“You go to Washington, we are not telling Ryan that Justin is dead over the phone. I will be fine, I will go the funeral home and take care of the arrangements.”
Strong like a mother.
“I want the Trappist monk casket, here is the obit. You will coordinate with the funeral director in Luverne? Excellent, thank you. Please let us know when the body arrives at BWI.”
Strong like a mother.
“I got this, just leave the floral arrangements, I know exactly where I want them.”
Strong like a mother.
“What time do you need his burial clothes? We will be there, we are gathering them now.”
Strong like a mother.
Resist the urge to tell a bereaved mother that she has to be strong, there lies a strength in her that is frightening in its intensity. She already is strong.
I captured my thoughts on dinner napkin several weeks ago and tucked it under my computer keyboard.
If I am not fierce, not brave, not strong, grief wins. Defeat is not an option.
Five years, still standing. Those scrape marks on my arms and legs, that is where I slid down the rock slide of grief. The dirt under my nails, the ragged edges, that is where I climbed back up. The view when I stand back up? That is my new perspective, I see things differently. I fought hard for that perspective, paid the highest price a mother can pay for that new perspective. That perspective informs my decisions and the choices I make.
I am brave like a mother.
I am fierce like a mother.
I am strong like a mother.
There is such power in your writing. I can only say … wow.
Thank you Deirdre, I am humbled. I lost my way for a couple of months, but I am back.
Terri: Yes! I needed to read this today! Maybe I need to print your words and post it on my refrigerator. You have fought hard to be where you stand now and to quote another grieving Mom friend, I salute your endurance, will and the strength it took to be where you are now. I am still fighting but fear I have lost many battles in the past two years yet every day I get up and brush myself off and do it again. Remembering Justin and his amazing Mom. Thank you for this post.
Dear Dee, you are a warrior my friend. I touch the comfort shawl you gifted me with and marvel at the strength of the hands that created such beauty out of unbearable pain. So many bruised and bloody hands of other bereaved warriors reached down to coax me back up, you are one of those souls. Missing and remembering our two. I found a red cardinal feather yesterday, I kept it hidden so the cats would not steal it from me, thought of you. Much love to you.
Dear Dee, you are a warrior my friend. I touch the comfort shawl you gifted me with and marvel at the strength of the hands that created such beauty out of unbearable pain. So many bruised and bloody hands of other bereaved warriors reached down to coax me back up, you are one of those souls. Missing and remembering our two. I found a red cardinal feather yesterday, I kept it hidden so the cats would not steal it from me, thought of you. Much love to you.
You are my role model. <3
Dear Andrea, I am deeply humbled. We will walk through this together, your friendship has enriched my life. Much love to you today.
Beautifully expressed. I am both glad I found my way here, and sorry you have had to go down the path that meant you wrote it. Blessings to you.
Dear Lisa, Thank you for the gift of your time that you gave to both visit and write a note. This grief gig is such a paradox. Thank you for your kind words. Wishing you a very peace filled weekend.
Five years ago, I lost my husband and my stepson on the same day. My husband died. My stepson went off the rails, and I still don’t know where he is. While we don’t succumb to grief, you’re right that it leaves indelible marks on every part of us. Until then, I never knew that grief physically hurts. Brave, fierce, strong, determined to survive. Yes…. Brenda
Dear Brenda, to love two beloved souls on the same day – the pain in your heart. I cannot even begin to touch that pain of losing my husband, my hearts grips and I can’t breathe. I am so sorry for the loss of your husband, and a child on the same day. I can’t wrap my head around living with the not knowing, not knowing if he is okay, not knowing if you will see him again. Our bodies take such a beating with grief, like being in a vice grip some days. I recently started taking yoga classes and was unprepared have those pockets of stored grief in my body released, the spiral down as the pain flowed through and away. Now I try to get to class at least twice a week and I can hear my body say “thank you.” Thank you Brenda for taking the time to visit and write, thank you for the gift of your friendship and wisdom of shared pain. Wishing you some gentle moments this Sunday. Gratefully, Terri
One of your best posts. Hats off to one courageous, brave, strong, faithful mother. God bless you.
Thank you Krista! Thank you for your visit and note! Wishing you and your house a peace filled Sunday!