It has been one month since my 22 year-old son, Josh, was shot by a friend in a terrible accident. The funeral over, the phone is quiet again, one or two cards come in the mail, but most have gone on with their lives. I am Josh's mother. I am left with the feelings of loneliness and the mystery of life and death. Josh's 3 brothers and 2 sisters continue to ache for his loss. Being the youngest brother, his place in the family presents a void. Forgiveness has been chosen toward the "one" who shot him, but each day it is a choice for me. The shooter has shown remorse, attended the funeral, asked for mercy, and is willing to pay expenses for the funeral.
Some days my son's death feels like just yesterday. Other days it feels like it was only a dream and that he will call soon or come over to see me.
Today I viewed the pictures from the funeral. I felt numb as I looked at myself on that sad day. Tears well up inside me. I remember the hugs and tears and love on that day for me and my family and I am thankful for the treasure of friends and family that care and love me. Peace comes over me like a veil............but then anguish comes too. My emotions are not steady, they are floating inside of me, churning and causing pain.
Music has been a very important part of my grieving and pictures....a CD of my son's life was made for the funeral and as I watch the CD, I find myself grieving for Josh the baby, the toddler, the teen, the man. The song "To Where You Are" by Josh Groban has been helpful in my journey through the valley of the shadow of death. God has been my partner and not my enemy through my time to grieve. His comfort has carried my soul through these dark days. I continue on.........one hour at a time...........God bless all the wonderful gifts my son has given me to cherish in my heart: the gift of love, his smile, his joy, his pain, his sorrow. Now my heart joins his in Heaven where we will worship and praise the Lord for eternity. He is only a breath away.
I am the sole remaining member of the "3 Stooges". In 1996, I lost Nicole to leukemia. Then, three years later, in 1999, Jennifer passed away from cancer. Jennifer has always been more than my best friend, she is my angel.
I met Jen when I was in 5th grade. She had already been through one battle with cancer (a tumor on her spine). That year, they put rods into her back to help support her spine. The following summer, they found out Jen's cancer had returned. She fought it, she lost her hair, and we realized her growth was stunted. The kids at school made fun of her, but she never cried, and always forgave. She taught me about forgiveness. We had to go to different high schools because my campus was too large. While I was helping mom out at her school a few days before school started, another teacher came to me and asked if I knew what was going on with Jen. I found out Jen had gone to Duke for a check up and they discovered her tumor had grown. They started surgery that morning and tried to remove as much as possible. They couldn't do anymore chemo or radiation treatments since she'd already had more than FDA allows. All I could do was cry. I knew, even before they told me, that Jen would never recover.
June 13, 1999. That night, I was lying on a blanket in my front yard looking at the stars. I stayed out there till at least 12:30 AM. I got up the next morning and got ready to run to a vendor for dad before I headed to his store. I was about to walk out the door when the phone rang. It was one of my friends. She told me Jen had died. I cried for 30 minutes, got in my car...and headed on my way. I couldn't sit around and not do anything but cry. Jen wouldn't have wanted it that way.
Probably the hardest thing for me was knowing that a few months earlier, her brother had called and asked me to come visit her. I told him I was sick and would have to get back with them when I was well. I never did get back with them. I was scared. But that's no excuse. I will always feel guilty about what happened. When Jen needed me most, I abandoned her. Never abandon your friends and family. Never forget to tell those you love just how you feel about them!
When she passed, I promised myself I would never let her memory or her message of love and forgiveness die. Earlier this year, I started to think I was forgetting Jen. Her voice, her face, everything. I realized I wasn't spreading her message anymore, I wasn't even setting an example anymore! So, I got my first tattoo. A butterfly with Jen's initials under it on the back of my shoulder. We had let butterflies go at her funeral. It's just what I wanted, or needed. Now people say, "who's initials?" and I get to tell them all about her!
Michael is my cousin, my best friend. We spent most of our childhood together at our grandmother's, until our grandmother died, and Michael moved out of state. We had many childhood memories that I will never forget.
