death of an adult child | MourningAmyMarie

Category: death of an adult child
- What Happened to Me?
  
  Posted at 7:43 pm by deeincollingo, on February 24, 2017
  This week one of my best friends spent some time with me. I admire this woman so much from her ability to think the best of me to her zest for life she has with her wonderful husband, who happens to be my good friend too. As we revisited in conversation some of our happier times, I am reminded that life didnt always hurt this much. This chapter of my life is dominated by losing my child and now cancer. I cannot adjust to this type of world where my heart is so heavy and my future feels uncertain and scary. How do you dance around these enormous elephants which sit on my chest? I feel so unrelatable. Yes, an alien among my own as others check in before returning to their what appears to me to be a normal life.
  
  After losing Amy, I felt lost but now I feel as though I have lost all semblance of myself. Chemo has taken a toll as I search for reasons to believe I can indeed survive. Why am I such a doubting Thomas? My instincts want to warn me that after all I lost Amy which ultimately banished me from a warm and fuzzy comforting faith and trust which my world no longer provides. The cancer has banished me even more into a solitary abyss.
  
  Guilt sets in as soon as I write the word solitary. My husband could have run for the hills but instead has been by my side every step of the way. My dear sweet man whom I met almost 40 years ago. Neither of us signed up for any of this. One look into this man’s sad brown eyes tell his tale of what this has been like for him. My heart is bursting with love and compassion for my Johnny.
  
  Solitary doesnt begin to describe a woman whose two children have done everything and more to support and love me through this awful time. My most precious prized role as mother … true or not, the way I feel is as though I am a fraction of the woman they call Mom. My son and daughter were thrust into a role and life they do not deserve. Wasnt losing their beloved sister enough? But now they are my caretakers. My son sleeps on the couch next to my bed a few nights a week to give his father a break. My precious daughter tries to keep everything upbeat and picks up my slack whenever she can. Both of my kids have demanding jobs and having a sick mom has to be a drain on their already taxed emotions. As a mom, it is my job to bring them up not down. I love my children with my entire heart. I never ever kept any of that love in reserve. My children own my heart and I wouldnt have it any other way. Many people believe Amy is helping me from her side but I am not comfortable asking her for help or putting that responsibility on my child.
  
  My mom, sisters and brothers all love and support me. My sisters take care of me after chemo. The 100 miles between us never stops them from rushing to my side. I know it must be excruiating for them to see me in such a broken state. It is humiliating what they have to do for me sometimes and I see the compasssion in their eyes. My mom is as sweet as a mom can be and I know she feels helpless to make it all better for me. I feel the same helplessness with my children.
  
  My friends who have stuck by me are beyond wonderful. Some of the friends I counted on to be there are not. When Amy died, I lost friends but its different losing them because I am sick. Bailing on me after Amy’s sudden passing made me angry and hurt like hell. Losing friends because I have cancer just makes me sad. The first three months after my diagnosis is a complete fog but I now realize who is gone and I only have the energy to appreciate those who have stuck around. My love and appreciation for those who choose to stick by me has taught me about true friendship. I hope and pray I can reciprocate should they need me.
  
  And lastly, there is my dog, Bailey. A more devoted loyal being would be hard to find.
  
  Currently, all of my relationships are lopsided because I need all of the loved ones I addressed in this post. Thank you for sticking around with this lost soul. I love each and everyone of you.
  
  What happened to me? I still dont know what hit me. Its the truth. Nothing in this world prepared me for for this chapter in my life.
  
  Always, always remembering my sweet beautiful lovely Amy Marie. Oh how I miss you!
  
