There will be a small meal provided so that not only will we feed our minds and fill our spirits but we can feel our stomachs. HIS STORY
Typically, a healing is defined as “the complete removal of an ailment.” But when we lost our son in 2013, it wasn’t the removal of his memory that healed me, but the remembrance of him that did. I envisioned everything that was stolen from me in his death includ
ing the goals I set. I wanted to be the best father I can be to him. I wanted to be supportive of him. I wanted to challenge him to be a better man than me. Healing came when I decided that I wasn’t going to get rid of those goals for him, but I was going to redirect them. I decided to be a supportive individual and I challenged myself become a better me. There were rumors that came with the loss of a child. Horror stories of failed marriages and disconnected personalities.
“Ya’ll are gonna go through a lot.” One family member said “Marriages don’t last much longer after a death of a child. It’s just so unnatural that mankind can’t seem to handle it. Parents aren’t supposed to bury they babies.”
It was a brief fear that I bought into. My daughter became an eyesore, my wife became an enemy and our extended families were literally nobody to me. If I hadn’t of felt that lie of a spirit, I would’ve never knew it’s reality, but being able to identify with it was key in my growth. HER STORY
God do you hate me? I did everything I could. These were just a few thoughts that came upon me after the loss of our son. I felt like no one understood, no one knows how hard it is to leave the hospital without your child. I spent two extra days in the hospital because I didn’t want to leave alone. Yes, that’s how I felt completely and utterly alone. My husband doesn’t understand; he’s on the outside looking in, but I’m the one who felt all the kicks, the one who took care of him from the start of his tiny little life. Who am I going to talk to? No one understands that I had a baby, I went through labor, I held him loved on him and then buried him. I isolated myself from everyone because I felt everyone was already isolated from me. Family was the worst. They didn’t understand it takes time to heal, “At least you didn’t spend years with him and he was taken”. These were the kind of things that were presented to me. How was I supposed to respond to that? I wish someone would just listen and get it. After a year of depression and after countless therapy sessions, I came to realize I just need someone mutual to talk to, someone who understands and knows how I feel. I shouldn’t have to censor my conversation because the mentioning of my son makes people feel uncomfortable. I don’t want anyone to feel like this. That’s when I decided a bereavement group would be my goal to strive for. I realized if I could just have been comforted by others, if I could’ve just been able to talk about it and didn’t get that ‘oh my gosh what do I say?’ face, things could’ve been easier for my recovery. No mother should have to bury the memories when she buries her child.
