Matthew William Beard - Online Memorial Website

Every time I am in a group of bereaved parents, I hear people say things like, "I wish my child hadn't died" or "I wish I had him back".  Those wishes, unfortunately, can never come true. Another wish I hear is "I wish my friends (or church, or neighbors, or relatives) understood what I am going through and were more supportive." This is a wish that has some possibility of coming true if we are able to be honest and assertive with the people around us. What do we wish others understood about the loss of our child? Here is a partial list of such wishes:

1. I wish you would not be afraid to speak my child's name. My child lived and was important and I need to hear his name.

2. If I cry or get emotional if we talk about my child, I wish you knew that it isn't because you have hurt me; the fact that my child died has caused my tears. You have allowed me to cry and thank you. Crying and emotional outbursts are healing.

3. I wish you wouldn't "kill" my child again by removing from your home his pictures, artwork, or other remembrances.

4. I will have emotional highs and lows, ups and downs. I wish you wouldn't think that if I have a good day my grief is all over, or that if I have a bad day I need psychiatric counseling.

5. I wish you knew that the death of a child is different from other losses and must be viewed separately. It is the ultimate tragedy and I wish you wouldn't compare it to your loss of a parent, a spouse, or a pet.

6. Being a bereaved parent is not contagious so I wish you wouldn't shy away from me.

7. I wish you knew all of the "crazy" grief reactions that I am having are in fact very normal. Depression, anger, frustration, hopelessness, and the questioning of values and beliefs are to be expected following the death of a child.

8. I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over in six months. The first few years are going to be exceedingly traumatic for us. As with alcoholics, I will never be "cured" or a "former bereaved parent", but will forevermore be a "recovering bereaved parent".

9. I wish you understood the physical reactions to grief. I may gain weight or lose weight, sleep all the time or not at all, develop a host of illnesses and be accident-prone, all of which may be related to my grief.

10. Our child's birthday, the anniversary of his death, and holidays are a terrible times for us. I wish you would tell us that you are thinking about our child on these days, and if we get quiet and withdrawn, just know that we are thinking about our child and don't try to coerce us into being cheerful.

11. It is normal and good that most of us re-examine our faith, values, and beliefs after losing a child. We will question things we have been taught all our lives and hopefully come to some new understanding with our God. I wish you would let me tangle with my religion without making me feel guilty.

12. I wish you wouldn't offer me drinks or drugs. These are just temporary crutches, and the only way I can get through this grief is to experience it. I have to hurt before I can heal.

13. I wish you understood that grief changes people. I am not the same person I was before my child died and I never will be that person again. If you keep waiting for me to "get back to my old self", you will stay frustrated. I am a new creature with new thoughts, dreams, aspirations, values and beliefs. Please try to get to know the new me - - maybe you'll still like me.

*Normal is becoming paralyzed at the sound of sirens.

*Normal is trying to decide how to decorate our child's grave instead of our house on dreaded holidays.

*Normal is checking to see if I am wearing two of the same shoes, while
searching for the phone I'm actually talking on and grabbing my keys out of the freezer or some other strange place I can't remember where I left them.

*Normal is feeling closer to someone in Canada than the person sitting
next to me because they too share this new Normal.

*Normal is sitting at the computer trying to type through the tears and sharing my deepest pain with a complete stranger because they too know this pain.

*Normal is tears waiting behind every smile because my child is not here to share important moments in my life.

*Normal is not saying the words "happy" and "birthday" in the same sentence ever again.

*Normal is crying every single day and knowing tomorrow will be no different.

*Normal is knowing without a doubt that I can never be hurt this badly again for as long as I live.

*Normal is being afraid of everything yet being afraid of nothing and then wondering which is worse.

*Normal is knowing that I love my friends and family but in a sense pushing them away because they just can't understand.

*Normal is a constant sense of "loss of control" at any given time or at any given place because you never know when it will hit.

*Normal is an ache in the center of my chest that I am learning to live with yet it still has the ability to double me over without warning.

*Normal is not knowing how much longer I can sit somewhere without getting up and screaming to the top of my lungs.

*Normal is suddenly gasping for a breath because you realized that you had forgotten to breathe.

*Normal is waking up in the morning and wondering why.

*Normal is feeling resentment towards people when they complain about how awful their lives are because they can't pay a bill, or their kid lied or didn't do their chores, or because they are having relationship problems, or in my mind, other trivial problems.

*Normal is always remembering watching your child die, begging God to save your child, and being totally helpless to save your child.

*Normal is wanting to scream, "HER NAME IS BREANNA,  HIS NAME IS MATT! SAY IT, TALK ABOUT HER, TALK ABOUT HIM! STOP SAYING SHE OR HER, HE OR HIM! SAY THEIR NAME, SAY BREANNA!!! SAY MATT!!!

LOSS OF AN ONLY CHILD

The Psychiatric Diagnostic Statistical Manual states that losing a child is a catastrophic stressor unlike any other.  No matter if you have one child or ten children the loss of a child is past devastating. There is no one word in the English language that can describe it anywhere near adequately.  Although one child can and would never replace another, when you lose your only child you are faced with unique challenges and struggles.  If you are a single parent that has lost your only child then the one and only reason for your world has been taken away.  The loss of the child is no different than that of any other parent, it truly is the worst loss for all of us, however, as so many parents that have surviving children have said to me, their surviving children is what keeps them going and they are so thankful for them.  Or a surviving grandchild of the child that was lost. 