  With love,
  
  Dee
  
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  Posted in Cancer, Compassionate Friends, Death of a child, death of an adult child, Grief, Grieving, grieving mom, Grieving parent, Loss of a child | 8 Comments
- Super Bowl Sunday Will Never Be The Same
  
  Posted at 10:55 pm by deeincollingo, on February 5, 2017
  Super Bowl was a fun “family” day for our family. During Super Bowl XX, I miscarried a baby when Amy was just shy of 7 months old. Without going into detail, it wasnt until after Amy’s sudden passing that Amy introduced me to “Amanda” in a dream. Yeah, Amy even told me her little sister’s name. In my dream, Amanda was a mixture of one of my nieces and oldest daughter. Only one other time did I see Amanda — this time in one of Dr. Weiss’s guided meditations. (Believe it or not? Doesnt matter because I am just grateful for the gift of that dream and meditation and the opportunity to meet my beautiful youngest child, Amanda, with her straight brown hair and brown eyes. Thank you, Amy Marie.
  
  My family of five loved watching the big game together while munching on all of our special snacks. Once my older two moved out and it was just Amy at home, we ordered overpriced gourmet hoagies. Now, my husband and I dont care what we eat.
  
  Every single day finds me crying despite the many reminders that I need to keep my spirits up to fight this cancer but let me assure you that my tears come from my broken disenchanted heart and not from willful, intentional behavior.
  
  Life goes on for everyone but my husband, my children and I. How do I pretend otherwise? Is that what is expected of me? Pretend.
  
  Some people may say I always struggled with anxiety. Sure, I suffer from anxiety but i have always been able to dance around it. Not any more. Now a dark dingy pothole has opened up and swallowed me. Thoughts just recycle in my brain which drag me down further.
  
  As I keep saying, i do not know how to live without this vibrant beautiful clever daughter who I adored. I am sorry that I did not get to know Amanda but glad that Amy intriduced her to me in the most unconventional way.
  
  Cancer has not distracted me from mourning my Amy. I pity the fool who believes that is possible. I want to beat this cancer. I want to be a mom to my kids, a wife to my husband, a daughter to my mother, a sister to my siblings, an aunt to all of my nieces and nephews and possibly some day become a grandmother and a mother-in-law. My promise is to put 100% just as I always have into these treasured relationships. I adore those who are in my life — especially those who have shown me unconditional love and friendship.
  
  I am writing on my blog bc I am so tired of defending my right to grieve and be depressed. I am writing on my blog because I am lonely and feel so misunderstood. I am writing on my blog because I am so depressed and sad all the while I realize I desperately need to count my blessings too.
  
  I am writing on my blog tonight bc I need a place to dump my truth.
  
  I am writing on my blog bc I am always remembering Amy and today I especially remember Amanda too.
  
  Please pray for me and my family and for all of those who are living with a heavy heart due to child loss and the pain and suffering caused by cancer.
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  Posted in Cancer, Death of a child, death of an adult child, Grief, Grieving, grieving mom, Grieving parent, Loss of a child | 9 Comments | Tagged Dr. Brian Weiss
- Immunity Denied Again — This Time: Cancer
  
  Posted at 10:48 am by deeincollingo, on November 21, 2016
  After a painful sleepless summer where I was misdiagnosed, I was finally blindsided by a diagnosis I never expected. Cancer. I debated during my lucid hours in September and October whether or not to share on my blog my newest challenge on this so-called “journey” in life. Do I have a responsibility to share this horrible what is just “news” to 95% of the people who read my postings? Is an explanation required if I never ever post again? Obviously, I made a decision to share my news.
  
  Fight, fight, fight — is what they all say. If only it were that easy. I can almost hear them whispering, “you know, no wonder she got sick; she lost a daughter and she could not get over her grief.” I resent that anyone would insinuate that Amy caused this cancer. It happens. But is it unreasonable to think that losing Amy would have excused me from cancer? Well, it didn’t. Now I am back to the “thoughts and prayers” and “I am sorry” texts. Again, I am in the victim role. And here we go again … Poor Dee, she lost her daughter and now 3 years later she has cancer. If you are thinking that — well I agree.
  
