To One In Sorrow
Let me come in where you are weeping, friend,
And let me take your hand.
I, who have known a sorrow such as yours, can understand.
Let me come in--I would be very still beside you in your grief;
I would not bid you cease your weeping, friend,
Tears bring relief. Let me come in--and hold your hand,
For I have known a sorrow such as yours, And understand.

-Grace Noll Crowell

The Loss Of A Child

The moment that I knew you had died,
My heart split in two,
The one side filled with memories,
The other died with you.

I often lay awake at night,
When the world is fast asleep,
And take a walk down memory lane,
With tears upon my cheek.

Remembering you is easy,
I do it every day,
But missing you is a heartache,
That never goes away.

I hold you tightly within my heart,
And there you will remain,
Life has gone on without you,
But it never will be the same.

For those who still have their children,
Treat them with tender care,
You will never know the emptiness,
As when you turn and they are not there.

Don't tell me that you understand,
don't tell me that you know.
Don't tell me that I will survive,
How I will surely grow.

Don't tell me this is just a test,
That I am truly blessed.
That I am chosen for the task,
Apart from all the rest.

Don't come at me with answers
That can only come from me,
Don't tell me how my grief will pass,
That I will soon be free.

Don't stand in pious judgment
the bonds I must untie,
Don't tell me how to grieve,
Don't tell me when to cry.

Accept me in my ups and downs,
need someone to share,
Just hold my hand and let me cry
And say, "My friend, I care

Author unknown

in my car

in my car the tears flow free
away from everyone else but me
alone in my car with only my sorrow
i keep hoping it won't be the same tomorrow
but it is and as i drive home from work each day
it is strength that i beg for each time that i pray
god, let me make it just one more mile
on this road of life without my child

by renee williams
Member of lossofachild2 grief support group

Thanks for stopping by!

Thanks for stopping by my Grief Support Blog! This blog will be added to as new resources are discovered and examined, as I find new poetry, or write new articles. Please stop back by again! A blog seems to scroll on forever as you add to it, and older articles are "archived". Scroll to the bottom of the page and click on a link to see older articles. You'll then be taken to the top of the blog again and will have to scroll down the page to see the older articles now placed on the page. CONTENTS Poems and Submissions by Others... ~One More Mile, Renee Williams ~A Pair of Shoes, Anonymous ~God Saw You, Anonymous ~How Am I?, by Jennifer Bonner ~How We Survive, by Mark Rickerby ~Please See Me Through My Tears, Kelly Osmont ~To One In Sorrow, Grace Noll Crowell Memorials... ~Michael Aaron Botten ~Matthew Robert Slasor Resources ~Two More Resources ~Support Groups Online ~Books and Articles ~List of Grief and Comfort Songs ~Tributes to Lost Loved Ones Articles ~Cloud Bursts ~Endless Highway ~I Feel That No One Cares ~Seaching for Comfort and Cures ~Child Loss - A Different Dimension of Grief ~The Elusive Good Night's Sleep ~Our Grief Becomes a Part of Who We Are ~Healing Times - Taking Care of You ~Some Ways to Help a Grieving Person ~They Are Worthy of Our Grief ~Coming Back to Life Again ~Another Calendar Page Falls to the Floor ~Holiday Memorial Wreath ~The Grief Pack ~No More Compensation ~Grief Journeys - Heading for Dry Land ~The Red Light Won't Go Off (Child Loss) ~Go At Your Own Pace...But Keep on Trying

Michael Aaron Botten 02/18/74-01/09/07

Michael Aaron Botten 02/18/74-01/09/07
My beloved first-born son

Michael Aaron Botten

February 18, 1974 - January 09, 2007

Beloved first-born son of Sandra Burgess-Dean and William Botten; brother to Tracie Dean and Matthew Botten; father to two beautiful daughters, Krista and Kelsey.

He loved old cars, motorcycles, pickup trucks, fixing things, remote control vehicles, model cars, bicycles, creating with clay, drawing, reading his Bible, his family, friends, and co-workers. He was a volunteer fireman and a maintenance technician.

Michael suffered from sudden, acute, and uncontrollable diabetes in his late 20's. Gastroparesis and osteoporosis, along with severe and painful neuropathy, soon followed. Although he endured a broken heart, broken dreams, and a very painful, broken body, he continued smiling and praying for everyone he knew. He expected nothing. He appreciated everything. He gave all he could give.
God Saw You

God saw you getting tired,
When a cure was not to be.
So He wrapped his arms around you,
and whispered, "Come to me".
You didn't deserve what you went through,
So He gave you rest.
God's garden must be beautiful,
He only takes the best
And when I saw you sleeping,
So peaceful and free from pain
I could not wish you back
To suffer that again.

Anonymous

Michael's Music


Friday, February 22, 2008

GRIEF: No More Compensation ...

When I gave birth to Michael, I missed my pregnancy. I missed the fullness of my tummy, the movement from within, the connection with my child.

Of course, in compensation, I had the memories of my pregnancy and this awesome baby to hold in my arms and see with my eyes. A little bit of sadness, a tremendous amount of joy!

When Michael started to crawl, he became extremely mobile fast. Gone were the days of holding him for unending periods of time, sitting beside him dangling little toys to amuse him. He was off and crawling everywhere. A little sadness, but memories added to my growing store, and a whole new adventure in front of us to enjoy!

And so it would go ...

Gone the toothless grin, but a beautiful tooth in its place.
Gone the crawling little baby, but in his place a toddler
Gone the diapers, an independent little boy
Gone my little all-day companion, instead a young school boy coming and going
Then my school boy turned into a young man
Then a boyfriend
Then he left home (too early...and not quite the compensation)
Then a husband
Then a father...

Each time, I lost a little of what Mike had been, but he was developing into who he was to be. Each time a little sadness; most of the time more joy and delight in what he was becoming or had accomplished. I still had the memories of what had been, and I still had him ... and within him, incorporated into what he was, and what he was becoming, was still that little baby, that little boy, that young man ... with each loss, I ended up with more .. all that had been plus all that was.

But when you lose a child, that compensation factor ends. You still have the memories, and you cling to them and sort through them over and over, trying desperately not to forget even one, and even more desperately trying to resurrect even more, but they bring to the front of things, even more acutely, the fact that there is no more stages, no more to look forward to with this child, no more man who incorporates all that has been, is and will be.

It abruptly ends with the child's death.

Tremendous sadness, no compensating joy.
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