Mother's Heartbreak

A Story of Addiction & Loss

Category: child loss (page 1 of 3)

A Temporary Separation

Matt,   A mother who lost her daughter spoke to me saying the hardest part of her grief is having to bear the “temporary separation” from her daughter.   Her statement gave me food for thought.

You have been gone 5 years and 8 months from this earth.   I wonder does Heaven keep track of time?   Do those who have left us behind know how long they have been gone?   Do you realize that we haven’t heard each others voices or seen each others faces in years?

I’ve read passages in the Bible that talk of God’s time.   Psalm 90 vs. 12 states “But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.”

Your death feels exactly like that verse.   One day I feel like it’s been a thousand years since I’ve heard your voice or been able to share my day with you.   Then the grief hits and bam, It feels like yesterday.   I can vividly recall every second of the day that altered my life forever.  All those emotions resurface.   The sounds of my howling like a wounded animal on hearing the news that you were gone.   I can close my eyes and see your body so still, so quiet.   I remember the ride to our church to say my final goodbye.   One day equals a thousand years as grief knows no time frame.

I wonder what Heaven is like.   If time isn’t measured by God then do you know how long you’ve been gone?   Do you think about how long it’s been since we were together on earth?   Do you realize that you are gone at all?   So many questions dance through my brain.   Questions that I will never find the answers to satisfy my heart.

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How I wish time would reverse back to the days before you died.   I wish we had the power to go back to the time before your demons took over.   Time is defined as the ongoing sequence of events taking place.   The past, the present and the future.   What I’ve learned is we always think we will have enough time.   Time to say the things we should have said.   Time to do the things we wanted to do.   We think we have a future to fix all those things we messed up so badly.

Since your death, time has marched on.   Time payed no attention to my longing for it to stop.   It payed no mind to the intensity of how it’s passing would impact my grief.   Time here on earth is cruel and painful.   Perhaps that’s why time is not measured in heaven.

I wonder how parents survive this temporary separation.   How do we survive the years without our children.   How do we survive all those painful events that should be welcomed and celebrated.   I wonder how long temporary will be.

How I wish Heaven had visiting hours.   Perhaps like a dream where we could talk like we used to on earth.   We could sit by the sea and you could answer all my questions.   Knowing you are safe and healthy would ease the grief and make this separation easier to bear.

I pray this temporary separation is not a thousand years.   As time I’ve found does nothing to decrease the power of grief.   I hold onto my faith that one day our separation will be over and we will be reunited forever in a timeless place called Heaven.

 

 

The Question That Has No Answer

Matt,   I went to your memorial garden yesterday to water the flowers we planted.  The weather has been scorching hot and I’m trying to keep the beauty surrounding your stone alive in this heat.   It’s typical July in Delaware.  I remember you complaining about the crowds and traffic that would invade your happy place as the temperatures soured.  You hated sharing your paradise and always wished the summer season to finish giving you back your peaceful place.

My neighbor, Debbie has become my garden companion as my back surgery has made it impossible for me to plant or water your flowers.  My job is to keep the bird feeder full and she lugs the watering can around the garden giving those flowers a refreshing drink.

We pulled up and parked next to the garden.  Deb grabbed the watering can and I grabbed the bird food.   I headed toward the garden as she headed up the parking lot to where the hose is stored.

A piece of paper was lying on your stone held in place by 2 quarters.   My curiosity peaked as I wondered who visited and left this mysterious note.

As I began to read I could feel the tears forming in my eyes.  My body enveloped in chills even in the 90 degree heat.   The letter was written to God by another mother who knew my grief.

She was asking God the same question I did after your death.   Why? Why? Why? did God allow her son to die.   She poured out her heart onto this precious piece of paper.   As I continued to read I could no longer hold back my tears.   Debbie seeing my tears thought I was crying over you.   I handed her the note and watched her face as she read this grieving mothers words to God.   Both of us stood silent with tears running down our cheeks as we continued to read this broken mothers words.

She was begging God for her son back just as I did and continue to do.   She was begging for just another moment in time with her precious son.   Begging God to give him back to her just as I have begged.   To think this mother came to your garden and stood at the foot of Jesus’s cross pouring out her grief was so bittersweet for me.   I could picture her talking out loud begging for her pain to stop and her son to be alive just as I have done many, many times.

I will probably never meet this mother but I know her as I know myself.   A mother who’s heart holds the unbearable grief of losing her precious son as does mine.  Mothers, strangers bonded by a grief no mother should carry.   Both standing by your stone in the peacefulness of your garden asking the question that has no answer………

Time Does Not Ease The Power Of Grief

Matt,   tomorrow is Mother’s Day.   My 6th without you.   Even as I type these words my heart continues to disbelieve my reality.   I can feel those waves starting to change from swimmable to ones that will pull me under sucking the breath out of my lungs.   That familiar chest heaviness has been following me all day waiting behind every corner ready to pounce.

