This was shared on an internet site I am a part of and I had to share it here because I found it to be so true.
I am wearing a pair of shoes. They are ugly shoes. Uncomfortable shoes. I hate my shoes. Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair. Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.. Yet, I continue to wear them. I get funny looks wearing these shoes. They are looks of sympathy. I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs. They never talk about my shoes. To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable. To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them. But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realize that I am not the only one who wears these shoes. There are many pairs in this world. Some women are like me and ache daily as they try to walk in them. Some have learned how to walk in them so that they don't hurt quite so much. Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they think about how much they hurt. No woman deserves to wear these shoes. Yet, because of these shoes I am a stronger woman. These shoes have given me the strength to face anything. They have made me who I am.. I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Thursday, March 28, 2013
A Hard Day
When does it get easier?
I so wish I had the answer to that question I am always asking myself. I still have times when the grief floods with me with tears. Today has been one of them. Actually, this whole week has been draining. Somehow, whether I am looking at the calendar or not, I know what day is approaching. The sleepless nights start. The headaches, upset stomachs, and the "I don't want to get out of bed" days lead up to the day that I relive.
Yesterday were the Easter parties at school which carry so many hard memories for me. I held myself together until the end of the day when I was able to cry with friends.
Today Elly kept asking me to push her on the swing outside. All I could do was cry. Six years ago that is how I spent my last evening with Abrielle. It was hard but I did finally agree to swing. That was when the next set of tears began to flow. She put on her cowgirl boots and ran out the door. All I could see was my Abby pulling on her cowgirl boots six years ago to help her Daddy outside while I was making supper.
So many flashbacks. So many tears. I miss my little girl. My heart is breaking and I am having such a hard time with my emotions today knowing what tomorrow is ~ the day we lost our Abrielle.
I so wish I had the answer to that question I am always asking myself. I still have times when the grief floods with me with tears. Today has been one of them. Actually, this whole week has been draining. Somehow, whether I am looking at the calendar or not, I know what day is approaching. The sleepless nights start. The headaches, upset stomachs, and the "I don't want to get out of bed" days lead up to the day that I relive.
Yesterday were the Easter parties at school which carry so many hard memories for me. I held myself together until the end of the day when I was able to cry with friends.
Today Elly kept asking me to push her on the swing outside. All I could do was cry. Six years ago that is how I spent my last evening with Abrielle. It was hard but I did finally agree to swing. That was when the next set of tears began to flow. She put on her cowgirl boots and ran out the door. All I could see was my Abby pulling on her cowgirl boots six years ago to help her Daddy outside while I was making supper.
So many flashbacks. So many tears. I miss my little girl. My heart is breaking and I am having such a hard time with my emotions today knowing what tomorrow is ~ the day we lost our Abrielle.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Speech Given
On Wednesday I spoke to a new class at the Treatment Center. I was actually a little nervous because it had been about six months since I had talked anywhere. I had planned on updating the speech I give, but as I sat down to do that, I was having a difficult time and gave up. I am sure it was because I had just gotten through the holidays and decided that it would be fine the way it was since this group had not heard it. This group had about 17 offenders and most sat very quietly while I talked. A few wiped their eyes. I felt I did pretty well and only shed tears a few times, but when I finished I really wondered how I did since I was met by stares and silence. It took them a few minutes before they asked any questions or made any comments. I was actually surprised that the ones that are normally asked were not and that only a few were asked. Usually I spend about 20 to 30 minutes talking after I finish my speech, but this time it was maybe 10 to 15. I was really beginning to wonder if I had made any impression at all but then as they were dismissed for break, each one lined up to shake my hand and thank me for sharing my story. My goal each time is to reach just one to make my tears worth it, but I sincerely felt I touched them all in this class.
In The Paper
This was printed after the tragedy in Newtown and so much of it just seemed to hit home with me so I wanted to share~
By Ann Hood — Special To The Washington Post
PROVIDENCE, R.I. — We are stunned. We are outraged. As a nation, we are questioning laws on gun control, questioning how such a thing can happen. These are all appropriate responses to the tragedy in Newtown, Conn. But there is a repercussion to all this that will continue long after laws are changed and life, unbelievably, gets back to normal: the grief of the parents of the 20 children killed. How many times have I heard that this is a parent's worst nightmare? As someone who has lived the nightmare of losing a child, I know that the enormous hole left behind remains forever.
