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: The Red Light That Won't Go Off...

Losing a child ... no parent should ever have to bury their child. Only parents who have experienced this loss can truly understand how deep and different it is from other types of losses.

Somehow, when we become parents, a type of warning lights are installed inside us, the parents. We sleep lighter and wake more easily when our baby stirs in the middle of the night. Breastfeeding mothers can have milk let-downs while shopping and hearing another hungry baby. We worry about hunger, comfort, sickness, or pain in our child.

This light goes on RED when our child, for instance, gets an ear infection and is complaining of intense discomfort. We triage the child and we go on high alert. Something is wrong. Something is causing them pain. We aren't sure what it is for sure, but we are worried that our child is in pain and some infection or condition may be developing. We have troubles sleeping soundly because we are listening more intensely. We may feel an anxiousness or aggitation.

Once we've made the doctor appointment and are on our way to the appointment, we find the light getting a little more orange. We are almost to a source of help for our child. As we sit in the waiting room and then get escorted to our examination room, it even gets a little lighter. By the time the doctor has seen our child, nodded confirmation to a diagnosis of ear infection, and put the prescription in our hand, we are on YELLOW light. We are still a little anxious; still a little nervous; still on alert. But we are on the way to remedy.

We get the prescription and start administering it to our child. The relief isn't immediate, so we still check on them more frequently. We still sleep with one ear to their direction at night, just in case. The antibiotic starts to work and the symtoms begin to subside. The yellow light is beginning to get a greenish tint.

Finally, our child is back to normal. The infection is gone - the pain is gone. All is well. We hardly notice that our internal light has become completely GREEN. All systems are go - we return to our normal routines. We start sleeping more soundly.

This kind of alert system seems to continue on throughout our children's lives, regardless of their age. The intensity of the lights is synchronized with the seriousness of the situation. If our young adult child is sick, even though they no longer live at home, we go on a light red alert until we hear they are better. If they lose their job, if their spouse leaves them, or they are experiencing serious financial stresses, our signal lights go on - returning to green things return to normal.

When a child develops a life-threatening condition, the parent may bounce back and forth between red and yellow lights as new treatments and medications are sought out.. But life doesn't return to normal.

When a child dies, with or without any warning, the parents alarm system goes off: SERIOUS FLASHING RED LIGHTS! Something is wrong with our child. We want to fix it. We seek all sorts of mental avenues to remedy it - we wish to go back in time, we wish someone will tell us it isn't true, we want to meet someone who knows how to cure this situation. Our bodies and minds know something is wrong and needs to be fixed.

Unfortunately, there are no more remedies or cures or sources of new treatments or miracles to seek.

We are left in limbo, with the RED light still on. Even when we can manage to focus our minds in another direction, there is that flashing red light in our peripheral vision. We will learn how to lesson the intensity, perhaps even lighten the color to yellow again, but it will never again be green.

No parent should ever have to bury their child ....

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