a poem of pain

It has been awhile since I've last posted on this blog. Our son, Eli David, arrived Sept. 7 and our lives have been consumed with new parenting responsibilities (and bloopers;-) We would like for this blog and Web site to become interactive so we welcome your comments and feedback.

This week I was talking to a grieving mother who had lost her teenage son. She shared the frustrations of those who meant to encourage her, but didn't know what to say. Knowing what to say in a time like that is difficult for family and friends so they share the hope and optimism in things they think might help, like, "well at least you have another child," or "He's in a better place," and the list goes on. Those are not bad things to say, but it doesn't bring your child back or change the fact that nothing or NO ONE will ever replace your baby, not even your other children.

I remembered that pain because Lee and I dealt with it too. Loving caring people would say, "well at least you're young enough you can try again." We knew that, but we also knew that Sadie Rose would always be our first baby and we wanted HER, not a child to replace her. I am posting a poem I wrote two months after Sadie's death in response to those emotions with apologies to those who meant well. The intensity of the raw emotions are clear, but for me, time has made those comments easier to cope with.

Here is the preface...

Losing a child at whatever age in whatever circumstances is tragic for parents. As mourning families struggle to understand what just happened, well-meaning caring people say things in an effort to bring comfort. Sometimes, even though what they are saying is true, it’s hard for parents to hear. This poem was written in response to those clichés that can sometimes hurt more than heal. Yes we believe we will be reunited with our child, yes we believe she’s pain-free, yes we believe there has to be a reason, even if we don’t know what that reason is, but as humans we long for the tangible, that which we can physically embrace, touch, smell and hear.



DON’T TELL ME!
By Regina Rose Cyzick Harlow
8/16/2007

Don’t tell me everything happens for a reason
Don’t tell me this is just a season

Don’t look at me and raise your eyes and tell me that you know
That God takes care of everything because He loves us so
Don’t shrug your shoulders in my face and tell me “God knows best”
Don’t comfort me by saying my baby’s found eternal rest
I’d rather hold my baby girl and feel her flesh and blood
To smell her breath upon my face and feel her baby hugs
I’d rather kiss her tender cheeks and comb her baby hair
Than cling to idealistic dreams of knowing her “over there”
I wish her cries would wake me when I desperately needed sleep
I wish a smelly diaper meant I’d get to wash her sheets.
I’d love to feel her on my breast and hear her baby sigh
Oh God I cannot take this pain, why did she have to die
I’ll never hear her footsteps as she patters down the hall
She’ll never learn to ride a bike or play with baby dolls
She’ll never call me mommy or sing her ABC’s
She’ll never get to help me decorate the Christmas tree
So before you in all your wisdom tell me how to deal with grief
Just close your mouth and walk away and give me some relief
I know you want to help me and you don’t know what to say
But hugs, and tears, and smiles are best, when my heart feels this way.

To have loved and lost

It’s been more than a year since Sadie Rose died and now we’re eagerly awaiting the birth of our second child, which could happen any day. I realized this week that I’ve been pregnant 17 out of the 23 months Lee and I have been married and most of the non-pregnant months were after Sadie’s birth and death. Many people would still consider us newlyweds, but I don’t feel that way.

I thank God every day for an understanding and patient husband.

We grieve in our own way and in our own time. Sometimes he is strong while I cry and turn away from him, other times he is nervous and sad and I offer him encouragement. Although we have both found a degree of healing, the pain, the love for our firstborn, will never go away.

I remember times when I would excuse myself to go take a shower so the water could wash my tears away as they fell. Maybe I felt like washing the tears away would also wash away my pain. It didn’t work. I remember holding her blanket to my face, drinking in her scent as I sobbed until I had no breath. I remember worrying that the constant reminders would never go away and then becoming terrified when it seemed they were disappearing.

But we’ve managed. In our experience, the first objective was to just hold on, to keep from drowning in our sorrow and take each moment as it came to us, minute-by-minute at first and then hour-by-hour. After the holding on, we we’re able to move on. Not to forget or pretend it never happened, but to remember. We’ve learned to smile again, to find healing in our faith, ourselves and each other.

We are forever changed, marked with the scars of unspeakable grief, but better off as individuals and as a couple because we took the chance to love. Even though things didn’t go as we had planned, we would never go back to our lives before Sadie and choose not to get pregnant. She gave us too much and we are glad to have loved and lost, then to never have loved at all.

Introduction

Hi everyone,

Welcome to the blog for The Sadie Rose Foundation. Our goal is to connect with other families and individuals who have experienced the loss of a child. We hope to create a network of support and encouragement for those experiencing empty arms.

Having lost our first-born, Sadie Rose, in June of 2007, we know that the sense of loss never goes away. We've also found an unusual bond between parents and families who have suffered the loss of a child.

The prayer from us at the SRF is that somehow, by sharing the ups and downs and highs and lows of our experiences with each other, we can rise up from the ashes of our charred emotions to find and share hope again.

We are not trained professionals on grief and loss and do not claim to have answers..., we're here to support each other and we only have our own experiences to draw from. However, we do have references for professional services if someone is interested.

You can read our story and share yours on our Web site at http://www.sadierosefoundation.org/.

Peace,
Regina Harlow