READ MY FULL STORY (Ben 23mths)
I would love to hear the story about your 'Fallen Petal' and I know others would too.
When you feel like sharing your journey of grief with others, please send me a short story via an email and I will place it hear for others to read and be encouraged.
A FALLEN PETAL - PETER (7 years)
"Yesterday would have been my brother Peter's 49th birthday. As you know, he died of leukemia just a week or so before his 8th birthday, in 1966. I was 13, my sister was 16. Unlike today, there was no grief counseling, support group, or website like yours to help people cope with the aftermath of a loved one's death. It was a terrible time for my family. My parents were divorced and it was just my sister, mother and me. I remember coming home after his funeral and walking into his empty bedroom - his bed, toys and clothes still there, but somehow, unfathomably, he was gone forever. I couldn't imagine how we would go on living. The night before he died, I had prayed to God to take me instead of my sweet, adorable little brother. After he died I cursed God and told him I would never ask him for anything again. I was very angry and had no way to e xpress my feelings. My mother became suicidal and our family doctor prescribed valium -- no counseling, or therapy was recommended. My sister and I made a pact not to leave her alone, except when we went to school. We were terrified that she would kill herself. We fumbled along, my brother's death, the unspoken "elephant in the room", which we never talked about because it was just too painful. In time the pain did subside for all of us, but I know it would have been so much better, had we had some outlet for our grief.
It wasn't until I was in my twenties that I began to grieve for my brother. It was such a release and relief!
At any rate, I guess I'm telling you this as a way of thanks for what you're doing with your journal. I hope that many, many people are helped by it". Tina USA
A FALLEN PETAL – PAUL (9 years)
"Although nearly 34 years have passed since the birth of my second son, Paul, the day is as vivid in my memory as it was when the actual event was taking place. Thankfully the heartache pain has passed [that is the wonderful blessing of experiencing God’s healing love – the memory remains but He takes the pain away].My husband Jim and I were eagerly awaiting the arrival of our second child. I had my heart set on a little girl having already had a son as our first child. These were the days before scans and all the modern tests of today, so we were excited when the day came when our child made his appearance into this world.However, what was anticipated as a joyous event turned into a horrendous nightmare which left us stunned and in shock. I recall looking upon that pale blueish little body as they lay my son in a crib beside me moments after he was born. I hadn’t heard a sound come from him. My disappointment of him being a boy instead of a girl was quickly erased by an overwhelming fear that something was drastically wrong with my baby as I watched the medical staff quickly swoop him up and put him into a humidity crib. So our nightmare journey began!In those days all new born babies were put in a common nursery and would be brought to the mother to feed. My baby was never brought to me. I recall the emptiness and anxious thoughts that haunted me as I watched other mothers nursing their babies whilst I had to take tablets to dry my milk up. I began to wonder if I would ever get to touch my baby let alone feed him, all I was able to do was view him in the humidity crib through the window of the nursery. However after 10 days of pent up emotion they put him in my arms. Needless to say all I could do was cry, probably a mixture of relief and fear of the unknown journey ahead. Little was known about Paul’s condition at that time, the doctors told us that it was rare, incurable and they didn’t know much about it and that more than likely I was the carrier of the disease and it was passed on from mother to daughter and only affected boys, but they suggested we take him home and ‘love him’. That we could do!Paul was a beautiful looking baby and in those early months you could not detect that anything was wrong with him. So when I would wheel him down town in his pram many people would look at him more than likely appraising him as a lovely baby but to me I felt they were looking at him critically and I became very defensive. As the years progressed I became more obsessive as Paul’s condition became more evident until eventually I came very close to a mental breakdown. I was stressed to the hilt! Intellectually Paul was not impaired for which I was very thankful but physically he had no muscle tone and was very floppy. He never rolled over on his own accord, we had to have a brace made that covered him from under his armpits to his hips so that he could sit up. Any friends we had gradually faded out of our lives as they found it too difficult to cope with our situation, so we felt more and more alone as time went on.My husband felt God was punishing him for not going to church whereas somewhere down in the deep recesses of my heart I felt God was our only hope and I began searching for him. That search led my husband and I to receiving Jesus Christ as our Lord and Saviour when Paul was three and from that time on we began to cope better. Our situation didn’t change but we did! For the first time since Paul was born I now had a peace in my heart and mind that kept me buoyant and able to adjust to the life we now had with a handicap child. Paul gave his heart to Jesus when he was five and he had a deep love for the Lord which I believe strengthened him in his personal journey on this earth. We had a tray made for Paul’s wheelchair and when he had his elbows resting on it he could move his lower arms and hands. I home schooled him and God gave him a wonderful gift of being able to draw animals and country scenes. Considering his handicap it was an absolute miracle. In those days I was so happy, Paul had brought so much joy into our family, we had all adjusted to living a life that revolved around his handicap. I needed him in my life just as much as he needed me! His birth no longer was a grief to me but a blessing in disguise. His life made an impact upon so many other people that crossed our path, we loved him dearly. However just before his 9th birthday he contracted pneumonia which took his life. One day he was here with us the next day he had gone to be with the Lord. Many times when Paul was with us his handicap had made me feel like I was locked in a cage, now that he was gone I felt I had been let out of that cage yet I was wanting to get back in. My life felt so empty. I had programmed myself with a daily program of looking after him, home schooling him, fighting for his health when there would be a change of weather and he would get chest problems, now all that was gone and all I could feel was emptiness. Having a personal relationship with the Lord certainly helped me through this time of grief, yet I had to allow my soul to grieve at its own pace.I still have Paul’s pictures on the walls of our house, in my purse and whenever I am asked how many children have I had I always include Paul. Because of my Christian hope I know one day I will meet him again. There are still some times when a memory will hit me suddenly and a few tears will spill but I look at it as just another part of me that needs healing. I have found that tears have played a great part in my healing. Instead of allowing self pity to steal those tears from me I have made them productive by seeing them as representing all the hurt and grief that is deep down inside of me that words cannot express and as I cry them out I see them going into a huge bowl that the Lord is holding and He puts them in His bottles [that’s what He tells us in His Word He does with our tears]. Once I have been all cried out I sense that inside of me it’s like there has been a big hole like when pus is cleaned out of a boil and I just receive God’s healing love into that hole and sense that I have taken another step forward in the healing of my grief.In addition I found being able to talk about Paul to my close friends also helped in my healing, I am so grateful that they were so patient with me in just letting me tell them over and over the same things, getting it out of my system so that healing could flow in. Today I am thankful that God saw me fit to entrust Paul to me for those few short years for I know that I am a better and stronger person because of that experience.
I once read a little poem that really says it all:
I walked a mile with laughter
She chatted all the way
And not a thing did I learn from her
With all she had to say
I walked a mile with sorrow
And not a word said she
But oh the things I learned from her
When sorrow walked with me" Merilyn Baker, Qld, Australia
