Archives for June 2012

July 4th is coming up…

To me, it marks one year since Hannah was able to enjoy her last holiday with us.   She was still smiling, still very interactive, and she was very intrigued with the fireworks in the sky.   Just a couple of months later, her health would deteriorate so horribly.

To me, it also marks seven months since she passed away.

The nights are still so very hard for me.  Yeah, I take something to help me fall asleep, and I usually am asleep by midnight or so.   But before then, I try to read, play games on her iPad, anything to try and keep my mind busy.

But then the moments come where my heart takes over my head…it is hard.  I look at her pictures constantly.  Watch her videos.

I miss her so much.  I am desperately trying to remember what she smelled like, how her skin felt…how it felt to have her hand holding mine.

The memories of those little things are getting harder and harder to remember, and it is killing me.   The pictures and the videos and the memories just aren’t enough sometimes.

I want her back.  I want her back so bad.

I keep having to remind myself…she is gone.  Gone.  There is no way to bring her back to me.

At night, when I think of her, I will find that I have tears in my eyes, not even realizing that I was that emotional.

Almost every night, I ask her to come into my dreams.  To let me see that she is okay.  To be able to spend some time with her, even if it is in a dream.  But it has yet to happen.

I hate that it is getting harder and harder to remember all those little things about her.   I wish I took so many more pictures and videos of her … of those little things.

Forget the videos and pictures.  I just want her back.

My handsome boy, now a middle school kid.

He was the student speaker for his class, and his speech was absolutely amazing ~ well, from what I heard at the beginning. He talked about his school memories, the fun times, and his friends. He shared about Hannah and how supportive the school was after she passed away, and I lost it.  He asked the principal the next day if he could bring it home because I wanted to read the entire speech.

From what I heard from friends and others there, Ethan had most of the families in the audience in tears. Even Mr. Solomon, his principal, told me after the ceremony that when he first read Ethan’s speech, it made him cry.

I’m so proud of him. I’m hoping to get the DVD that my father-in-law took of the ceremony so I can see the speech again for myself!

For a kid that rarely talks about his feelings about his little sister passing away, opening up like this to the entire school (willingly!) was a huge deal.

It is coming up on six months since Hannah passed away.   June 4th looms on my calendar ~ even though the day is blank, I know what that date represents.

I found a few places online for grieving mothers, but only one really speaks to me.  It validates how I am feeling.  It sends out daily sayings such as:

There is nothing or no one that can replace our child! That is what makes child loss such a painful, difficult, life-long feeling of emptiness. You can replace “things”, but how in heaven’s name do people think it’s possible to replace a child? It cannot be done. The hole that is left is a permanent empty spot in the heart and somehow we are left with trying to live with the pain. It’s just plain hard to do!”

It’s so hard to believe — child loss is NOT supposed to happen to anyone! People complain about losing their jobs, or losing their investments, or having a bad day of fighting with their neighbors. These are all things that can be changed. But, child loss…..we can NEVER change that, and the emptiness, confusion, pain, and sorrow are for the remainder of our days on this earth. If only others understood the true meaning of “loss”.

I am not the kind of person who outwardly grieves 24/7.  I realized at our last parent bereavement group, that I am the type of person who doesn’t want to show the grief because I don’t want to make people feel uncomfortable.  Yeah, I know ~ not so healthy.   But sometimes it is just easier than having those awkward moments because people don’t know what to say or do.

Some weeks I am better than others.   Last week, I was a mess – between Mother’s Day, the Make-A-Wish speech, and the sea of Hannah shirts at the Ronald McDonald Run – wow, did I miss Hannah.  Words can’t even touch on how much how hard that was.

Having Hannah’s foundation has been a godsend to me though.  Being able to share her story, honor her memory, and just keep her spirit alive helps me so much.  I get to talk about Hannah to people who are wanting to hear about her ~ and that is a personal gift I get by doing this.

But on the flip side, I only get to talk about Hannah.  I don’t get to experience Hannah.  I don’t get to cuddle her, or rub my fingers through her hair, or caress her face.  I don’t get to sing “You are my sunshine” to her and see her face light up.  I don’t get to lay in bed next to her and hold her hand.

Damn, I miss her.

June 4th is in just 3 more days.  She will be gone for 6 months.  It feels like a horrible milestone.