pain – Listening Hearts

Category: pain

11
Jan
2022

Silently Screaming..

categories: Feelings, Grief journey, Journey, loss, pain

Linda Reavy, Bryan’s mom

(Used with Linda’s permission)
I used this phrase yesterday with a dear friend. This is how I’ve felt from the first day. I had so much pain and rage inside, but nothing was coming out, only tears. I couldn’t find a way to let my sorrow escape, nothing I could say or yell could ever satiate the constant need to release my pain. Grief is like that waiter in the restaurant that’s constantly refilling your cup. Just when you think you’re done for the day, it fills right back up. You’re not seeking that refill, but grief finds you because that’s how sneaky she is.
I know reading this blog is not for everyone. It’s raw, unfiltered and gives a voice to my heart. Certainly if you’re looking for a feel good ending, I don’t foresee that. This is a day to day experience. As far as I can tell, if the past is an indicator, I’m just trying to survive in the healthiest way possible. You need to learn a whole new skill set in this grief business, it demands it.
My greatest hope from all this? That it sheds light onto this experience that the ones from the outside can learn about. That they can see that grief seeps into every crevice of our life. There isn’t an escape, it can be merciless. But having said that, I try to find hope and strengthen myself for this road I am on. It’s exhausting and it knocks you on your ass more times than you know. And when I let myself embrace my need to bawl my eyes out, I brace myself for the rest of the day. Time will never make this pain less palpable, less raw, less numbing. The only thing she does is give us the time to master the skills we need, turns us into the warriors us mamas eventually become. I hope to always make you proud my sweet Bryan.
Until I hold you in my arms again, my beautiful boy, Mama sits and waits her turn….here I am…here I am….

03
Oct
2021

The New Friend and Confidant

categories: Feelings, Grief journey, Journey, loss, pain

Carmen Van Horn

Today, I swam with the manatees. I spotted a mother manatee and her calf. I held my pose, and she swam under me. She stayed there and chewed her grass. As I continued to be still, she came up for air. I was frozen in awe, as her magnificent body lifted me. She moved over and there as I laid still, I realized that I was hovering above the manatee mother and calf. Did she know that I, too, was a mother? Did she know I meant them no harm?

On her beautiful back were scars. Where was the boat that had injured her? This tragedy became her identifying mark. The captain and crew called her “Scar.” She swam under me again, and I wondered if she could tell that I, too, had scars? Could she feel the deep pain that I carry?

I continued to be still and take it all in. She came closer to me as she lifted her great body from the water. She lifted me and I was eye to eye with her scars. Was I so light she did not feel me? Was I so fragile that she wanted to protect me? Our guide said to whisper our secrets to the manatee. So, I did just that. I spoke the names of my husband and children. I told her how I hurt inside because of my great loss.

She once more surfaced and gently carried me. Her nose peeked through the water, and she blew a little water in my face. I cannot be certain, but today I felt as though I made a new friend and a confidant. Someone who listened. Someone who understood my scars. Today I swam with a manatee.

Carmen Van Horn #duncansmom #forever20

12
Oct
2020

The Heart of Your Father

categories: Feelings, Grief journey, Journey, loss, pain

Vicki Carter

8/31/20

When your world falls apart,
Your heart is broken
You can’t take a breath
The worst has happened

How do you trust?
How do you believe,
That God is still good,
When nothing you see is good?

When the pain is so deep
You can’t reach up past the pain
He will reach down to you
Just trust the heart of your Father.

But God…
I know You are good!
I know You are faithful!
But the pain is so deep.
I can’t reach up past the pain.

My child…
You must rest in the pain
You must sit at My feet
With your head on My lap.
Trust the heart of your Father.

When the pain is so deep
You can’t reach up past the pain
He will reach down to you
Just trust the heart of your Father.

Yes God…
You are still good!
You are still faithful!
Even when the pain is so deep,
That I can’t reach up past the pain.

Then Lord…
I will rest in the pain
I will sit at Your feet
With my head on your lap
And trust Your heart, my Father.

When the pain is so deep
You can’t reach up past the pain
He will reach down to you
Just trust the heart of your Father.

