Mother's Heartbreak

A Story of Addiction & Loss

Category: grief over sons death (Page 2 of 11)

Mother’s Day For the Bereaved

May 7, 2022 /

Matt, With Mothers Day around the corner you can’t go into a store without being swallowed up by Mothers Day gift displays and cards. Commercials are full of suggestions on what to give mothers on their special day.

What if you are a bereaved mother? Where are cards for us? None of us wanted this title. None of us wanted to watch our children leave us behind. None of us wanted to stand in a church listening to stories about our child’s life that ended too soon. None of us wanted to spend birthdays, holidays, and yes, Mothers Day at the cemetery. 💔

Mothers Day for a bereaved mother is filled with heartbreaking, gut wrenching grief. One of the hardest days for many of us. We have lost a piece of our hearts. It has been said that child loss is one of the worst traumas a human being can endure. Yet, here we are enduring another holiday that so many other mothers cherish.

We feel as if the world has walked away. Friends of the past have disappeared. Our grief too heavy a burden for their unknowing hearts. Many feel we should “move on” and forget that our child is gone. After all grief does have a time line until it becomes your grief.

Many of us suffer silently as we hear of others plans for Mothers Day. Many will retreat to a safe space until the day has passed. Whatever we do and how we survive is up to us. It’s ok not to be ok on Mother’s Day.

My wish for you is to know you are not alone. Be kind to yourself on this painful day. Buy yourself flowers or a favorite candle. Bring out the photos of your child and let your love pour over the faces we can no longer touch except in our hearts and minds. Let beautiful memories wash over your soul with its healing balm. Recognize we are still mothers and will be until our lives are gone. We must hold each other up and reach out to other mothers who share our grief.

We must encourage each other to find healing and hope. We must be sensitive and acknowledge that our grief like our love will last forever ♥️

My fellow bereaved moms who have become my dear friends I wish you peace on a day that will bring tears and pain. None of us chose this path but together we will walk each other home into the arms of our loving children.

Hugs and Love,
Matt’s Mom. 🌹

Some Days You Just Have To Cry

June 3, 2021 /

Matt,   Memorial Day weekend has come and gone.   The weather mimicking my soul.  The day was cold and dreary.   A typical Memorial Day weekend in Delaware. My mind kept going back to happier, sunny days when I would drive to the beach to spend the weekend with you.  

We always found a way to avoid the crowds as you hated when “those tourist” invaded your piece of paradise.   I can still hear your voice complaining about the people and the traffic.   I’d let you vent and then remind you I was one of “those tourists”.

Those bittersweet memories became a trigger.   The more I remembered, the closer the grief crept in.   Like one of those completely unexpected rouge waves that hits out of the blue and drops you to your knees.  

The wave of grief so powerful I felt like I was choking.  Like my breath had been sucked out of my lungs as I was being pulled under by its strength.   The reality that we would never share another Memorial Day together, that I would never make that trip again, that I would never walk into your house to see your smiling, tan face was too much for my heart to handle.

I was shocked at how my body responded as those waves continued to wash over my soul.  They call it muscle memory and my muscles were in full gear of remembrance.  That familiar choking sensation returned.   That feeling of hopelessness.  Of dread.  The pain radiating from my broken heart.  I was helpless to stop the physical response to the wave of absolute sadness that enveloped my soul.  

I used to try to fight my way through these tough days.   I’d tell myself that I was being crazy.   That my grief should have lost some of its power over the last 6 years.  I try to convince myself that I should be able to handle these memories without going to pieces.   That what society says about grieving is true.   We should be able to wrap it up in a pretty package and place it on a shelf.   That time should heal broken mothers.  

The reality is that grief knows no time frame.   Those waves are churning always ready to hit without warning.   Grief makes no sense.   It hides in our souls forever present waiting to pounce on our unsuspecting hearts.  

