solace

My community is a small one; it is not uncommon for young and old alike to know one another or at least know of one another. My son Eric's second grade teacher and her husband are our friends, my daughter Gretchen even baby sat their children. Her husband’s parents are lovely people; they of my parents’ generation and are the quintessential southern couple. He the gentleman farmer, she the devoted mother-grandmother and both are born and bred in this community. They also have another son and although I had only met him once years ago before he moved away, when he passed away tragically from cancer; my husband and I knew we would go to the funeral.

I must admit I had some concerns that I wouldn't have been strong enough to deal with other grieving parents. I was worried I was too weak to be in the presence of their pain without getting lost in my own; after all this was my first funeral since my own children's some months earlier.

Upon entering their church their son greeted me with a hug so hard he almost crushed my ribs. I think it was when I looked into his eyes and saw just how vulnerable he truly was I knew I would be OK, that I was stronger than I had originally thought. He then said to me, "It will mean so much to Momma that you came today especially considering;" and his words hung but their meaning was clearly understood to me.

Then he guided me through the throngs of people that were crowded around his mother. She stilled for a moment; it was almost as if she sensed my presence, raising her head tears filling our eyes as our gazes met. I stepped closer and we embraced for a moment as I spoke words of comfort to her. Pain and sorrow were etched deep into the expression on her face. Then in a quiet voice almost a whisper cracking with emotion she said to me “I expect we'll be talking soon" and without a thought I nodded my head in agreement to her statement.

I expect we'll be talking soon - powerful words of acknowledgement of a connection that transcended any generational differences, which transcended the fact that she is a southern woman and I am a woman of the north and it transcended the manner in which our children perished.

With those words we recognize our mutual need for the depth of empathy and understanding that comes only from another mother who is grieving.

words matter- the call

He called to tell us he resigned his position at his company and invested in a new business of his own. Our son-in-law had only been married  to our daughter briefly about 2 1/2 years before she died in the accident with her brother.I must admit in all fairness there wasn't time to fully bond with him the way I would have liked to, these things take time and I'm afraid we never had that.

My husband and I drove up to the city to see what he had done with his life in the short time since her death. He showed us around his new restaurant, the one he purchased with her insurance. I studied his face thinking to myself this has got to be bitter- sweet for him. But regrettably all I saw was the sweet behind that grin and no bitter at all. I then waited for him to say her name, to mention how he wished she were by his side, but he never once mentioned her; it was if she'd never existed.

His eyes made a scan of his new business before he sat with us at a table. Then like a parent bragging about his favorite child, he declared to us proudly;"this has been my life's dream".  His words pierced my heart like a knife.

I am happy for the second month to participate in “Words Matter” a writing

 exercise on how the spoken word affects us. This concept was created by fellow blogger 

and grieving mother Dana over at Roscommon Acres.

Others will submit their writings as well, you can too if you’d like. I would encourage you to

 visit her blog by clicking her blog button which is located on 

the right column below my subject cloud to read them.

words matter- hope

     My husband and I sat on a beige love seat in a small office on that first day meeting with that therapist who helped  guide us through our nightmare, we were numb.  Everything as if in slow motion, we recounted what the State Police had told us what had  happened to our children. As we delved further into the details  I recounted what I said that night as I lay shivering in bed I told my husband " this is the worst day of our lives, tomorrow will be better". 

     As our relationship developed my therapist confided in me what he thought about those words, something I didn't even know at the time I possessed. He remembered the words as powerful- to him they conveyed hope.