06
Sep
2020

The Mighty Tree

categories: Feelings, Grief journey, Journey, loss, pain

Amparo Atencio

6/28/20

Not far from my house is a mile-long nature path that my son, Tony, frequently walked to reach a secluded quarry where the local teens would go to swim and enjoy their carefree lives on hot summer days. I increasingly turned to nature in the early days of my grief journey, so I chose this gravel path to walk in my son’s footsteps. I was striving to feel a connection with his spirit.

The walk provided solitude and time to process my emotions, which seemed to be the only solace I could find. One day as I walked, the gravel crunching underneath my feet, I noticed a giant oak tree with a much thicker trunk than the surrounding trees lining the path. Midway up, the large trunk separated into two massive limbs, forming a “Y.” This became my regular spot to stop and raise my gaze to the skies as I questioned, “Why?”

“Why did my son have to die?”
“Why did this happen?”
“Why did he not get to live out his life into old age?”
“Why?”

The leaves of the tree served as a canopy that muffled my cries in the spring and summer. The barren limbs during the fall and winter looked as forlorn and bereft as I felt. My walks continued throughout the seasons, and I continued to pause when I reached the giant oak. I railed at the universe until my anguish slowly turned to acceptance that there would never be answers to my “why” questions. Little sparks of fond memories began to surface and replaced the despair and deep sadness.

I remembered Tony’s passion for music. I remembered that becoming a paid musician had been his dream, his Plan A, his refusal to have a Plan B. I remembered the Battle of the Bands that he won with his band, Katalyst. I remembered that he realized his dream with the Delightful Desperados when they became the house band at a local bar and especially when they scored a gig for a New Year’s Eve party at Hilton Head, South Carolina – the final new year of his life.

I named the giant oak the Mighty Tree, as I contemplated its glorious branches. In them, I saw the image of Tony, the Funky Drummer. The two broad branches became his upraised arms before bringing them crashing down on the drum cymbals after an extended solo. Tears of love wet my face. The leaves of the tree in spring and summer became gentle caresses as they blew in the warm breeze, and the barren limbs during the fall and winter became his arms, raised in triumph, success, and joy.

I still walk this gravel path often and always pause at the Mighty Tree. I acknowledge the evolution of my lifelong grief journey. Now, I gaze at the tree and notice the scars of what it has endured. I see there had once been a third limb that emanated from the base of the remaining two limbs. This third limb was now a stump that had clearly been severed by a bolt of lightning. One day, I walked around the circumference of the tree and took note of its backside. A large gouge at the base showed burn marks where another lightning bolt had struck it, perhaps during the same storm. Climbing upward, a thick, furry vine of poison ivy wrapped itself tightly around the trunk.

And still, the Mighty Tree stands. It has survived the elements of storms and fire and more. Its strength cannot be denied. I, too, still stand. I wear the battle scars of grief: tears, a broken heart, a longing to share events with my son that will never be, a sadness and joy wrapped in the same heart at the realization that he will never experience the life progression events of his peers or of those who were younger than him when he passed.

The seasons of grief have evolved from despair to acceptance, to strength to carry on. I have gone from absolutely broken to standing strong, always identifying with the Mighty Tree in each season of grief. Still standing.

09
Aug
2020

In the Arms of Jesus

categories: Feelings, Grief journey, Journey, loss, pain

Becky Norris

My name is Becky. I am the mommy of Caleb Dalton Norris. I lost my precious little boy, and only child, suddenly on March 29, 2008. His birthday is April 26, 2004, so he was about a month shy of his 4th birthday when he passed. Caleb was a loving, beautiful little boy and touched so many lives in his short time on Earth. Caleb was autistic and had delayed speech, so he didn’t say a lot of words, but our bond didn’t require many words. I’ve always believed that Caleb was carried away safely to the arms of Jesus that night as I slept. I woke the morning of Saturday March 29th to find Caleb in his bed. He had passed in his sleep.

I’m now in my 12th year of my grief journey. This is not an easy life by any means. Personally, I believe the grief journey doesn’t end until we’re reunited with our children for eternity.

