Sometimes, There is a Sliding Back

          

 Most of the time I move through life fairly well. I enjoy the growth and the achievements of my remaining grown children.  Most days, I remember the cherished memories we have with Daniel, and I don't look too hard or dwell on that last difficult day in which he departed Earth.   Most of the time I can take care of Daniel's few remaining elderly dogs and the descendants of his rooster.  I take very good care of the alpacas we have, all of whom knew him well.  He cared very much about them and would want them to receive excellent care during their own remaining time on Earth..

               However, once in awhile, particularly in Spring, something reminds me of the simple ugly unfairness of it all.  It's Spring !    The trees that wither and appear to die in Winter, most often return.  Daniel, of course, cannot return stating that "a mistake was made".   We can't appeal his passing simply because he was removed from our home after being pronounced dead, by a minivan rather than a hearse, although the thought had occurred to me. The loss of a child is a loss of part of the future for a family, always and forever during our time on Earth.

   This week, one of my kids sent me a video to a song online.  It's a good song, and a good group and I think we will all be hearing more from them.  However, my jaded heart saw something different.  Daniel would be nineteen now.  He would be starting the process at college somewhere learning how he fits into the world.   He would be dating.  He would likely be experiencing the emotions of this song, and somehow through some cosmic unfairness that his mother cannot understand, he is not here on Earth to do it.









Daniel, it's just that the feelings talked about in this song, you will not know while here on Earth. I know that we are to have faith that all that happens here during our time here will be amended or redeemed in the next plane, but it is oh so hard for the people who knew you here and who brought you to Earth to know that you won't continue here. Most days I have that faith, and then sometimes, there is a song like this which reminds me that life goes on for your friends, their families here on Earth and that yours continue elsewhere........for a time away from us.     I will try to do better.    I think of you with love always.

Thoughts

Without Daniel,(and of course my Dad too) I continue in this life with eyes and ears, but with no arms. Yes, you can live without arms, but not half as well as you could have with them. Our ministers tell us, "You will have your arms again in Heaven". Yes, well, without Daniel how do I eat, brush my hair, write, cook, paint, draw, cuddle, and climb ?" Not particularly well I am afraid.

The Grieving Mother's Club

I have found there is an exclusive club for mothers. It's certainly not a club anyone would ever wish to join because it changes you totally and forever as it breaks and widens your heart. The "club" to which I am referring, is the "Mother's who have Lost a Child" club. Apparently, once you have membership, it never lapses. In addition, living life afterward is an awful lot like cutting in a new road in a place that looked just fine before.
Before Daniel died, I did not personally know anyone who had lost a child. I did know patient families who had, but this was within the course of my work and somehow understood that there would be a few of these. After Daniel's passing, lots of people with whom I am acquainted, told me they had lost a child. There was a woman at the grocery store whose child was murdered. Our builder and his wife lost a daughter to leukemia. One woman lost a toddler to an infection following a shunt insertion for new hydrocephalus. Another new acquaintance lost a healthy child to the flu. An old friend recently lost a grandchild to a freak ATV accident. It seems now that wherever we look, there are people finishing their lives, raising their children, who have one foot in Heaven, with one of their children. From my perspective just now, it seems a virtual epidemic. Certainly it isn't. it's just that my world has been compressed and distorted as I try to redefine, and move forward. Part of me wants to take my remaining kids and tie them with silk ribbons into protective cotton boxes. Another part of me knows that live or die, we must all live a life, because this is what we are here to do.
You might think that there is comfort in numbers, but there isn't. It actually hurts me to think that other people have endured the massive loss our family has, and may not always have had the support we have known.
Daniel, if you keep up with this blog, I miss you deeper and wider than the seas, and I love you more than I thought possible.