  I am not willing or able to share the details of this horribly painful health crisis I find myself sucked into. Here I am again isolated from the general population and being held hostage under circumstances which are out of my control. Simple tasks are no longer simple. Chemo is horrible but part of the fight. For those who have gone through this battle, once again there are no words to explain the physical pain it causes along with the psychological pain and frustration when your body betrays you.
  
  Babies and children are not excused and I now have a new intimate understanding of this disease as well as a new understanding of that six letter word. There was a time when the word cancer was just a scary word, but now it rules my life. How dare this happen after I have suffered the worst thing that could happen? But just like child loss, cancer does not discriminate. Seriously, God? Universe? Why?
  
  This time there have been life lessons. Once again, you find out what you mean to others. I have learned that I am loved. That I know for sure. I find myself asking others whether they are supporting me because they think I am going to die or if they want to help me to live. I need Team Recovery supporters and cannot stress how much I need to believe I can beat this because I have learned I am not ready to join my precious Amy. How cruel to steal my daughter and then find myself living inside of another nightmare? How dare my family have to watch me suffer and live in fear that our small family will shrink again. Its not fair. Life isnt fair.
  
  I am angry, sick, and tired. Chemo is as horrible as I have heard but couldn’t truly imagine. Radiation is no picnic either. Losing your hair steals the last sense you have of yourself. So you are forced to muster up the courage to look in the mirror to put on your “cute” scarf. People try to reassure you that you look just fine but you see the difference and it ain’t pretty. I am so darn tired but Team Recovery wants me to push, push, push while my body screams rest, rest rest.
  
  People are kind, thoughtful and generous to people who have this horrific disease. Well, at least MY people have been kind to me. Cancer takes a toll on relationships. Roles change. Resentment brews. Depression sets in. Responsibilities are overloaded and you quickly learn the true meaning of the vows you take — for better or for worse.
  
  Hello! Who wouldn’t be depressed if they had cancer? Why would anyone question why I am so sad? And totally overwhelmed! However, I am also so grateful to every single person who has supported me in whatever way they could. I never spent one night alone in the hospital and I must have had over 50 visitors during the 3 different hospital/rehab stays and continue to have countless visitors, gifts and food at home. We are so blessed to have the precious family and friends supporting us. I cant say that enough!
  
  After reading this post, please don’t comment about how sorry you are … or leave me with the thoughts and prayers pity phrase. Prayers are welcome! Light a candle for me. Light a candle or say a prayer for Amy. It goes without saying that this sucks and you feel sorry for me. I feel sorry for me.
  
  As we enter the most wonderful time of the year, I am once again so grateful to those who have showed up and supported me in so many loving ways these past 3 years, but how am I to manage being a bereaved Mom with cancer during this holiday season. I dont know how to be a Mom who lost a child and now one who is also battling cancer. Just so happens I have 2 chemo treatments (each 6 hour sessions) in December. Joy to the world.
  
  I will write again when my energy permits. In the meantime, I am battling cancer and appreciate your prayers that I can beat this and will be granted more time to spend with my loved ones on this side of the veil. Please join my Team Recovery by saying a prayer for me. I feel the angel hugs from my Amy who reassured my heart she is doing just fine without me. That knowledge does not make me miss her less or make her death ok. I still want her back. I will always want her here with me.
  
  Please pray for me while I am fighting this hideous disease and always loving and missing my Amy.
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  Posted in Cancer, Compassionate Friends, Death of a child, death of an adult child, Grief, Grieving, grieving mom, Grieving parent, Loss of a child | 20 Comments
- The Invisible Wound
  
  Posted at 4:51 pm by deeincollingo, on August 27, 2016
  Those of us who have lost a child carry an invisible wound which we realize most of our loved ones and friends are not capable of viewing or comprehending. The wound is raw, bleeds frequently and yes, at times it is ugly. The world is unable to capture a photo of this deep painful wound so truly no one is prepared to witness the depth of child loss and come back for a second look. Seems since they cannot fix it, it is just easier to stay away from this unrecognizable pain.
  