In the beginning, I felt completely lost and numb to life. After Caleb had been gone about two years, I ended up in an institution because I felt there was nothing left for me here. For years I struggled with my purpose in life after I lost Caleb. I believed being his mommy was my only purpose. Through the years, I’ve learned that grief can come out of nowhere and at any given time. But because of the deep love I have for him, I know that’s the reason I’ll grieve until I’m with him again. I now believe God does has a purpose for me. I try to help others in grief.

My life without Caleb has certainly been quite difficult at times. For many years I drank in an attempt to continue to numb my pain. I couldn’t see a life without him I’d never get the opportunity to watch him reach the milestones of life. But I finally came to accept that Caleb’s short life year was the will of God.

I do still have bad days that I miss him so much, but I’ve learned in this journey that I’ll always miss him until I’m with him again. He’s always in my heart and I think of him every single day, but my grief is not so intense now. My hope rests in knowing he’s always with me in spirit and that one day, we will never part again.

26
Sep
2015

In Memory of Thomas Wade Buchanan

categories: Anniversary, Love, memories, pain

Ruby Buchanan

April 21, 1983 – July 18, 2005
Son of Ruby and Mack Buchanan

Today is the second anniversary date of your death.

How the pain still feels sometimes causes us no rest.

One day life was so content,

Memories flood our minds; we know that is how it was meant.

As we go on with our every day life,

Some people ask, “How can you be so strong?”

Wade, if they only knew how they could be so wrong.

Angels all around you up above

Doing special things with all kinds of Love.

Everyday we must go on, no other choice to make.

Blessed we were to have you before God had to take.

Until we meet again, we must take one day at a time.

Courage it takes, sometimes, not to lose our mind.

Happy we will be to be reunited. Some days we can hardly wait.

As we wait for you to meet us at God’s Heavenly gate.

No one knows the things we learned from you at any rate.

And your time on Earth was for a purpose.

No more tears in Heaven will come to surface.

(Always in our hearts!)
Sadly missed and cherished,
Mom and Dad

–This poem was originally written in 2007.

26
Sep
2015

When the Head and Heart Are at War

categories: Feelings, pain

Debra Reagan

On August 6, 2005, a civil war was declared. You may not have heard of this war. It isn’t marked on a map or recorded in history books. Nonetheless, this war had a devastating impact on the people involved.

Upon hearing the news, The Heart declared war on The Head. The Heart built a fortress to keep away the pain. But no fortress was strong enough to hold back the anguish. The Heart ached and wailed out during the night, “This cannot be true! This can’t be possible! Just look at all the love and dreams we have for this precious child.”

The Head could only say, “Why did this happen? What did we do wrong?” The Head was confused and could not rest. It felt the need to be logical and find answers. The war continued.

The ruler of this land, The Soul, had great concern because The Heart was so deeply wounded. The depths of this anguish threatened its every beat. The Soul feared that in an attempt to avoid the pain, The Head would not rest, and that The Heart would cease rather than give up its great love.

Weeks, months, and years passed. The battle raged. There was fear in the land that the battle would not end. Slowly, as both Head and Heart grew to understand each could let go of the pain without abandoning the love, a truce was arranged.

Then a treaty was drafted in which The Head would rest and embrace the mysteries of life. The endless questions and reviews would be released, so they could face forward to a future. The Heart was allowed to keep all the love and to openly display it. The two agreed that The Heart could build a connection between the before and the after. There would be no putting away of this great love, even long after the putting away of all material things. Together they would build a peaceful place for The Heart to hold these honored treasures. In this peaceful place, the door will never be closed and the love will never end.

The Soul honored the fact they had passed through the depths of this great pain and challenged them to continue to live in peace and to learn new ways to approach the depth of this loss. Despite the battle scars and a full expectation of future skirmishes, The Heart and The Head have decided not just to survive, but to thrive with a deeper and broader understanding of Faith, Hope and a Forever Love.

Written in memory of our son, Clint Tyler Reagan. www.clint-reagan.memory-of.com

This article was originally published on www.opentohope.com, a website whose mission is to help those who have suffered a loss to cope with their pain and invest in the future.