That day, I allowed the dam to break.   I let those waves wash over me as I cried my heart out.   I cried for you and all you were missing in this life.   I cried for me knowing that memories are all I have left of us.   I cried and cried and cried until I had no more tears left to shed.   

I could feel the waves subsiding.   Heading back out to sea.  I felt a calm returning.  My breath becoming regular.  

I’m learning that some days I must anchor myself letting those waves wash over my heart.   I’ve learned I need to feel the pain of what will never be.   After years of struggling to suppress  my grief I’ve come to realize that some days I just need to cry…………

 

Surviving Mothers Day One Breath At A Time

May 1, 2021 /

 

Matt,   It’s finally May.   The gardens are in bloom,  the weather is finally getting warm.   I lay in bed and listen to the birds singing outside my window.   I love the rebirth of the earth that comes this time of year.   May was once a time I looked forward to.   Especially planning my yearly Mother’s Day gathering.   Looking so forward to be surrounded by my boys.   Having you and Mike together under my roof brought back memories that now have become bittersweet.   Mother’s Day now holds a different meaning.   A mix of emotions as my heart breaks with your absence and is grateful for your brother’s presence.  ❤️

Mothers Day.  Those two words once brought happy memories of cards and flowers, crabs and beer. My family gathered together to celebrate motherhood.  Three generations laughing and loving. Sharing the memories of childhood, then teen years that became adult years  changing our families women into mothers.   Every year we gathered together at my house.   A beautiful family tradition.  Grandmothers, Aunts, Mother in Law, sister, sons and daughter.  To celebrate family and love.  This year Mother’s Day grabs my heart and shatters it like glass.  Broken in too many pieces to ever be repaired.  Our family forever changed by addiction.  A beautiful family tradition now missing a very large presence.

You, My youngest son gone forever.  Your demons more powerful than a mothers love.  A family broken.  A mother broken. Thinking of this once special day brings me to my knees.  A day I once looked forward to, now a day that will forever be a reminder of the profound loss. The gut punches become relentless taking my breath away in sobs that I can no longer control.  It is said losing a child demolishes the mother.  I can tell you it absolutely does.  

How does a grieving mother survive a holiday in her honor.  There are no Hallmark cards dealing with moms like me.  There are no “how to” books explaining what to expect on days that are meant to bring joy but now will bring incredible pain.  There is nothing happy about Mother’s Day for this mother.  Yet, I recognize I still have my sister, daughter in law, and most importantly my oldest son.  My mind knows I still have much to be thankful for, but my heart is missing a very special piece. How do I explain that all I want to do is close my eyes and wish I would disappear. How do I make everyone understand that my heart has shut down to protect my sanity and Mother’s Day is now a day I want to forget.  

Now along with grief I have guilt.  Mother’s Day has always been my holiday to do for everyone.  I cook the food and provide the drink.  Buying beautiful flowers for all to enjoy.  I transform my gardens into the peaceful place for all the mothers to relax and appreciate Mother Nature .  While affording my adult son’s precious time together.  Watching my two boys now men laughing and sharing their lives, filled my heart with joy.  Now I see the pain etched on my oldest son’s face and my heart feels the depth of his loss.  His grief washes over me. His bravery astounds me as I witness his silent tears.  How does a grieving mother help her grieving son?  

Mothers Day, once a holiday I loved has become a day that will always remain a painful reminder of our families loss.  Most of my friends are mothers with living children. Now rather than sharing their joy of our day, I’m jealous that their children are here and one of mine is not.  Guilt again.  How can I feel this way?  What kind of mother is jealous that another mothers child is alive?  Grief has changed this mother. I’m no longer the woman I once was.  The loss of my youngest son has made me question the circumstances of life.  Many days I wake and the tears fall as reality creeps into my sleeping brain.  He is gone my mind says and the pain of my new life begins again.  I have enough trouble trying to navigate through a normal day, how will I ever make it through Mothers Day? 