  In many cases, their offer to help is like the offer to help when you are moving … Hoping you won’t call. Carrying on a friendship with a grieving parent requires stepping way outside of your comfort zone as you helplessly watch the devastation of what losing a child does to your friend. I lost a dear friend because I was too screwed up to support her in the way she deserved. She wrote me off very easily as well as the rest of my family. I imagine she even wrote off Amy. Now that is cruel.
  
  And then there is the “everything happens for a reason” bullshit line that people say. Seriously? What are you smoking to say that to a parent who lost a child? Hello!?! We are not talking about getting fired from a job and landing a better job or getting dumped by a cheating boyfriend?
  
  How many of your loved ones and friends have written you off because they do not know what to do with this grieving parent with the dead eyes and the apathetic disposition. Indeed, they assume your new disconnected behavior must be willful and its best to just leave you alone. What they dont realize is that all of the wires in us have short circuited and we have no idea how to reconnect with ourselves let alone those around us.
  
  Clearly, the means of support is impersonal as it comes in the form of an email or text message. What happened to picking up the phone? Or coming for a visit? Luckily, I do have a few friends, my sisters and Mom who support me personally rather than electronically. How did we evolve into electronic relationships? That is not friendship. Sad, but true. People do not have time for people. Many times they are too busy trying to fix rather than just listen. No griever requires 24/7 support. And as time goes on, their needs change as true lonliness sinks in. It is beyond lonely living here without one’s child.
  
  When I exited that hospital on that beautiful Sunday morning, I was transformed into an alien because nothing and no one looked the same. My life as I knew it was now over and I was helpless to do anything other than get into autopilot mode to make “arrangements.” Make arrangements for my 27 year old precious youngest child while a voice inside of me was screaming no, no, no. Yet we do what we must because that is what parents do for their children. We take care of them whether they are alive or dead. I stood next to Amy’s coffin accepting condolenses for many hours. Protecting her in my own mother’s way yet what the hell was I protecting her from? I asked the funeral director’s son to please leave a light on for Amy that night before the funeral mass because Amy was afraid of the dark and he assured me he would.
  
  I could not shed my mother role and just hand her over to God. Why were so many people trying to reassure me she was in a better place now? How did they know? Did they watch her go there? Had they been there themselves. Which one of their loved ones would they like to send to that better place? Just crap people say. I probably said the same crap but I promise I would never utter those words in any out of order death. None of those words gave me solace; I just wanted Amy to wake up and come home with me.
  
  Three years later my veil between my grief and my public mask is transparent. I am who I am now. Amy’s death has changed me and dont look for my book on how losing my child has enlightend me or made me into a better person. I still do not know how to gracefully live without Amy. I still love others but part of me is still so shattered that I probably am not capable of loving with a full heart yet.
  
  August is a devastating month for me and I share these thoughts as a means to release them. I write all of my posts as a means to release the words oozing from my invisible wound. Hopefully September will be kinder than August… Or maybe not. The world has no problem kicking you when you are already down. Immunity from further pain and heartache is never guaranteed regardless of what you already endured.
  
  It goes without saying that I hope it wont always be this way. Time will tell.
  
  Always, always remembering my Amy.
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  Posted in Death of a child, death of an adult child, Grief, Grieving, grieving mom, Grieving parent, Loss of a child | 11 Comments
- Happy Birthday Amy!
  
  Posted at 7:17 pm by deeincollingo, on August 11, 2016
  Amy came into the world at 11:53 pm on August 12, 1985. The minute I held her in my arms for the first time, her beautiful eyes were wide open looking right back at me. She didn’t cry; just looked around as though she was re-acclimating herself. Many have told me Amy was a very old soul.
  
  I had gone into labor at the doctor’s office and remember how I tried to patiently wait for the receptionist to call me back but the pains were so steady and frequent that instead I decided to let her know I was in labor. Wow — did things move quickly after that …
  
  My husband was at a nearby Pizza Hut with our two older children and again I had to patiently wait for them to return to pick me up. Imagine his surprise when I told him we had to drop the kids off at his mother’s and head to the hospital. Labor was quick and uneventful and in only a few hours I was cuddling my new 8 lb., 7 oz. beautiful bundle of joy.
  
