I have gone through much thought and prayer in preparation to write this page. Almost a year to the exact day of starting this website, I'm finally sitting down to write my thoughts and express them to those who read this. My intentions are to help, to inform and to educate. I have searched the web over and over for the best websites in the efforts to provide the best links and information for those who are ready to heal, have healed and are ready to go forth and help others. I found most of my comfort and healing through the web by meeting and talking with other mothers who have lost children to SIDS. By finding them, I don't feel so alone anymore and my feelings that I might feel guilty for having or not having seem just. "Other people" have been my savior and my hope. There is no way I would have gotten as far as I have if it were not for sharing so much with others who are grieving.

I cannot think of a greater pain than that of losing a child. It does not matter the age of your child...it only matters that he is gone. A parent is not meant to bury their child...of any age. On top of losing Timothy, I have also gone through "widowhood" the best I can also. People ask if I feel "Wise beyond my years..." And yes, I do. Not only that, but grief has made me feel much older than I am too. Talking with a few other women who have lost their husbands, I soon found out that I wasn't the only one who felt like I was no longer the most important person in the world to anyone anymore. Saying that, I feel like I am taking "pity" on myself, but if you have ever lost a spouse...especially someone like Gerry, you would know what I mean. He told me everyday how much I meant to him and how much he loved me. Then when it is no longer said to you...you start thinking, "Wait a minute, something is missing here." Nobody calls me at work to make sure I arrived there safely...nobody is at home waiting to hear about my day. It goes on...But that is just another transition I have had to make by myself...taking on a whole new role in my life. I've tried to take it on with full force, with all my engines pushing me fast ahead. Some days, I don't know what direction I'm going, but I keep moving. It has been very difficult not having Gerry here to help me mourn over the death of our son. The irony of losing Gerry is that, the person I need the most to help me through this experience has died and just at the time I need the most support, people think I should be "all better." I have become a strong believer in the fact that there is no wrong or right way to grieve. Everyone grieves in their own way that works in the favor of their personalities. Early on in my grief, I worried that I would be unable to grieve "correctly." I was afraid I wouldn't be able to hold it together...mostly for other people. I was afraid if I cried too much, people would think I had lost it or if I didn't show any emotion or cry at all...they would wonder even more about my sanity. If I wanted to talk about Gerry and Timothy they would think I was dwelling on the situation or became obsessed. If I didn't mention them...that would make them think I was holding in my emotions. After awhile, I figured out that I didn't care what other people thought and I grieved my own way...that best helped me. To this day I still do what works for me. I talk about them when I wish and cry whenever I need to...not thinking twice on how it might make others feel. Grieving is hard enough work and drains you of a lot of your energy, the last thing I or (we) need to worry about is if we are doing it correctly or what others might think is wrong or right for us. Going at it alone without Gerry has had an overwhelming impact on me, but I'm still here to write about it...so I guess you could say, I'm living through it...I'm surviving.

I'm not the same person I was once before. Many things about me have changed...some I like, some I don't. I miss the life that I shared with Gerry and Timothy and I miss the "old Keri." Things that I found important aren't anymore...my priorities have taken a drastic change in many ways. I have never taken the people in my life for granted, so I can't say that I have learned not to do that. I have always appreciated family and friends. However, I have developed a low tolerance for people around me that haven't figured out what "their" priorities are and what is important in life. I believe we all are given a "test" in this life...something to triumph over. Whether it's through the death of a loved one, a natural disaster, illnesses or physical handicaps. How we overcome these hardships and some might say, "unfairnesses" really determine what kind of people we are. One thing I have decided is that I will not become a "bitter" person over my losses. I have been told that I have every right to become one, but I wasn't brought up that way and I don't want to use Gerry and Timothy's deaths as an excuse to blame the world for my misfortunes. I don't want to represent them like that.

When I hear people complaining about the smallest things, I just want to tell them to squeeze their feet into my size five and a half shoe someday and walk around all day in them...just so they could feel what I feel in my sadness. I guarantee that when the day is over, and they take off my shoes...their tired, sore, aching feet will let them know that...that is how my heart feels each and every day. And when the next day comes around for them to put their shoes on again, and they reach for my size five and a half shoe....I have no doubt that they will reach for another pair. Maybe then, they will realize that their problems really aren't "problems" after all...or at least not as big as they thought.

When Timothy's first anniversary of his death came around, I fell into a deep depression. The whole month of January was extremely hard for me. The days leading up to his death were horrible. And I found that those days were harder than the actual day itself. But just the same, I didn't want to face it. I was doing so well, and when January hit...I didn't know what to make of myself. Again, I survived it and I have many more January's ahead of me. As well as many December's to face for Gerry's anniversary. I was asked by the SIDS organization to go on live t.v. to talk about a SIDS benefit we were holding and to talk a little about my experience. I went on a morning news show the day after Timothy's one year anniversary. They showed his picture on t.v. and I spoke about the benefit and ways to "reduce" the risk of SIDS. Doing the television appearance really helped me through such a tough time. I was honored they asked me and I was so happy to show Timothy to everyone. January will always be hard for me. That month will never be the same for me. This poem ahead is what I felt as the day approached of Timothy's first anniversary:

I managed to make it through the holiday season. My second without Gerry...my first without Timothy.

In those glittering days I managed to smile and even find a few moments of peace and joy; but here in the gloom of January, all I seem to see are the scattered pieces of my life...cast before me on the card table, waiting for me to pick them up and make the picture.