Michael and I were reunited about 8 years later, and our bonds were reconnected again, I HAD MY BEST FRIEND BACK!!!
Unfortunatlly Michael had gotten hooked on prescription drugs, and had a hard time beating the problem. He thought he finally had the problem licked with the help of Methadone, but ironically it was the Methadone that took him away from us way too early.
Michael was allergic to the medicine that was supposed to make him better, but we didn't know the signs of Methadone overdose due to allergic reactions, and the clinic neglected to monitor him close enough, to take notice. So now I have lost my best friend again, until we are reunited for all eternity.
It was 2 years ago that Michael departed from us, sometimes it feels like just yesterday and sometimes those 2 years feel like twenty. I will always love and miss him. Thank goodness for memories, they are a part of what keeps him alive.
In San Francisco, California, July 21, 1964, a little girl came screaming into the world weighing just 5 pounds 4 ounces. She had a rough start at life because at birth her ovaries were outside of her abdominal wall so she was taken to surgery to correct the problem. Doctors were not sure if she would be able to have children or not but the surgery was a success. Shae Lyn Morris went home with her naval officer father and stay at home mom.
After her father received a discharge from the navy, Shae and her family moved back to Wisconsin to be with the rest of the family. Shae grew up in a relatively normal family until the age of 14 when her father left her mother. The following years were a blur of drugs and alcohol but she outgrew that phase and went on to have lots of hopes and dreams. At the age of 18 her house was gutted by fire and she was sent to live with her grandmother while her sister, Heather, went to live with her dad. It was here that Shae hooked up with the East side artists and realized her dream of creativity.
Shae was a wonderful artist and had some of her tattoo art published in skin ink mags. She also was an excellent photographer with some of her work being published in a sci fi mag. At the age of 35 Heather noticed a nasty looking mole on Shae's back. Heather got Shae into her physician the next day who sent her to a dermatologist that day who then sent her to an Oncologist the next week. The diagnosis of Melanoma came back and she was told that they were pretty sure they got it all but they recommended a round of Chemo and some tests of her lymph nodes just to be safe. But because she didn't have insurance they required $3000 down, which she didn't have. She started to take some holistic meds and she hoped they got it all. In her mind there was nothing else the she could do.
Her life drifted on with her dreaming of making it big in the artist field and wishing she could find the love of her life. At the age of 36 she did just that. She met a man named Jesper in an internet chat room for a sci fi show she loved. Jesper and Shae talked and talked and eventually it was decided that he would come here and meet her family and then she would go live in Denmark with him. It was also decided that once she got to Denmark, which has free health care to all citizens, she would become a citizen and go make sure her cancer was taken care of.
On July 3, 2000 Shae and Jesper left for a life in Denmark. She had many dreams for the future and was glowing in her newfound love. Within months she was able to be seen by a doctor who did a battery of tests and nothing was found. It looked like she had beat her cancer and was clear to have a wonderful life.
But life had other plans for her. In November 2002 Shae found out she was pregnant. She was excited yet scared. She wasn't sure if she wanted to be a mom but it was too late so she went with the flow. She was sick a lot but the pregnancy was progressing nicely. In January Shae started to experience blinding migraines. She thought they were from the pregnancy but after testing it was discovered that her cancer had indeed spread. To her brain. She started to take oral meds and did radiation treatment to fight the invader to her body. She lost her baby but had some hope at being able to live. In April they discovered yet another skin tumor and more tumors in her brain. The cancer wasn't shrinking with radiation, but instead was growing. Shae resisted telling her family back in the States but her husband insisted that her family be notified of the developments. So at the end of April Shae broke down and called her sister Heather. But she just could not break the news. She handed the phone to Jesper who then told Heather what was going on. Since Heather was in the medical field she instantly knew what this meant and she knew the inevitable outcome. She knew her sister was going to die. Heather then called her father on 3-way calling so that Jesper could break the news to him. She's father took the news rather well and wanted to know what could be done to cure Shae. While Heather was listening to the conversation she knew instantly that her father was in denial about the situation. But didn't want to crush him by informing him that his optimism was misplaced.
