tell him, “Then I will say NO for you” But I didn’t. I remembered my vow to make them learn to ay “no” on their own. I actually felt like God was telling me that I had to let him learn this lesson, he was 15, a sophomore in high school.
“It is only a few weeks I said, a tear running down my cheek. The feeling of worry kept coming back about something bad happening to him that involved baseball. I had prayed and prayed about it. i felt God had promised to keep him safe and me strong, that God had jobs for us to do, and he was with us.
On the night of October 4, 2006, my husband, younger son , my 15-year-old and his best friend prepared to go to his second game in three days. I had to hurry home from volunteering to coach a play at my younger sons school and we were running late. I quickly opened the door when i got home , and my son was standing there with his quiet sly smile. “Oh, you scared me!” I said.
We grabbed something to eat at a fast food place and hurried to the game. Twice, I almost took his picture and didn’t because this as in the day of film and I as about on my last shot. I came so close to taking his picture when he made a great double and stole third. The next player struck out. He told a friend in the dugout that h didn’t feel good, but he went on to right field, expecting not to have to do much and it was the last inning.
Before they started playing again, I heard a mom say, “Is something wrong with Andrew?” and looked out to see him holding his head. He started running to me, and I started running to him. Right as i got to him, he grabbed his chest, then threw his hands out as if to break a fall.
He landed hard on the ground, I will never forget the slow-motion scene of him falling in the dirt, hitting his nose and forehead as dust rose around him. I was screaming, ” Call 911! Call 911! A parent called out that they would as everyone crowded around my son.
He was unconscious, unresponsive. No one knew what to do, There was a fire station within sight of the park, and we were all looking for the fire truck to take a left and rush down the parking lot. They didn’t. I honestly feel the man who called 911 panicked and hung up before telling the operator that the child wasn’t hurt playing and that the fire dept. was right above us. It was 10-12 minutes before an ambulance came. A man ran us, said he was a nurse, but did nothing.
“He isn’t breathing well”. The nurse said, and I was crying “Well, can;t you do something? All he did was turn his head upward a bit. At this time,we had been taught not to do CPR if the patient was breathing-it is what i was taught, and perhaps he was as well. Finally, an ambulance came. His blood gases were very bad, as rode to the hospital in the ambulance, i could see the ambulance attendance using a defibrillator on him. I coudn’t believe it his heart had stopped.
A chaplain met us at the hospital door. My husband and the whole team we already there-before the ambulance. For an hour, we were consoled, given hope, then told his condition was very bad. When the chaplain told us to bring the family to a side room, we knew what we would hear.
“You mean he’s dead?” I sobbed, shaking,nauseous. I don’t even remember the doctors words, just some “we tried so hard” statement and the chaplain asking us if we wanted to go see him, warning us to be quiet that there were other patients in the emergency room.
The rest is a story of shock, grief and the purest of hell a mother can face. My handsome healthy 15-year-old was dead and we had no idea why. He n no sign of sickness. We later found out he had contracted “viral myocarditis” and the last play, the great hit, stealing third base. I guess his heart got out of rhythm then, because he had told several friends h didn’t feel well.
This has been a long story to tell the reader the thing I wish most i could change about being a parent. It is saying “NO”, for your child, when they don’t do it themselves. If i had, my son would likely be here, if the ambulance we could see had come, if we had already left that day his friends pulled up, wanting him to come to their “last” practice.
There will be people who are angry at me for writing this, they may make up excuses fir God, or say other ridiculous, irrelevant things. All mothers who have lost a child have heard them. My only point here is to answer the question asked by the prompt-”If you could change ONE thing…” and my answer is this, “I would not be afraid to say “NO” if that is what my heart was telling me I should do.
Please read my other blogs on Parent Heart Watch and on loosing my son.