Poetry and Stories by Others about Loss
WHAT IS A MOM?
A mom rocks you to bed every night.
I couldn't do that for you.
A mom kisses you hello after school.
I couldn't do that for you.
A mom makes you the best costume for Halloween.
I couldn't do that for you.
A mom bakes your favorite cake on your birthday.
I couldn't do that for you.
A mom makes the bullies in the playground stop.
I couldn't do that for you.
A mom will suffer so you don't have to.
I did that for you.
Because I am a mom.
Author Unknown
Above Art by Dona Gelsinger
The Pit Of Grief
The day my children died, I fell into the pit of grief.
My friends watched me struggle through daily life,
waiting for the person I once was to arise
from the pit, not realizing "she" is gone forever.
The pit is full of darkness, heartache and despair,
it paralyses your thoughts, movements and ability to ration.
The pit leaves you forever changed, unable to surface
the person you once were.
Some of my pre-grief friends gather around the top of the
pit, waiting for the old me to appear before their eyes,
not understanding what's taking me so long to emerge.
After all...in their eyes, I've been in the pit for quite
sometime. Yet, in my eyes, it seems as if I fell in only yesterday.
Not all my pre-grief friends are gathered at the top of the
pit. Some are helping me with the climb out of the darkness.
They climb side by side with me from time to time,
but mostly they climb ahead of me, waiting patiently at each
plateau. Even with these friends I sometimes wonder if they
are also, waiting for the pre-grief me to magically
appear before their eyes.
Then, there are the casual acquaintances,
you know the ones who say, "hi, how are you?"
when the really don't care or really don't want to know.
These people are the people, who sigh in relief,
that it was my child who died and not theirs.
You know...the "better them, than me" attitude.
(not that I blame them for that sigh or attitude,
I too wish it happened to someone other than myself).
My post-grief friends are the ones who climb with me,
side by side, inch by inch, out of the pit of grief.
They have no way of comparing the pit climber,
to the pre-grief person, I once was.
You see, they started at the bottom of the pit with me.
They are able to reassure me when I need reassurance,
rest when I need resting, and encourage me to move
forward when I don't have the strength.
They have no expectations, no memories and no recollection
of how I "should" be. They want me to get better, to
smile more often and find joy in life,
but they've also accepted the person I've become.
The "person" who is emerging from the pit.
~Cindy Early, November 1999
GRIEVING PARENT'S WISH LIST
I wish my child hadn't died. I wish I had her back.
I wish you wouldn't be afraid to speak my child's name. My
child lived and was very important to me. I need to
hear that she was important to you also.
If I cry and get emotional when you talk about my child I
wish you knew it isn't because you hurt me. My
child's death is the cause of my tears. You have talked
about my child, and you have allowed me to share my
grief. I thank you for both.
Being a bereaved parent is not contagious, so I wish you
wouldn't shy away from me. I need you now more
than ever.
I need diversions, so I do want to hear about you: but I
also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I
might cry, but I wish you would let me talk about my child,
my favorite topic of the day.
I know that you think and pray for me often. I also know
that my child's death pains you, too. I wish that you
would let me know those things through a phone call, a
note, or a real big hug.
I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over in six
months. These first months are traumatic for me, but I
wish that you could understand that my grief will never be
over. I will suffer the death of my child until the day
I die.
I am working on my recovery but I wish that you could
understand that I will never fully recover. I will always
miss my child, and I will always grieve that she is dead.
I wish that you would not expect me "not to think about it"
or to "be happy." Neither will happen for a very long
time, so don't frustrate yourself.
I don't want to have a "pity party" but I do wish that you
would let me grieve. I must hurt before I heal.
I wish that you understood how my life has shattered. I
know it is miserable for you to be around me when I
am miserable. Please be as patient with me as I am with
you.
When I say "I'm doing ok," I wish that you could understand
that I don't "feel" ok and that I struggle daily.
I wish you knew all of the grief reactions that I'm having
are normal. Depression, anger, hopelessness and
overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So please
excuse me when I'm quiet and withdrawn, or irritable
and cranky.
Your advice to "take one day at a time" is excellent
advice. However, a day is too much and too fast for me
right now. I wish you could understand that I'm doing good
to handle one hour at a time.
Please excuse me if I seem rude, that's certainly not my
intent. Sometimes the world around me goes too fast
and I need to get off. When I walk away, I wish you would
let me find a quiet place to spend time alone.
I wish that you understood that grief changes people. When
my child died, a big part of me died with her. I am
not the same person I was before my child died, and I will
never be that person again.
I wish very much that you could understand my loss and my
grief, my silence and my tears, my void, and my
pain. But I pray daily that you never understand.
Adapted from a contribution by Diane Collins, The
Compassionate Friends, Bay Area, TX
INSPIRATIONAL POEM
GOD'S TWO BOXES
I have in my hand two boxes
Which God gave me to hold
He said, "Put all your sorrows in the black,
And all your joys in the gold."
I heeded his words, and in the two boxes
Both my joys and sorrows I store
But though the gold became heavier each day
The black was as light as before.
With curiosity, I opened the black
I wanted to find out why
And I saw, in the base of the box, a hole
Which my sorrows had fallen out by.
I showed the hole to God, and mused out loud,
"I wonder where my sorrows could be."
He smiled a gentle smile at me
"My child, they are all here with me."
I asked, "God, why give me the boxes,
Why the gold, and the black with the hole?"
"My child, the gold is for you to count your blessings,
The black is for you to let go."
Author Unknown
Above Art by Sandra Kuck
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