Shae underwent numerous treatments for her now rapidly spreading cancer while her father did numerous calls and tried to get Shae into studies in the US. But Shae's caner was too advanced for any study to accept her. It was decided in the beginning of October 2002 that Shae and Jesper would come back to the US so that Shae could try to get more aggressive treatment in the states. Shae and Jesper started to pack while Heather started to get a room ready at their father's house for them to come home. Things were looking up as the ACS agreed to review Shae's case and to see if there was an advanced study they could get her in. There was a glimmer of hope.
Shae started having problems breathing on October 10 and was admitted to a Danish hospital where she was diagnosed with a fungal infection in her lungs, throat and mouth. Fungal infections are very common in cancer patients who are on radiation so this wasn't a dire situation. Easily treatable. But on October 16 Shae took a turn for the worse and her doctors felt she wasn't trying hard enough to fight the fungal infection. They informed Jesper that if any family from the States could come over, they better do so now. Shae's father started trying to find flights for the next day. The night of the 16th Shae perked up. She was sitting up, talking and laughing but was also telling Jesper what her wishes were just in case something happened to her. She sat up talking for 5 hours straight while Jesper wrote down her wishes in a notebook. Everyone was optimistic and hopeful that Shae could pull through since she was looking so good. During this time Heather go to talk to Shae and was able to tell her she loved her and Shae was able to reply back, she sounded pretty good. Heather's hope soared. After sitting up for so long talking Shae laid down and went to sleep. In the morning of October 17th 2002 Shae woke up, looked at her husband and smiled then closed her eyes and quietly passed away. Time of death was 11:17 am Danish time or 4:17 am US time.
Jesper called Heather to inform her of the news. His exact words when Heather answered the phone were "Heather, it is over. She is now at peace". Heather hasn't had a minute's peace since then.
Today is the one year anniversary of my sister's death. I miss her dearly. I had so many things I wanted to say. So many regrets I wish I could right. After death tests showed that the cancer had started to spread to her liver and kidney. Shae cheated her cancer out of debilitating her. That is the one thing I am grateful for. She didn't suffer. She cheated her cancer.
My father never made it to see her before she died. He did still fly there and they had a funeral over there while I planned, ordered and cleaned for a funeral here. My dad took pictures of her in her casket and of her funeral for those of us who could not go. To this day I have not shown the pictures to my mom. Over in Denmark they don't do any restorative care. They don't have open caskets. The only reason they opened it up was because she was a US citizen and so that my dad could say good-bye. The pictures are a shock so seeing her in person had to be horrible for my dad. She had been gone almost 2 days by the time he got to the morgue to see her.
It was kind of interesting to hear about the differences between the two countries. They don't do picture boards or anything over there so when my dad brought all of these pictures for the board they had no clue what he was talking about. In the end, they thought a picture board was an excellent idea and maybe we started a new tradition over there. Maybe Shae had some impact on their lives and because of her traditions can change.
I miss you dear sister. I love you. RIP Shae 7/64 - 10/02.