My mind is filled with memories of happiness and joy.  My two little men.  Hand made cards and hand picked flowers would be thrust into my arms by these precious children who stole my heart the moment they were placed in my arms.  Motherhood with all the ups and downs still remains an incredible gift from God.  Mother’s Day held new meaning once I became a mother.  There is no greater love than that beautiful bond shared between a mother and her child.  There is also no greater pain when that bond is severed by an untimely, unexpected death. 

Recently,  a very wise mother, a mom like myself gave me some incredible advice.  She told me to imagine you are on a plane.  The oxygen masks drop down.  Save yourself first, she said.  Place the mask on your face and breathe.  Keep breathing and take care of yourself before you take care of others.  This Mothers Day,  I will say your name. I will let my tears come. I will feel your absence and not hide my pain.  I will tell your brother, Mike how much his love means to me and how amazing of a man he has become.  I will not pretend I am fine.  This Mothers Day I will be on that plane and I will take care of myself one breath at a time. 💔  

Searching For Beauty Among The Ashes

December 10, 2020 /

Matt,   Christmas is in 15 days.   I’m trying to hold on.   This will be our 6th Christmas without you and I can say it hasn’t gotten any easier.   I’ve decorated the house.  Not like I used to but it does look like Christmas.   Every year since your death I’ve purchased a deer in your memory.   I remember when you would be so excited that hunting season finally arrived and I would cringe and call you Bambi killer.   You were such a lover of animals I could never understand your love for hunting.   Perhaps it was the bond you shared with your brother Mike.   The two of you always competing for the biggest prize.

You would brag about the “rack” on the deer you killed and I would cover my ears and tell you I would never eat Bambi.   You would have jerky made and you and Ray would smile as you devoured it as I would close my eyes in disgust.   I told you no Bambi meat was ever allowed in my freezer.   You’d smile that beautiful smile and tell me you had the meat donated to a homeless shelter but the jerky was definitely staying.   I never did try it but to this day Ray still talks about how it was the best he ever tasted.

Little memories of seasons past sneak into my brain bringing both joy and heartache.   Today I would welcome your deer with open arms.   Today I would welcome anything that had to do with you.

I’ve decorated your garden for Christmas.  There is a wreath hanging from the cross.   Poinsettias are carefully placed next to your stone along with white lights that shine through the darkness of night.   This has become my peaceful place.   It’s where I come to talk to you and God.   It’s where I allow the tears to flow.   To let my mask fall to the ground and shatter into a million little pieces.   This is the place I run to when life beats me down and I feel like I can’t survive one more day of my grief.

I sit and absorb the stillness.   I listen to the wind as if I might hear your voice.   I dream of what you would be like today.   Would you be married, have children, have a home filled with laughter and love.   I let my imagination wander, let my fantasy take over closing my eyes I picture your home.   A beautiful tree loaded with presents.   Children and dogs chasing each other as squeals of laughter fill the air.   I hear your voice saying Merry Christmas Mom.   I feel your arms as they wrap me in your famous hug.   I allow myself the gift of how I prayed life to be.   I allow my heart a few moments to take a break from the grief that has moved in and refuses to leave.

I struggle to find the beauty in little things.   Yesterday a hawk was sitting on a tree near your garden.   He flew over me as I got close.   I felt like I’d been given a gift.   His beauty in flight lifted my spirits as I wondered for a moment if that was you.

Since your death I look at life differently.   I know that in the blink of an eye everything once expected can shatter at your feet.   I take time to scan the night sky looking for the brightest star lifting up a prayer for you.   I talk to God like he is my friend.   I ask for signs that you are at peace.  I walk on days once considered too cold enjoying the crispness of the air and the songs of the birds.   I take nothing for granted.

Life has taught me that although it can be filled with heartbreak, there are still moments that continue to take my breath away.

 

 

A Temporary Separation

September 15, 2020 /

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.

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.

 

 

« Older posts Newer posts »
July 2025
M T W T F S S
 123456
78910111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
28293031  

© 2025 Mother's Heartbreak

Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