  Amy and I were only in the hospital for two nights. The night before we came home, I remember hearing a woman screaming down the hall. When the nurse brought Amy to me for a feeding, I asked about the woman and was told that she was laboring to give birth to a stillborn baby. While holding Amy close to my heart, I cried and prayed for that woman and thanked God for my baby. Even now, I still think of that mother.
  
  I will never understand the painful challenges and experiences some of us are forced to endure. Life lessons? No. That’s just a cop out way to shine a silver lining on tragedy. I remember in the early weeks after Amy’s sudden death actually thinking while I was crying, “why me?” and then continuing the thought with an answer of “why not me?” Trust me I didn’t stick with that school of thought for long. There are times I wonder what I ever did to the universe to justify losing my child? There is no justification for why some of us deal with the tragic losses of out of order deaths. There is no life lesson to be learned in the midst of tragedy. Living without a loved one hurts like hell and forever changes our lives. That’s the reality, not the lesson and tomorrow will be heartbreaking for me as I am not far enough along that the memories won’t hurt. What mother wants her child to be an angel in heaven instead of here?!?
  
  What I HAVE learned is that the soul survives the body and their beautiful energy continues. That is not a lesson as I could easily escape this lifetime without this enlightment if it meant I could keep my Amy here.
  
  I recently found this poem which I posted before … If only I could truly allow these words to sink into my broken heart because there is a part of me which believes. I HAVE to believe….
  
  Death is Nothing at All
  
  Death is nothing at all.
  I have only slipped away to the next room.
  I am I and you are you.
  Whatever we were to each other,
  That, we are still.
  
  Call me by my old familiar name.
  Speak to me in the easy way
  which you always used.
  Put no difference into your tone.
  Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
  
  Laugh as we always laughed
  at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
  Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
  Let my name be ever the household word
  that it always was.
  Let it be spoken without effect.
  With the trace of a shadow on it.
  
  Life means all that it ever meant.
  It is the same that it ever was.
  There is absolute unbroken continuity.
  Why should I be out of mind
  because I am out of sight?
  
  I am but waiting for you.
  For an interval.
  Somewhere. Very near.
  Just around the corner.
  
  All is well.
  
  — Henry Scott Holland
  
  Happy Birthday Amy! I miss you so much … time will never ever change that! I must believe that I will see you again, my sweet child. Love never dies. I love you, Amy.
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  Posted in Death of a child, death of an adult child, Grief, Grieving, grieving mom, Grieving parent, Loss of a child | 8 Comments
- This Will Never Be Okay!
  
  Posted at 6:20 pm by deeincollingo, on August 9, 2016
  Despite reading numerous books, attending numerous support groups and pouring my honest heart out in counseling for most of the last three years, I have come to the conclusion I am not wired to lose my child.
  
  Of course I realize I am not the only mother to have one of their children die, but if I am honest and I usually am, it truly does feel as though I am the only mother who is drowning in this living hell. Oh I am so sick of the disclaimers I am expected to add about how happy I am for others as they skip merrily along unscaithed. Yeah, yeah, no one is granted immunity. Blah blah. Quite frankly, it still hurts to witness happy. That has not changed in three years nor have I wished anyone I know to carry this heavy cross of child loss.
  
  Friday is Amy’s birthday. Her birthday gift which I bought prior to my devastation day, August 4, 2013 remains in the Amazon box. I cannot bring myself to touch that unopened box because it screams my reality that my Amy died 8 days before her birthday. WTF!!!!
  
  You know what? I really don’t care if I am the only blogger, which I know I am not, ranting three years later about how devastated I remain that my youngest child died. Trust me that I have tried everything to move through this but at the end of the day, Amy is still dead and that will never be okay. Nope. It is totally unacceptable.
  