My daughter, Grace, was not killed by a gun. She died suddenly at age 5 from a virulent form of strep. As I stood stunned in a church at her memorial, one of the hardest things I heard someone say was, “I'm going to go home and hug my child a little tighter.” Well, good for you, I thought. I'm going to go home and scream.
What can be said in light of such grief? What can you do? The problem is that no one can give the parents what they want most: their child. Long after the memorials fade and the casseroles stop coming, that child is still dead, and those parents are still grieving.
I offer here what I have learned about grief in the 10 years since my Gracie died:
I learned that platitudes don't work. Time doesn't heal. She is not in a better place. God does give us more than we can bear sometimes. I have learned that there is more power in a good strong hug than in a thousand meaningful words. I have learned that even in the face of loss, clothes still get dirty and bills still need to get paid. Friends who laundered our socks and answered our e-mails, who mowed our lawn and put gas in our cars, helped us — a lot. The friend who came one afternoon and went through Grace's backpack, carefully storing her kindergarten workbook and papers, hanging her art on the refrigerator and her raincoat on its hook in the mudroom, had more courage than the ones who told me to call anytime.
Some friends sat with me day after day, week after week and, yes, month after month, and let me talk while they listened. I told the story of Grace's last day over and over, as if by telling it I could make sense of what had happened to her, to us. But there is no sense to be made of such tragedy, and when I realized that, they let me wail and bang my fists and curse.
As time passes, people return to their ordinary lives, while grieving parents no longer have ordinary lives. They are redefining themselves, and they are at a loss at how to move forward. There is a woman who still sends me a card on Grace's birthday and every Mother's Day, who sent cards weekly for more than a year, a lifeline to a grieving mother. The people who even now, a decade later, still say Grace's name, still comment on her quirky style and artistic talents and love of the Beatles, continue to help me through my days, simply by remembering her.
How easy it is to look away from grief, as if it might be contagious, or too frightening to face. But the Newtown parents have a difficult, lifelong journey through grief ahead of them. Somehow, the seasons will change, the anniversaries will stack up one after the other. They will, unbelievably, smile again. They will make dinner and change jobs and buy clothes and celebrate and travel. They will go on. But there will always, always, be this grief, softened and dulled but present every minute of every day.
Do not forget that. Look them in the eye. Take them in your arms, and do not let them go
I
Read more here: http://www.heraldonline.com/
By Ann Hood — Special To The Washington Post
PROVIDENCE, R.I. — We are stunned. We are outraged. As a nation, we are questioning laws on gun control, questioning how such a thing can happen. These are all appropriate responses to the tragedy in Newtown, Conn. But there is a repercussion to all this that will continue long after laws are changed and life, unbelievably, gets back to normal: the grief of the parents of the 20 children killed. How many times have I heard that this is a parent's worst nightmare? As someone who has lived the nightmare of losing a child, I know that the enormous hole left behind remains forever.
My daughter, Grace, was not killed by a gun. She died suddenly at age 5 from a virulent form of strep. As I stood stunned in a church at her memorial, one of the hardest things I heard someone say was, “I'm going to go home and hug my child a little tighter.” Well, good for you, I thought. I'm going to go home and scream.
What can be said in light of such grief? What can you do? The problem is that no one can give the parents what they want most: their child. Long after the memorials fade and the casseroles stop coming, that child is still dead, and those parents are still grieving.
I offer here what I have learned about grief in the 10 years since my Gracie died:
I learned that platitudes don't work. Time doesn't heal. She is not in a better place. God does give us more than we can bear sometimes. I have learned that there is more power in a good strong hug than in a thousand meaningful words. I have learned that even in the face of loss, clothes still get dirty and bills still need to get paid. Friends who laundered our socks and answered our e-mails, who mowed our lawn and put gas in our cars, helped us — a lot. The friend who came one afternoon and went through Grace's backpack, carefully storing her kindergarten workbook and papers, hanging her art on the refrigerator and her raincoat on its hook in the mudroom, had more courage than the ones who told me to call anytime.
Some friends sat with me day after day, week after week and, yes, month after month, and let me talk while they listened. I told the story of Grace's last day over and over, as if by telling it I could make sense of what had happened to her, to us. But there is no sense to be made of such tragedy, and when I realized that, they let me wail and bang my fists and curse.
As time passes, people return to their ordinary lives, while grieving parents no longer have ordinary lives. They are redefining themselves, and they are at a loss at how to move forward. There is a woman who still sends me a card on Grace's birthday and every Mother's Day, who sent cards weekly for more than a year, a lifeline to a grieving mother. The people who even now, a decade later, still say Grace's name, still comment on her quirky style and artistic talents and love of the Beatles, continue to help me through my days, simply by remembering her.