My youngest daughter, Tianna Mai, died on February 10, 2002. She died on her seventh birthday an hour after we sang her birthday song. Tianna became ill with a very rare auto immune disease called Macrophage Activation Syndrome. It caused her immune system to attack all of her vital organs and cells and eventually led to multiple organ failure. It was devastating to my family because Tianna had never been ill in all her life except an ear infection. This disease rears its ugly head so fast and so sudden that it was very difficult for the doctors to diagnose at first. And by the time they were able to diagnose it they realized that this disease was so rare, very little was known about it. So on the evening of February 10, 2002, Tianna quietly slipped into the peaceful journey home to return to where she came from. Each day is such a struggle for me because somehow I knew that this child was unique and special. I gave her all of me and she did the same. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect child. She was sweet, tender, and mature beyond her years. Its almost as if she somehow knew that her time was limited here on this earth. I can recall her telling me all the time as we sat in my bed together, (she slept with me since birth until she was hospitalized), "Mommy, I don't ever want to grow up." Tianna was so curious about heaven and would ask me, "Mommy, what does heaven look like?" or, "Does heaven have cars?". I wonder at times if this was God's way of showing me what was to come. And though the pain of my loss is never-ending, God has impressed upon me that my sweet angel is fine and that one day there will be a joyous reunion. I look for signs of her continued existence everyday, and when I see them, I feel blessed. We released live painted lady butterflies at the conclusion of her graveside ceremony, a way to symbolize what her birth, life, and transition to the afterlife. For those who have suffered a loss as great as mine, I say, "Keep your faith in God and know that it was not meant for us to know the 'Big Plan" God has laid out for each and every one of us. Though I would have given my own life to spare Tianna's, I know that it wasn't meant to be that way. I learned the true meaning of love through Tianna. I believe that God fulfilled his purpose through my daughter's short life and I am honored to have been her Mommy.
Today, I watched myself wander down 34th Street, in and out of shops filled with clothes I cannot afford to buy. A faint, dusky sunset lit the box of space between skyscrapers, and I looked to this space for direction. A girl alone on a crowded street, the perils of city life are new to me. But I have been trained for just this sort of navigation.
At eight years old, I found my way through forests with only the sun as my guide. Well, the sun, and my father egging me on from behind, dubbing me the "Navigator" of our makeshift Indian tribe. My father turned fear of the unknown into a game. We would set out from his apartment on a Sunday afternoon, and as we got lost, the mundane became a movie.
Three walking sticks -- one for each height -- and we were on our way. My little brother sped ahead, carelessly thrashing anything alive in his path. Perhaps a sharp stick is not the best toy for a hyperactive six-year-old boy, but I think my father enjoyed watching his excitement.
David hopped around like an elf back then. He echoed my father's songs and jokes with his own silly versions. Our train's caboose, my father pounded his walking stick and stuck out his chest, proclaiming his new name: "Chief Big Bear." David was, "Little Bear," our warrior, he would say.
My "Navigator" title seemed much less glamorous. I wanted to be a bear, too.
But when I complained, my father explained that my role was the most important. I would find our way into adventures and I would find our way out again.
At first, I was a horrible navigator.
I daydreamed into groves of poison oak because I had seen honeysuckles nearby. I stopped at every flower and butterfly. I would spend a good 10 minutes admiring the sound of rushing water or the shape moss formed on a craggy rock.
But six-year-old boys get tired and cranky, and their Kool-Aid smiles fade when they have been climbing rocks all day. The same thing can happen to 40-year-old men when they are ready for dinner, it seems.
And so, when the sunset, I would find my focus. My father would watch quietly as I guided us back home.
Anyone who knows my father well can tell you -- this was not a quiet man. He was an entertainer. He often dominated conversation. He had an abundance of energy and a dynamic presence that could overwhelm, if not enthrall you.
And yet, with me he knew instinctively when to tone down his charisma ... and listen as I found my own voice.
My father was a natural teacher and never condescended to a child. He shared many of his life's lessons with me and my brother, yet he knew the best teacher was experience.
He never pushed. He only guided. And while I know it must have pained him all the times I have lost my way in the woods, he knew full well I would always find my way out.
I feel very lucky to be the daughter of a man so concerned with the happiness of others that he taught them how to relax and laugh. To stop worrying and listen to their hearts.
I feel very lucky to be the daughter of a man who could encourage my need to get lost in the details of life and yet inspire me to find my direction at the same time.
I survive in a city these days that tests even the strongest navigators. But, I have faith in myself to still follow the sunlight, my dreams peeking through the cold granite. One might think I have new reason now to look skyward, but my father is not up there in those clouds.
More than ever now, I think he would want me looking up, if only to display my confidence. And my faith that Big Bear is always behind me, watching as I find my way.