This year, my grief is multifaceted.   A blend of old and new.   Still having the power to bring me to my knees.   This is my first Mother’s Day without my mom, your grandmother.   Last year I struggled to find the appropriate card.   We weren’t best friends.   We were oil and water.  She was black and white and I am grey.   Mother’s Day changed after your death.

Before you died we went through the motions.  Both uncomfortable but playing the game by presenting a false front to friends and family.   After your death she abandoned me.   She wasn’t there to hold me as I screamed.   She disappeared from my life like that sailboat you see on the horizon floating further and further away until it’s no where to be found.

Most of our fights began when I questioned her behavior.   I just wanted to understand how she could walk away from her grieving daughter.   She died with her secrets untold.   I grieve the relationship we never had.   I grieve the life you should have had.   Her death, so unexpected just like yours.   I was foolish with both of you always thinking there would be another time to talk, to hash things out.   Your deaths hold  shocking similarities.   Sudden and so unexpected.

So now I once again fight to pick up my pieces.   To try to make it through a day to celebrate Mothers.   Realizing I no longer have to stress about finding that perfect card for her has churned up emotions I never thought I would feel.   Knowing there will be no card from you shatters my already scarred heart.

Time does nothing to lessen my grief.   Mother’s Day is bittersweet.   I will always be your mother.   I long to hear you voice.   To see you coming in the door with that smile lighting up my heart.   I long to step back in time and redo everything done when I foolishly thought there would always be more time to say what needed to be said.

I long to have a relationship with my mom.   One that was loving and natural.   I long to hear her say I love you.   I needed so badly for her to explain why she chose to ignore my grief and get on with her life.   I long to return to the past when you were both here and time was something we had plenty of.

Reality is harsh.   Tomorrow will be filled with loss.   I feel like I’m floating on a very small life raft in a very big churning ocean.   I know those waves are coming.   I remember their power to pull me under struggling to find dry land.   Tomorrow I will have no control over when or how they hit.   Memories will find me as tears will fall.   Life as I knew it is gone.   All I can do is hang on and wait for the seas to calm again.

 

 

Time Doesn’t Lessen Grief, Time Magnifies It

Matt,   There is a saying that time heals all wounds.  People tell you to give it time.  Time will help.  As if time has the magical power to help you forget that your child is gone.  As if they have a clue as to how it feels to walk around with half your heart missing.  All time has done for me is to deepen my already intense pain.  All time has done is rob me of the blessing of watching my sons grow old together. Time passes and I realize that I haven’t heard your voice or seen your handsome face for 5 years.

Time is not my friend.  Time has become a painful march of family birthdays and holiday celebrations that are no more.  Time deepens the grief as reality seeps in reminding me that this emptiness will be a part of my soul forever.  Weeks have turned to months.  Months to years.  Yet my grief refuses to loosen its grip on my soul.  Grief has taken over every cell of my body.  It pulses through my veins with every beat of my heart.  Breaking it again as I recognize that memories are all I have left of you.  Happy times when life was as it should be.  Family barbecues, laughter and love.  My two sons enjoying each other’s company as siblings do.

But time doesn’t have a clue.  It marches on and with each new day comes the pain of knowing there will be no phone call or visit today, tomorrow or forever.  Time is like that crack.   It starts small and barely noticeable until it transforms into an enormous undeniable rupture separating life into the before and after.

As time passes people forget.  Returning to their normal lives afraid that grief is catchy.  Friends disappearing into the sunset.  Running as far and as fast as they can.  As if I’m contagious.  Time is a great teacher.  It teaches you who gives a damn.

Time does nothing to lessen grief.  It does everything to magnify it.  I now understand those things I took for granted like having all the time in the world to say the things I wanted to say, to do the things we dreamed about doing were never under our control.  Time fools you into thinking you will always have more.

Time marches on and doesn’t care who it mows down as it marches.  It has no respect for the grieving heart.

The only thing I want to do with time is have it rewind.  Go back to the time when you lived.  I call it a do over.  A time when my heart was whole.  A time when life held joy and hope not pain and regret.

Before your death I wanted time to slow down.  I complained that time was going by too quickly.  Days and months were flying by.  I wanted time to give me more moments to enjoy life.  To allow the seasons to change slowly allowing the beauty of each one to linger longer.

