Tag Archives: acting this way

You cannot tell anyone how to feel.

I was recently sent this poem by a dear friend. She was waiting for the appropriate time to share it with me, and admitted that she found it via internet research. I am thankful she shared it, and I did shed several tears as I read through the lines. I thought I should share it with others, because we never know how someone is feeling, or what it may truly be like to live with a loss. I think my surviving son, as well as my husband and I, struggle with some of these emotions that the poet shares. Yet, we are creatively working through our grief. I always say that those that grieve must wear disguises or masks, because there are some days we simply cannot speak or move, and yet we do. It is amazing.

“Don’t Tell Me” by Shawty Dew Whap, copyright 2012 www.gspoetry.com

Please don’t tell me you know how I feel, unless you have lost your child too.

Don’t tell me my broken heart will heal, because that is just not true.

Don’t tell me my son is in a better place, I want him here with me.

Don’t tell me someday I’ll hear his voice, see his face, because beyond today I cannot see.

Don’t tell me it is time to move on, because I simply cannot.

Don’t tell me to face the fact he is gone, because denial is something I can’t stop.

Don’t tell me to be thankful for the time I had, because I wanted more.

Don’t tell me when I am back to my old self you will be glad, because I’ll never be as I was before.

What you can tell me is you will be here for me, that you will listen when I talk of my child.

You can share with me my precious memories, you can even cry with me for a while.

And please don’t hesitate to say his name, because it is something I long to hear every day.

Friends please realize that I can never be the same, but if you stand by me, you may like the new person I become someday.

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The storm.

 It was like the floodgates had opened, and I was lost. It reminded me of this photo I took over the winter during our horrific snowstorm. One doesn’t know how much snow is there until you actually open the door and see it. It took over a year, but our son’s storm hit.

Some friends had questioned why the blog has not had any updates. Well, truth be told, it has been very difficult these past few weeks. It seems as though my husband, T, and I have had a storm brewing for so long that it has now reached a boiling point. The anger, sadness, depression, frustration, impatience….

What do you do with such a wave of emotions? It came pouring out of T one afternoon following school. A simple, outdoor Halloween decoration set the stage for two hours of hell. Everything from “I hate you” to “I am moving to a new home” was shouted on the front lawn, then from inside the living room. What does one do? Shout back? Cry? Scream? I stood in horror. It was just T and myself. So, I let him scream. Then, I let him scream more. Finally, he screamed some more. I held back the tears; I knew why he was acting this way and it wasn’t because of a decoration. I gave him the two hours he needed to yell, even hit, as I stood there in silence. I know you think more should have been done, but dear friends, what came out of this child was the rage built up since losing B.

Two whole hours, tears galore, a red nose, some thrown toys…the chaos ended with a hug so tight that I felt suffocated! “I’m sorry mom; I just miss B.” The words came out of his mouth very plain and simple. My instincts were correct, for once. This child needed that release. He got just that (and I am sure the neighbors did as well!) A conversation ensued about anything and everything to do with feelings, memories, reactions, and how we can’t control everything that happens. Was I still up all night reading my grief books with a cup of coffee? Of course. I had to know that I was not alone with a grieving child. The stages of grief vary, the length varies. Hell, everyone’s lives vary. Welcome to the new normal for us. What we must learn now is patience. Using it on one another, well, may be a challenge.