Hello! My name is Kimberly. Every day, I remember someone that was very special to me. His name was Jhon and he was my big brother. He was just 16 years old when he was killed. Near the end of October of 1976, my brother was sitting up against the school building with a bunch of his friends. A kid in his junior class came over to the group and started telling my brother that he was going to kill him. My brother was a quiet boy and he just ignored the bully because he knew the kid had heart problems and didn't want to hurt him. I guess that made the other kid mad. The other kid, Kevin I think his name was, punched my brother hard in the face. My brother's head hit the building on impact. Jhon stayed calm and the bully left. After lunch was over, everyone went back to class. Jhon was feeling dizzy and was throwing up so he went to the school nurse. He told her what had happened and the nurse made him go back to class. After Jhon got home from school that day, he told my mother about it and he still wasn't feeling too good. My mother called the ambulance and had him transported immediately to the emergency room. That was the last time I saw my brother alive. He was admitted to the hospital, where he soon went into a coma. On Halloween morning that year, I was admitted the children's hospital connected to the hospital where Jhon was, for a scheduled surgery on my hip. I begged my mother to take me to see Jhon before she took me to my room. She said she would because he had come out of the coma and had been doing much better. But, she never did. I was admitted and the very next morning, the nurse came in and took me out of my room. She wouldn't let me watch TV or anything. She took me to the playroom and left me there. Being in there all alone, something came over me. I got really scared and it wasn't because I was alone either. I felt that something was wrong but no one would tell me anything. Later that morning, my parents came to the hospital and took me out. They never said anything. I asked why we were leaving and they never gave me an answer, which scared me more. But, the scariest part was this ... We drove from the hospital in Utica, NY and they parked on the side of the road across from a funeral home in Clinton. They left me alone out in the car. I was 11 years old at the time. My mother came out to check on me about a half hour later and I was crying. I had realized what had happened. I wanted my brother. My mother thought that someone said something bad to me while I was in the car so she took me into the funeral home with her. While they made all the arrangements, I had to sit in a different room. They still never told me that my brother had died. After we got back home that day, all my brothers and sisters were at home except for Jhon. My aunt had gone to the school and taken them out. At least they had known what had happened because before my aunt had gotten there, it was announced over the school speakers. Later on that day, people came from all over and were bringing food and stuff to our house. I remember my mother calling for me but I couldn't go upstairs. I went into our basement and hid between the washer and dryer. I know I had to have been there for several hours before my mother had found me. I had been crying the whole time. I took it really hard.
Jhon and I were really close. Even though he was 16 and I was only 11, he took me everywhere he went. I would get up with him every morning to help him deliver papers on his paper route, every time he went to "the fort" to meet his friends, he would take me with him. He was always there for me. If I needed protecting, he protected me. I can remember one day, I was sitting behind a car pushing dirt down into the manhole. Jhon and my other brother, Bill, were playing around in the ditch at the end of the street. As I was sitting there, I must have been either daydreaming or watching my brothers because I did not notice a woman come out of the house. She got into the car that I was sitting behind and backed right over the top of me. It was Jhon who ran up to the car and started banging on the window for the woman to stop. He was the one who pulled me out from under that car. He was the one who took me home, 3 houses down. The woman also went with us but he is the one who was my hero. I had to have been maybe 5 or 6
years old at the time. I am crying right now writing all of this because it still hurts very much because he is not physically with me. I know in other ways, he is with me every day of my life. He is what keeps me going. I remember one day in 1984, I lived about 5 miles from the cemetery he is buried in. I was a nanny for a newborn baby girl. I wanted to take her and her cocker spaniel for a walk. It was a very hot day (July) and there was no breeze around. I pushed the carriage and had the dog on a leash and I walked up to the cemetery. My brother is buried in the far back of the cemetery and it was about another 1/2 - 1 mile to get thru to his grave. When I got there, I was soaked with sweat. I made sure the baby was covered from the sun and I took the dog and got him a drink from the water. Then I sat down by my brother's stone and started talking to him ... just like I do every time I visit him there. I remember telling him that it was so hot out. And it was weird but a good kind of weird. A cooling breeze started blowing. Not very strong but just enough to stir the hot, humid air. I will never forget that. I know he sent it down to earth so that I would know that he was with me. That breeze continued to blow until I walked into the front door of the house. Then, it was all dead air again. I know he is with me and I know he will never leave me. I know he is up there taking care of our baby sister who passed away as an infant in 1965, and I know he is with our oldest sister who passed away 4 years ago. Whenever I get down and depressed, I sit in the dark no matter where I am and I talk to Jhon. He assures me in his own ways that he is with me and he will protect me from the world below him.