But what picture do all of these pieces form? I used to think I knew. I used to know who I was and where I was going and how I was going to get there. But now...now in the chill of January, I can't even remember where the puzzle begins and I end.

I think I'm still grieving, and that surprises me...I should be getting better. Why do I cry every time I look at your pictures? Why can't I smile this month? Why does your name still stick in my throat? Who am I now that the memories grow cold in January's chill?

Am I still a mother if there isn't a child to tuck in at night? Am I still a wife if there isn't anyone to snuggle up to in my bed? Or greet me at home at the end of the day? Am I still a child if my parent has died? Am I still a human being, capable of loving and being loved, if the one person I loved more than anything has become frozen in time? Who am I now that my loved ones have died?

The gloom has permeated even my toes, and my whole body seems icy. Why can't January be warm and gentle---especially after the struggle of the holidays? I need some sunshine, some warmth, some help in turning over the puzzle pieces and putting them back together. I need some spring....

FAMILY AND FRIENDS

I remember the day I found out I was expecting. I was so excited and couldn't wait to tell Gerry. That evening when he came to pick me up from work, I made him pull into a parking spot. I showed him the pregnancy test...Gerry cried tears of joy all the way home.

On July 14, 1999...my sister Kelley, myself and Gerry went to our sonogram to find out whether we would be buying dresses or baseball caps. Timothy made it "very clear" that there would be "no" dresses...only blue jeans and baseball caps.

Gerry decided on the name of Timothy Michael Lamberti--and our son certainly lived up to the name. He had the physical strength and aggressiveness of his uncle Tim, the smile and small smirk on his face as if he knew something we didn't, was that of his uncle Mike. And with the last name Lamberti--he inherited his Italian and Irish looks, beautiful skin and unknowingly, a sense of fashion.

And of course from his father, he was a true Lamberti...charming, nurturing, sweet and special.

With the recent passing of my husband and best friend Gerry, I knew I was going to be a little different than any kind of mother. Just in the short two months that Timothy was with me, I developed a very special and unique bond with him and he with me. We would catch our eyes meeting sometimes and it was like he was saying to me, "It's going to be OK mommy, we've got eachother."

On the day he was born, he instantly took our breath away. He even took the hearts of all the nurses and was voted best looking of all the babies. "He has a face of an angel"...I was told once. And he did, perfectly flawless.

Timothy was my lifeline...for many of us actually. He gave me such wonderful joy and fulfillment as a person and as a mother. For the last month I have been trying to do nothing but survive and go on day to day...finding the strength to understand the loss of my husband. Timothy was my strength...for many of us--our only connection to Gerry. That in many respects is why we feel he was a gift from God. Mostly sent here to fill our broken hearts with a sense of hope and encouragement. And for these reasons...Timothy will always be a gift from God for all of us.

The one thought I would like you to leave with today is that we have not completely lost Timothy in the sense he will always be a part of our lives. He will always be in our hearts and the comfort that he is with his loving father again and that they are watching over us together. For such a little boy, given to us for such a little time, he made a huge impact on a large amount of people...and will always have a huge piece of our hearts. I've never had the opportunity to read Timothy a bedtime story so I would like to do that now. This is for you Timmy...

We had white roses at Timothy's service...I had three on top of his casket tied with a ribbon with blue and white checks. One was to represent Gerry, myself and Timothy. When I saw this picture above, I knew I had to have it. When I see a white rose, I think of the both of them. (We had white roses at our wedding also.)

This was taken while visiting Timothy and Gerry. It is a very peaceful cemetery full of lots of trees and beautiful landscaping. I feel at peace out there with the both of them...more so when I'm at home by myself. I go out to see them practically everyday to check up on things. As a mother, I still feel the need to make sure Timothy is OK. I have planned to be put on the other side of Timothy...so he is in the middle of Gerry and I. When I feel the warm sun and gentle breeze on my skin, I feel it is them peeking through the clouds touching me anyway that they can. I try and enjoy those things in nature, so they too, may enjoy them. The poem "FLY" that is on the very first page of Timothy's site, is engraved on a silver plaque on Timothy's marker. It is orginally a song Celine Dion sings, which also plays on the first page. I put the song into a poem and the words will forever be with Timothy.

On June 23, 2000...Six and five months after Gerry's and Timothy's deaths, my family and I also lost my beautiful mother Kathleen to a long illness from liver failure. (she has the same name as Gerry's mom) All of us were at her bedside when she took her last breath. My last words to her were asking her to take care of Timothy and Gerry for me until I got there. My mom was the type of person who you didn't even have to ask those kinds of things. I knew she would have done it anyway. I wanted to take her place so badly so she could enjoy her other grandchildren and our family. I figured she still would have five other children, my father and other loved ones to be with...so why I couldn't I go to be with Gerry and Timothy? I struggled with this for the longest time...but I have come to realize it wasn't in God's plan for me to be there yet. He wanted my mother instead. I miss her and wish so badly she were here to talk with about things and all the struggles I have been feeling lately. Death really confuses your emotions and makes you feel like you are in a constant whirlwind. I feel if she were still here, she could help things seem a bit more clear for me. Below is my favorite picture of her. She put all of the Rita Hayworth's and Ann Margaret's to shame...she was so beautiful. I love you mom...

~GOD SAW YOU~
God saw you getting tired
And a cure was not to be.
So he put his arms around you
And said, "Come to me."
With tearful eyes we watched you,
And saw you slip away...
And though we love you dearly,
We could not make you stay.
A golden heart stopped beating,
Hard working hands were put to rest.
God broke our hearts to prove to us,
He only takes the BEST.....