  Going to the cemetery to make sure her grave reflects someone who was here and loved will never get easier. Sometimes I just sit in the car and weep. Many times I refuse to look at her lonely name. My beautiful sweet girl has dates on both sides of that hyphen. My family tree hurts.
  
  Forever in our hearts is written on the tombstone as well as on a marker in our memorial garden in our yard. That memorial garden does not give me peace. Instead its a tragic reminder of this horrible chapter in my life and not of my Amy who loved to sit in our peaceful back yard. Amy loved our gardens and one day she brought me a garden stone which reads: “Mom, I know God loves me because He gave me you.” Now that stone sits in her memorial garden. What would I do if it ever breaks or cracks? The treasures and memories are all we have left. Blah blah blah to that too because I will always want my girl back and never ever get used to Amy being a “memory.”
  
  As shattered as I feel inside, I will always be grateful that Amy graced my life. And if I knew how it would end, I wouldn’t trade a minute of her precious short life in order to save me a lifetime of this horrible pain. I may not be wired to be a bereaved mother, but I assure you I was wired perfectly to be Amy’s Mom. Death can not change that I am Amy’s Forever Mom and she will always be my Amy, forever in my broken heart.
  
  Always remembering Amy.
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  Posted in Death of a child, death of an adult child, Grief, Grieving, grieving mom, Grieving parent, Loss of a child | 10 Comments
- My Devastation Day — 3 Years Without Amy
  
  Posted at 1:14 pm by deeincollingo, on August 4, 2016
  There are no words …
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  Posted in Death of a child, death of an adult child, Grief, Grieving, grieving mom, Grieving parent, Loss of a child | 10 Comments
- Soul Contracts …
  
  Posted at 11:16 am by deeincollingo, on July 26, 2016
  Soul contract?
  
  This is a subject that is easy to speculate or debate about when you are chatting with a peaceful mind. We can easily share our opinions as to whether our physical body has its own expiration date which we signed up for before we were born until it becomes personal when out of order death happens in our family.
  
  Many have shared that they believed that their loved one somehow knew their time here would be short. Based on the way Amy lived her life, I am not sure if she knew on a conscious level yet may have known on a soul level. Again, the jury is still out as I continue to ponder this soul contract theory.
  
  Recently in a tearful conversation with two women who had not lost children, they reminded me that our children are only on loan to us. Based on the way I am grieving Amy, I confess I considered her MINE yet in the same breath I find myself asking God why he stole her back from me.
  
  I woke up in the wee hours of this morning and listened to an audio interview about grief. Grief is not acceptable outside the confines of our hearts as it makes others uncomfortable. Grief is lonely and misunderstood. Hurry up and have a nice day! Yet who promised us that we would not have to live in the valley of despair during the course our life and that we would get to keep our children and siblings until they had a chance to live out their entire lives. We always pray and beg God to insure our children and loved one’s safety, but do any of us really believe we would ever be living in a world without them here? Let me raise my hand and be the first to admit I never ever seriously pondered losing a child. And regardless of whether immunity from the valley of despair was never promised, I was never prepared to live in the dark lonely valley.
  
  People who are blessed to have all of their siblings and children here say the darnedest things. Their opinion and advice is so abstract. Let’s face it, by now we know they haven’t a clue how we feel yet does that mean we should resent them for their blessed ignorance? I admit I still struggle with this occasionally, but not in the same way I did two years ago. As more time goes by, I am convinced the clueless ones speak from a place of speculation and have no real knowledge. Oh how I would love to change places with them.
  
  What I have learned almost three years later is now that I am able to disagree with them when they throw a platitude at me, their opinions no longer recycle in my heart or rent too much space in my brain. That is not to say I am able to manage every word that is said to me. Time has allowed me better control of what I can and cannot tolerate. And if there is indeed a life lesson to be learned, I have become the prophet of truth about the real heartfelt ramifications of out of order death and will not just agree with words which are a betrayal to what my daughter’s life here meant to me.
  