Dearest Arthur was my childhood sweetheart. We grew up together, loving each other and could not be apart from one another. When I was the tender age of 14 and he was 16, we began your true friend relationship. Years went by and our love for each other grew stronger. We laughed, played and went to school together.
We decided to get married and have a family. First came our bouncing baby boy. He was and still is the prince of our family. Then came two princesses, one after the other. Our prince and princesses grew up and lived with us and we were both very much proud of our children.
One day, my beloved dearest husband felt pain. The pain wouldn't go away so I took him to the doctor. We learned that he was stricken with a deadly illness. While Arthur was in pain, I too felt his pain mentally. The pain was too much for him to bear, so he decided to go to rest. We miss you, Arthur. Sleep in peace.
I'm from the UK so some of the wording may be a little different but I reckon you can follow the general story!
December 1967 I was nine years old and walking across the connecting path between our infant school and junior school.
Although the schools were separate they were built on the same plot so sometimes the kids had to walk between them as some of the facilities were shared.
I was in the juniors and walking in a group to the infant building, we had to walk in a line, as I remember it we weren't allowed to talk either as in those days the regime was rather strict, especially in a Catholic school.
Walking the other way was a similar line of infant children, keeping quiet in case the teacher told them off. Amongst them was my seven-year-old sister, as we passed each other she laughed and smiled at me in just the way a little girl would who was happy to briefly see her "Big Brother".
I see this vision of her and that smile so clearly as if it was yesterday, it was the last time I saw her alive, that's how I want to remember her.
As it was nearly Christmas the infant children were rehearsing for their Nativity Play, Christina had been chosen to play one of the Angels, soon she would be truly one of Gods little Angels.
Unlike today when all the kids (including ours) are picked up from school by car, we all walked home from school usually arriving around four o'clock in the afternoon. This day I walked home as on many occasions on my own expecting Christina to be either ahead of me or a few minutes behind but she didn't turn up.
As the hours went by my parents went through the dread of every parent when a child goes missing. I remember the first night when she wasn't there cuddled up in the house with me. I wanted to close my eyes and try to see where she was, if they find her tonight I thought, everything will be OK.
Hours turned to days and sleepless nights.
I vaguely remember being taken out for a walk by a family friend, I think on the pretext of looking yet again at some of the areas Christina and I used to frequent when playing around the neighbourhood. This was about three days after she disappeared, I said to her "I think we both know what has happened to her" - she didn't really respond, how could she? This wasn't something she expected to hear.
You see in a child's mind such as it was at that time with me, I couldn't see why the adults just couldn't seem to understand something that was so obvious to me. If my sister wasn't found by now how could she have possibly survived? I knew her so well, she was just too helpless, too small, and too innocent, it just seemed impossible to me for her to survive even that first night on her own.
We were surrounded by every and all the various agencies and media this situation would involve until someone suggested that perhaps I should be taken to stay with family friends.
After a couple more days two police men a police woman came to pick me up to take me home, I think I knew what was coming. My parents were sat in the dining room and I was asked to go in and we were left with just the three of us. My mother said to me "Do you know where all the Angels are in Heaven?" I said very quietly "Yes" - "Well that's where Christina is now" - I cried.
