Bereaved Parents of Springfield, Il

04/28/2025

04/20/2025

I was her…
I faced death—not because it came for me, but because it came for my son, whom I loved more than myself.

I was her…
One day, my light went out, my smiles disappeared, and my will to live vanished.

I was her…
I felt a pain that burned inside me, it was hard to breathe, and it hurt to wake up to my reality every morning.

I was her…
I got angry with God, I asked in desperation, and no one could give me an answer.

I was her…
I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t bear the night or the day, I had panic attacks, I struggled to eat for days—I was dying while still alive.

I was her…
I wanted to die. I begged and pleaded to know where my son was.

I was her…
I went over a thousand “what ifs” and blamed myself for things I did or didn’t do.

I was her…
I lived and experienced countless circumstances, sensations, emotions, thoughts—I experienced both physical and emotional reactions that many people couldn’t even imagine.

Today, I am still her—
The woman who watched her son die, the woman whose life shattered.

And one day, in the midst of pain and deep sorrow, I asked for help and began to work through my grief. I chose to heal, to connect with my son through different emotions, to remember him without so much pain—from a place of gratitude that remains after absence and emptiness.

I was reborn… I survived, I healed, and I’m still standing. I don’t even know how…
Maybe because I know destroying myself does no honor to my son’s death.
Maybe because I have family who loves me and other dear ones…
Maybe because I feel a commitment to life and a responsibility to fulfill what I came here to do.
Maybe—and I believe it’s the sum of all of these—maybe because I love life despite everything, I love doing my work every day, and I value what I discovered about myself through adversity.

Today I am still the same woman, only in a better version—one shaped by the love my son left behind in my life.

Author Unknown

03/21/2025

No one tells you how heavy the nights will be.

When the world goes quiet, grief gets louder. The bed feels too big, the pillow too hard, the air too still. Sleep doesn’t come easily—not because you aren’t exhausted, but because your mind won’t stop replaying memories, regrets, and that unbearable question: Why?

People say, Rest is healing. But how do you rest when your world has been shattered?

Maybe you’ve tried everything—lavender, warm tea, white noise. Maybe you fall asleep only to wake up in the darkest hours, heart racing, reaching for a child who isn’t there. Maybe you dread dreaming because sometimes they appear, so vivid, so real—only to disappear again when you wake.

If this is you, you are not alone. Grief doesn’t follow a bedtime schedule. Be gentle with yourself. Rest when you can, in whatever way you can. Some nights, that might mean staring at the ceiling, whispering their name. Other nights, it might mean finally finding a few peaceful hours. Both are okay.

Tonight, if sleep doesn’t come, know that somewhere, another grieving heart is awake too. And in that, we are together.

03/13/2025

I wish I had known that grief isn’t just about missing them—it’s about rebuilding a life I never wanted to change.

I wish I had known that the world wouldn’t pause with me—that people would move on while I was still learning how to breathe again.

I wish I had known that some friends would disappear, not because they didn’t care, but because they didn’t know how to stay.

I wish I had known that the smallest things—songs, scents, the way the sunlight hits a certain way—could unravel me in an instant.

I wish I had known that love doesn’t fade with time. That no matter how many years pass, their name will still catch in my throat, and their memory will still bring both tears and warmth.

I wish I had known that grief isn’t about “letting go.” It’s about learning to carry them with me in a different way.

Grief teaches us so much—lessons we never wanted to learn. But if sharing them helps someone else feel understood, maybe that’s one way we keep their love alive.

What do you wish you had known?

02/27/2025

My wife and I are constantly amazed at how people truly don’t understand the depth of her loss after losing her son, Ivan. Some have even asked for his belongings, not realizing how painful that is for her. She doesn’t want to part with anything because every item holds a piece of him, a connection to the life she cherished. To others, it may seem like things that are simply “not being used,” but to her, they are far more than objects—they are memories, tangible pieces of a love that will never fade. They are her treasures.

02/10/2025

We invite you to join us on the second Wednesday of every month at Douglas United Methodist Church.
Address: 501 S. Douglas, Springfield, IL
Room 102, entrance on the west side.
For additional details, please contact Coordinator Lela Denny at (217) 891-5007.