How easy it is to look away from grief, as if it might be contagious, or too frightening to face. But the Newtown parents have a difficult, lifelong journey through grief ahead of them. Somehow, the seasons will change, the anniversaries will stack up one after the other. They will, unbelievably, smile again. They will make dinner and change jobs and buy clothes and celebrate and travel. They will go on. But there will always, always, be this grief, softened and dulled but present every minute of every day.
Do not forget that. Look them in the eye. Take them in your arms, and do not let them go
I
Read more here: http://www.heraldonline.com/
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Season 6 Over
Holiday number 6 is over. The trees are torn down and put away. It seems like I used the avoidance tactic for the most part this year. I could not bring myself to take the tree to the cemetery, so Marc and the girls did it. I held off a good two weeks after the girls started asking before I put the trees up. The shopping and wrapping were done just days before Christmas. But Santa still remembered to leave stuffed animals under the Abby Tree.
So now it's on to New Year's and I am super excited that one of our friends from our CMH support group will be riding on this year's Donate Life America float in honor and memory of her daughter. I asked her to find Abby's flower that we have placed on the float and be the one to put it in its place for us.
So now it's on to New Year's and I am super excited that one of our friends from our CMH support group will be riding on this year's Donate Life America float in honor and memory of her daughter. I asked her to find Abby's flower that we have placed on the float and be the one to put it in its place for us.
   Donor Mother
Age 45 ~
Independence, MO
Sponsored by CytonetBusiness Owner and Executive Director, Blair's Foster Socks Foundation in partnership with Midwest Transplant Network |
|
| Michele Shanahan DeMoss knew her daughter Blair didn't have a problem with
teddy bears. Blair's problem was babies' cold, bare feet. Each time a foster
child came into her family's care, Blair asked, "Why do they always have stuffed
animals, but no one can find them socks?" Determined to fix the problem,
11-year-old Blair envisioned Foster Socks, a program to provide socks to foster
and homeless children. Blair's dream was dashed when she was fatally shot by a
nearby Fourth of July reveler, but Foster Socks did not die with Blair, who gave
new life to at least six people as a donor. "She would have gotten this done,
"said Michele. "Now it's up to us." Michele's Story Michele Shanahan DeMoss knew her daughter Blair Michaela Shanahan Lane didn't have a problem with teddy bears. Blair's problem was babies with cold, bare feet. Each time a new foster child was given to her family's care, Blair asked the same question: "Why do foster kids always show up with stuffed animals, but no one can find them socks?" That was Blair: pragmatic, compassionate, and determined to fix the problem. Her solution was Foster Socks, a program dedicated to providing socks to foster and homeless children that she hoped to launch as part of her Girl Scout Gold Award project. While most girls complete their Gold Award projects as juniors or seniors in high school, Blair had a different sense of urgency. Though not yet a sixth grader, she was already filling journals with ideas and project plans for Foster Socks. She couldn't get warm socks to foster and homeless kids soon enough. Sadly, her dream was dashed before it got started. Celebrating the Fourth of July, 2011, 11-year-old Blair was enjoying the traditional back yard holiday festivities she had since she was two years old at a family home in Kansas City, Mo. Suddenly, Blair collapsed; she had been shot by a holiday reveler firing a gun from nearby. Hundreds of people visited Blair in the hospital, friends, family, civic leaders, pastors. Michele was stunned at how many people her daughter had touched, and she was touched by their words. "Her friends' parents told me their kids wanted to be like her. And so many people mentioned that Blair knew how to live as a good Christian," said Michele. "Her understanding and devotion to that was not about religion. She went to the church nearly every week, but it was never about the building." Blair died the next day, July fifth. She never gave socks to homeless children, but as an organ donor, she may have given new life to at least six people between the ages of six and 60. And, if Michele has anything to do with it, Foster Socks will not die with Blair. "Blair radiated the love and presence of God. She would have gotten this done, "said Michele. "Now it's up to us." Please take the time to read the rest of the float riders' stories and the floragraph stories. Each one is an amazing gift that changed another life. http://www.donatelifefloat.org |
Monday, December 17, 2012
Holiday Ramblings
Christmas is all but here and it has been a struggle like usual for me.
It started the day before Thanksgiving for me as I ran to Walmart to grab a birthday gift. I was standing in the toy aisle, looking at all the boy toys when I began to notice the holiday songs and the Christmas decor. My chest started to tighten and the anxiety started to flow. I made up my mind rather quickly about what I would be purchasing and made my exit.