Christina had actually walked to within a few feet of the back door of our house. An old lady who lived next door had a lock up garage she rented to a man; the garage was a few feet from our door on a shared driveway. He was working on his car in the garage and she went to talk to him. He got annoyed with her disturbing his work and he hit her over the head with a hammer, I was told she died instantly.
He put her in holdall and hid her in his house a few miles away, he even asked the police at one point why he hadn't been asked to help in the search for her when she went missing.
He went to prison, as a child I prayed for him every night, as an adult I can't pray for him any more, such is the tragedy of growing up and loosing the innocence that provokes the forgiveness of the child mind.
We had cards and letters from all over the world, I remember my Dad had to read them before my Mother as, sadly even in those days there were the odd crank ones too blaming my parents. In the main though they were all shedding tears for the Angel we lost.
At the funeral all I can remember is everyone I saw was crying, even people we didn't know that well. As the funeral procession drove through the streets of our local Towns every junction was manned by a Policeman who, stopping the traffic, stood to attention and saluted the coffin as it passed by, more than once I saw the policeman crying too.
I was told many times over the years that children get over these things much quicker than adults do. I must agree the initial pain does subside quicker, a nine year old soon recovers in the short term whilst the parents take years and lets face it never really get over the loss of a child, they just learn to hide it better.
I don't recollect any support or counseling being offered after this event, maybe it didn't exist in those days I'm not sure.
I always assumed my recovery as a child would be final; in fact it seemed so until I had children of my own, in particular my daughter who is now eight. When she reached the age my sister died all that changed.
Now when I see the vision I mentioned earlier, the last time I saw Christina, I see the face of my little girl too and the pain comes flooding back but this time as a parent and adult.
So none of this ever left me, as those people would have me believe it just buried itself somewhere dark to come back and torment me with a vengeance I can't even begin to describe here.
Now and again I visit Christina's grave, as she was to be an Angel in the school play the stone is decorated with a single small Angel. I should visit more often but I'm too selfish to take the grief.
I want to take my little girl to visit and explain who Christina was, but the thought of being there with three "small Angels”? I could go when she's grown a few more years but there again will that make any difference? Show me any loving father who thinks his daughter isn't always his "little girl"
Dedicated to my Mother & Father whose pain I'll never comprehend.
My youngest daughter, Tianna Mai, died on February 10, 2002. She died on her seventh birthday an hour after we sang her birthday song. Tianna became ill with a very rare auto immune disease called Macrophage Activation Syndrome. It caused her immune system to attack all of her vital organs and cells and eventually led to multiple organ failure. It was devastating to my family because Tianna had never been ill in all her life except an ear infection. This disease rears its ugly head so fast and so sudden that it was very difficult for the doctors to diagnose at first. And by the time they were able to diagnose it they realized that this disease was so rare, very little was known about it. So on the evening of February 10, 2002, Tianna quietly slipped into the peaceful journey home to return to where she came from. Each day is such a struggle for me because somehow I knew that this child was unique and special. I gave her all of me and she did the same. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect child. She was sweet, tender, and mature beyond her years. Its almost as if she somehow knew that her time was limited here on this earth. I can recall her telling me all the time as we sat in my bed together, (she slept with me since birth until she was hospitalized), "Mommy, I don't ever want to grow up." Tianna was so curious about heaven and would ask me, "Mommy, what does heaven look like?" or, "Does heaven have cars?". I wonder at times if this was God's way of showing me what was to come. And though the pain of my loss is never-ending, God has impressed upon me that my sweet angel is fine and that one day there will be a joyous reunion. I look for signs of her continued existence everyday, and when I see them, I feel blessed. We released live painted lady butterflies at the conclusion of her graveside ceremony, a way to symbolize what her birth, life, and transition to the afterlife. For those who have suffered a loss as great as mine, I say, "Keep your faith in God and know that it was not meant for us to know the 'Big Plan" God has laid out for each and every one of us. Though I would have given my own life to spare Tianna's, I know that it wasn't meant to be that way. I learned the true meaning of love through Tianna. I believe that God fulfilled his purpose through my daughter's short life and I am honored to have been her Mommy.