The following is from a book that my psychologist gave me to read called, "How To Go On Living When Someone Dies" by Therese A. Rando, PHD. She is a  psychologist that specializes in loss and grief:

"When you lose an only child, your parental responsibilities end, as well as your parental gratifications. You must then contend with the total absence of your former identity as a parent. This is tremendously disorganizing, confusing, and demoralizing. There is intense damage to your sense of self. You wonder whether or not you can still call yourself a parent. In addition, you may wonder to whom you will pass on your name and your heirlooms. There is no biological continuation of yourself and your immortality has been taken away. You will never be a grandparent. There are no other children for whom you can make a pretense of the holidays, or for whom your can force yourself to go on. Questions arise about who will take care of you and will come to you on the holidays. As a parent who loses an only child, you face the same issues as any bereaved parent, but you must do so in a vacuum of the parental role that is taken away with the death of the one child you had. The death of your child exposes you to the most intense, complicated, and long-lasting grief known to humans."

"If you are a single parent, you face the incredible burden of making crucial decisions without input and support, and face major events by yourself. Usually there is no one to spell you from your responsibilities, share in your duties, or relieve you from your burdens. You alone are responsible for meeting work, financial, social, and household obligations -- and all while you are actively grieving. Because you lack another adult with whom to share your grief, you often do not have a sufficient respite from it. Frequently there is a general lack of support for single parents. This is not to say that friends and family are not concerned. However, when you are alone in the middle of the night and need to be held of want to share the pain of grief, you may not have the options of a bereaved parent who is in a relationship with another adult who is available to her. Or you may not have the energy required to reach out. This particular isolation only increases the normal alienation felt by bereaved parents in general, and underscores the critical important need for a special support system."

You will often hear from a parent that has lost a child that they no longer have a fear of dying.  That the fear of dying left them the second their child died.  That is because we all know that one day we will again be reunited with our child.  Often you hear a parent of an only child state that they can't wait until they are reunited with their child, that they look forward to that day, that it can't come soon enough.  Please understand why.  We will wait until our time has come but so many of us anxiously await that day.

A wife who loses her husband is called a widow,
 a husband who loses a wife is called a widower,
   a child who loses his parents is called an orphan,
 but there is no word for a parent who loses a child,
  that's how awful the loss is!
                                - J. Neugeboren

After the death of a child...

Please, don't ask me if I'm over it yet.
I'll never be over it.

Please, don't tell me he's in a better place.
He isn't here with me.

Please, don't say "at least he isn't suffering."
I have yet to come to terms with why he had to suffer at all.

Please, don't tell me you know how I feel-
unless you've lost a child yourself.

Please, don't ask me if I feel better.
Bereavement isn't a condition that clears up.

Please, don't tell me "at least you had him so many years."
What year would you choose for your child to die?

Please, don't tell me that "God never gives us more than we can bear."
Please, just say you are sorry.

Please, just say you remember my child.

Please, just let me talk about my child.

Please, mention my child's name.

Please, just let me cry.
                                -unknown

MY MOM IS A SURVIVOR

My Mom is a survivor,

or so I've heard it said.

But I can hear her crying at night

when all others are in bed.

I watch her lay awake at night

and go to hold her hand.

She doesn't know I'm with her

to help her understand.

But like the sands on the beach

that never wash away ...

I watch over my surviving Mom

who thinks of me each day.

She wears a smile for others ...

a smile of disguise!

But through Heaven's door

I see tears flowing from her eyes.

My Mom tries to cope with death;

To keep my memory alive.

But anyone who knows her knows

it is her way to survive.

As I watch over my surviving Mom

through Heaven's open door ...

I try to tell her that angels

protect me forevermore!

I know that doesn't help her,

or ease the burden she bears.

So, if you get a chance, go visit her.

Show her that you care.

For no matter what she says ...

no matter what she feels.

My surviving Mom has a broken heart

that time won't ever heal.

         Author-Kaye Des'Ormeaux

 

What a Grieving Mother Really Thinks

Hello old friend,
Oh yes you know
I lost my child a while ago.
No, no please
Don’t look away
And change the subject
It’s ok.
You see at first I couldn’t feel,
It took so long, but now it’s real.
I hurt so much inside you see
I need to talk,
Come sit with me?
You see, I was numb for so very long,
And people said, “My, She is so strong.”
They did not know I couldn’t feel,
My broken heart made all unreal.
But then one day, as I awoke
I clutched my chest, began to choke,
Such a scream, such a wail,
Broke from me..
My child! My child!
The horror of reality.
But everyone has moved on, you see,
everyone except for me.
Now, when I need friends most of all,
Between us there now stands a wall.
My pain is more than they can bear,
When I mention my child,
I see their blank stare.
“But I thought you were over it,”
Their eyes seem to say,
No, no, I can’t listen to this, not today.
So I smile and pretend, and say, “Oh, I’m ok”.
But inside I am crying, as I turn away.
And so my old friend, I shall paint on a smile,
As I have from the start,
You never knowing all the while,
All I’ve just said to you in my heart

 

                                     ~By Kelly Cummings