Now time can’t move fast enough.  I want the holidays to fly away and be gone.  Birthdays too.  I want my head to spin and not have time to know my reality and the pain it continues to bring.

I was never afraid of getting older.  I take care of myself.  I’m physically active, not bad looking for a sixty something mom.  Aging didn’t really bother me.  Although it does feel like I was only thirty a few days ago.  I’m not high maintenance, never worried about a new wrinkle popping up as I’ve earned every one being the mother of two boys.  Now I want to close my eyes and be eighty.  I want to be closer to the time I will see you again.  I want to see your face and hear your voice.  I want to be able to hold you and tell you it’s ok.   Matt, you were a beautiful man with a terrible, misunderstood disease.  Prior to your death my time was spent keeping an eye on you.

Before your death time was of short supply.  Working and trying to keep you safe took every second of every day.  Now time is empty, standing still, endless.

Time has also taught me a life lesson.  I have no control over it and what it may bring.  We’ve all heard the saying “In Gods Time Not Ours”.  Now I finally get it.  Time does not belong to us.

The gift of time for me is a double edged sword.  Sharp and cutting one minute.  Peaceful and too quiet the next. I’m learning that time stops for no one.

For as long as I have left I will cherish those beautiful memories and wish I knew then what I know now.  I would have stayed longer and cherished our time sitting together by the sea.  I would have hugged more and argued less.  I would have fought harder to save you.

Living through time without you is hell.  I’ve read that “ Life isn’t a matter of milestones, but of moments.”

Until we meet again I will treasure the moments we’ve made in the time we had together.  Precious moments that time cannot erase 💜

Rogue Waves……

Matt,   You would think after 5 years, I would have a handle on my grief.   Maybe a small part of my heart started to believe the myth that time would soften the blow of your death.   Maybe to survive I had to think the pain would not always have the crushing power it did in those early days.   Perhaps to continue my journey on earth without you I had to live briefly the fantasy that society wants me to believe.

My reality is the polar opposite.   This grief continues to hit unexpectedly, but just as powerfully as it always has.   I call them rogue waves.   I thought that the passing of time would at least soften the edges of my grief.   Sadly, I’m finding those edges remain sharp.   Like jagged pieces of glass ready to rip my heart to shreds once again.

These waves continue to hit at unexpected times.   Days when I think I’ve got a shred of control over my emotions  I find quite the opposite.   I don’t know if it’s the stress of my cancer diagnosis or just the fact that I continue to rethink your struggle with addiction.   Perhaps I’ve got too much time on my hands now as I recover from back surgery and have had to put my advocacy work on the back burner.   I’m no longer physically capable of running to meetings or being your voice in Legislative Hall.   I’m no longer able to keep my mind busy with changing the broken system that took your life.   Time gives my mind the opportunity to relive it all over and over again.

My empathy for your pain is heightened.   I now get it.   Back surgery is no picnic and this recovery has tested my patience.   I think about how I just didn’t understand your pain.   It’s like any other situation.   Until you live it you can’t get it.

So now my insides churn like an unsettled sea.   I feel like I’m being turned inside out.   I want to lash out at people who think addiction was your choice.   Who think addiction is a moral flaw.  My anger rises to the surface when I least expect it.   Like those rogue waves it leaves me struggling to regain control.

I rethink your last days until I can think no more.   I want to physically hurt the man who dumped you off at a motel to die rather than doing the right thing by taking you to the ER or a detox center.   I want him to hurt physically and emotionally like your death has hurt me.   I want him rotting in jail with no hope of ever seeing the blue sky or hearing the birds sing.   I want him to die alone as much as I want you to be alive.

My grief is now multifaceted.   I grieve us both.   I grieve for what used to be.   I grieve the son you once were and the woman I once was.   I grieve for the future that could have been but now will never be.    I grieve the grandchildren my arms will never hold.   I grieve watching my boys grow old together.   I grieve the years we have lost, the future we will never share.

My grief and my anger walk hand and hand.  Dancing through my mind.   I am helpless to contain either when the reality of life hits with the power of those rogue waves knocking me off my feet  leaving me struggling to find the surface to catch my breath.   Grief is a powerful and never ending emotion.   It does not tell time.  It does not conform to societies perception that time softens the blow of death.

I’ve learned that my grief will last a lifetime.   As will my anger over your unnecessary, untimely death.   I’ve learned those waves are out there and will hit again and again.   I’ve learned that I am helpless when they hit and all I can do is ride them to the best of my ability.

Surviving my reality, your death and my cancer is a challenge.  Never did I see either coming.   I’ve learned life is fragile and full of unexpected events.   I’ve learned that grief is a part of who I am and will remain a part of my life until I cease to be……….

 

 

 

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