My youngest daughter, Tianna Mai, died on February 10, 2002. She died on her seventh birthday an hour after we sang her birthday song. Tianna became ill with a very rare auto immune disease called Macrophage Activation Syndrome. It caused her immune system to attack all of her vital organs and cells and eventually led to multiple organ failure. It was devastating to my family because Tianna had never been ill in all her life except an ear infection. This disease rears its ugly head so fast and so sudden that it was very difficult for the doctors to diagnose at first. And by the time they were able to diagnose it they realized that this disease was so rare, very little was known about it. So on the evening of February 10, 2002, Tianna quietly slipped into the peaceful journey home to return to where she came from. Each day is such a struggle for me because somehow I knew that this child was unique and special. I gave her all of me and she did the same. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect child. She was sweet, tender, and mature beyond her years. Its almost as if she somehow knew that her time was limited here on this earth. I can recall her telling me all the time as we sat in my bed together, (she slept with me since birth until she was hospitalized), "Mommy, I don't ever want to grow up." Tianna was so curious about heaven and would ask me, "Mommy, what does heaven look like?" or, "Does heaven have cars?". I wonder at times if this was God's way of showing me what was to come. And though the pain of my loss is never-ending, God has impressed upon me that my sweet angel is fine and that one day there will be a joyous reunion. I look for signs of her continued existence everyday, and when I see them, I feel blessed. We released live painted lady butterflies at the conclusion of her graveside ceremony, a way to symbolize what her birth, life, and transition to the afterlife. For those who have suffered a loss as great as mine, I say, "Keep your faith in God and know that it was not meant for us to know the 'Big Plan" God has laid out for each and every one of us. Though I would have given my own life to spare Tianna's, I know that it wasn't meant to be that way. I learned the true meaning of love through Tianna. I believe that God fulfilled his purpose through my daughter's short life and I am honored to have been her Mommy.
I am the author of "Mom's Diary of Memories" on Page 3 of your website Writings. Tony was my son. I think of you-and your story SO often, and it being nearly 5 years since Tony passed, I thought you deserved an update. I can only speak for myself, so I wanted you to know that since submitting my story-it wasn't just that-I read your story and because of you, I hope there are people out there-who are still children-who will always think of my Tony, for now and forever, as your have with Arthur. I have wanted to write you, but never knew what to say, until this evening. I remember after I sent you my writing, we did e-mail a few times, but back then, my mind was so foggy that I don't recall our words-however-I have NEVER forgotten your name, or you, for that matter. It's people like YOU, Burt, that help people like ME, overcome the roughest times of their lives. To allow us to express our feelings openly helps us to heal. You have no idea how much that means to me, I have so much gratitude towards you. Your website is a true inspiration and I surely hope others feel the same.
As for me, I can't recall if I ever told you about me. So, I will now, as short as I can! I am now 33, in Wisconsin. When Tony died, Devon was 3 1/2 years old. He is now the age when Tony died, 8 years old. I also have a gorgeous new daughter, Alyssa, who just turned 3 years old. I also just found out I am expecting yet another child in April!!! So, despite all my tragedy and pain, I found it within myself to move forward...to see into the future and let the past stay there, where it belongs, in the past. It reminds me how many people live in the past-and how unproductive and sad that is. Now, I am thinking, "Well, I sure hope he doesn't think I think that when it comes to Arthur." No way!!! You shared your wonderful memories, and in turn, it helped others, as I'm sure it helped heal you. Am I a mad babbling idiot? You bet'cha I am! BUT-I say what I mean and I mean what I say...always.
I coped by accepting that I could not change that past, that I could only accept it and move forward, for my living children-Tony would've wanted it that way.
SO-I will wrap it up. I just wanted you to know that after nearly 5 years (Dec. 19th, 2000), you still hold a dear place in my heart. I am grateful, for you, Burt.
Take Care, Much Love to You and Yours & God Bless you, Burt.
- Lindsey -