The next evening after our family dinner, our evening plans were made. It was decided my sisters were taking the kids to see two different movies and my Mom and I would try to make a couple of purchases during the sales. I knew from the day before that I might not be able to handle the store, but we would give it a try. Unfortunately my prediction was correct and I only lasted about 10 minutes in the store before I was calling my Mom to tell her it was just too much. I could feel the panic attack starting and knew I had to leave before it progressed any further.
Instead I have been online shopping more this year and it has really helping me in dealing with the holidays by avoiding the stores as much as I can.
We also finally gave in and put the trees all up in one day last weekend so it was all over at once.
Pictures are done and we had family ones done too this year.
We used Abby's little red leather purse she had gotten for Christmas her last year with us to the pictures this year.
And the good thing is there is just a week left and I can be done for another year.
(And yes, I am doing my best to avoid the recent tragedy in the news because it just brings too many emotions back up for me.)
It started the day before Thanksgiving for me as I ran to Walmart to grab a birthday gift. I was standing in the toy aisle, looking at all the boy toys when I began to notice the holiday songs and the Christmas decor. My chest started to tighten and the anxiety started to flow. I made up my mind rather quickly about what I would be purchasing and made my exit.
The next evening after our family dinner, our evening plans were made. It was decided my sisters were taking the kids to see two different movies and my Mom and I would try to make a couple of purchases during the sales. I knew from the day before that I might not be able to handle the store, but we would give it a try. Unfortunately my prediction was correct and I only lasted about 10 minutes in the store before I was calling my Mom to tell her it was just too much. I could feel the panic attack starting and knew I had to leave before it progressed any further.
Instead I have been online shopping more this year and it has really helping me in dealing with the holidays by avoiding the stores as much as I can.
We also finally gave in and put the trees all up in one day last weekend so it was all over at once.
Pictures are done and we had family ones done too this year.
We used Abby's little red leather purse she had gotten for Christmas her last year with us to the pictures this year.
Here is a glimpse at how our Christmas cards are this year. (Hopefully I get them mailed.)
Wishing you ~
Peace
Love
& Joy
(And yes, I am doing my best to avoid the recent tragedy in the news because it just brings too many emotions back up for me.)
Monday, November 19, 2012
My Up is Lost
Up.
Has anyone seen it?
I have just felt so overwhelmed lately that I have felt like I have been struggling to even know which way is up. (Hopefully that makes sense) I have just been wanting to curl up and cry. I have not quite been able to put my finger on the cause.... It is likely so many things adding up which these months are good for. The talk of Christmas. The decorations out in the stores. The music playing already. The emails that have been flooding my inbox advertising all the big sales. It all makes me miss my little girl so much and the void feels greater during the holidays. How I wish that sometimes I can just hide away until the chaos is over.
The good thing is that I have made it a week without my facade crumbling in public. Support group last weekend was such a blessing. I cried more there this time than I had in quite some time. I left exhausted and drained, but feeling better after sharing with others who are experiencing the same things. For five years we have been going to these meetings. Five years and I still don't know when the holidays will be filled with only joy again. Five years and I still look forward to each group meeting for some sort of healing.
Both girls made memory rocks in their groups. Elly also made a doll and filled a glove with play dough, both of which were to help with their feelings. There were enough older siblings that Mady was able to be broke out into that group which she really enjoys.
Has anyone seen it?
I have just felt so overwhelmed lately that I have felt like I have been struggling to even know which way is up. (Hopefully that makes sense) I have just been wanting to curl up and cry. I have not quite been able to put my finger on the cause.... It is likely so many things adding up which these months are good for. The talk of Christmas. The decorations out in the stores. The music playing already. The emails that have been flooding my inbox advertising all the big sales. It all makes me miss my little girl so much and the void feels greater during the holidays. How I wish that sometimes I can just hide away until the chaos is over.
The good thing is that I have made it a week without my facade crumbling in public. Support group last weekend was such a blessing. I cried more there this time than I had in quite some time. I left exhausted and drained, but feeling better after sharing with others who are experiencing the same things. For five years we have been going to these meetings. Five years and I still don't know when the holidays will be filled with only joy again. Five years and I still look forward to each group meeting for some sort of healing.
Both girls made memory rocks in their groups. Elly also made a doll and filled a glove with play dough, both of which were to help with their feelings. There were enough older siblings that Mady was able to be broke out into that group which she really enjoys.
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