  It is becoming exceedingly clear that I do not know what to do with the overwhelming grief which has taken over my life. Yada yada yada to what this grief can do to me physically because I cannot imagine that my heart has the power to react any differently than it has after receiving such a shock in an effort to protect my health. This past year I have suffered physically. Just maybe I can blame it on the grief or just maybe it would have been a rough year anyway. All I know is what I thought was heavy grief was my thyroid checking out on me. Severe hypothyroidism which has still not been corrected since my numbers were so off the charts. Should I blame this on Amy? Now I am suffering from excruciating nerve pain from mild to moderate degenerate disks? My core is weak. I am getting older while Amy remains forever 27. She was healthy and fit while I am not.
  
  I am exhausted from being me and totally overwhelmed from this chapter of my life. In hindsight, I do not believe I could have grieved any differently than I have and continue to do. Sure, the ramifications from not having a working thyroid have complicated and amplified my grief. Grieving Amy has never been a choice.
  
  Did my soul contract sign up for all of this pain? No one has an answer. Its all a bunch of guesses. Maybe some day we will know. Maybe not.
  
  As August 4, my personal devastation day, approaches next week, I made a promise to myself that I would not allow that day to retraumatize me. Yet just like my body reacted to the shock of losing Amy, I am finding I have little power over the calendar my heart is keeping.
  
  No one will ever convince me I signed up for any of this. Grieving your child is an appropriate reaction. I may grieve forever but I do admit that I long for the day when her death story fades and the beautiful love and life we shared becomes my story even when I am in the valley.
  
  Remember Amy.
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  Posted in Death of a child, death of an adult child, Grief, Grieving, grieving mom, Grieving parent, Loss of a child | 9 Comments
- Allow Me To Reintroduce Myself
  
  Posted at 6:38 pm by deeincollingo, on July 16, 2016
  Hello, my name is Dee, devastated mother, wife, daughter, sister, aunt and friend who lost a child. I may resemble the family member or friend you were acquainted with prior to August 4, 2013, but look closer, if you dare, into my eyes.
  
  As I look back at older photos, there was a twinkle in my green expressive eyes. Or maybe that was a semblance of peace peeking out. Now my tired eyes appear lifeless and my face wears a pained indifferent gaze when captured in an unexpected photo. For whatever reason, I continue to put on make up and do my hair only because it is just what I do. I make a special effort whenever I am seeing my children even though I know I am not fooling them.
  
  Who am I almost three years later? I do not know. There is a deep seeded loneliness inside of me as I continue to miss Amy more and more. Amy just knew how to love me well. She accepted me at face value. I miss her adoration and the purpose she added to my life. How do you just happily roll along after losing someone who was so significant in your life? I admit I do not know how.
  
  Quitting my job because I could no longer handle the pressure was the worst and best thing I did. Since I am not old enough to collect social security benefits, I am now sort of in the role of a “kept woman” which would have made me chuckle before Devastation Day, but now makes me feel rather sad and depressed. Grateful to my husband for supporting us and blessed that he covers me under his health insurance which made it possible for me to say uncle and quit my job of almost 30 years.
  
  I admit that I miss getting up in the morning with that work purpose and also miss so many of the good friends whom I worked with. Unfortunately, out of sight — out of mind — that’s just the way the cookie crumbles, I guess. Initially, it was hurtful as I fell off of their radar but quite frankly I have done little to feed many of those relationships. However, when I needed their support the most, my work family supported me in a way I will never ever forget. And to the co-workers whom evolved to my life friends, I know I am not the Dee you signed up for and for that I am sorry. Your patience and compassion never goes unnoticed. There is a lovely group of women who are folding cranes again this year for Amy’s birthday. Bless each and every one of you!
  
  Time has not healed my wounds or helped me to wave my magic wand and forgive everyone who has hurt me along the way since my world as I knew it came to a screeching halt. What I have learned is that not everyone who hurt me did it intentionally and even this broken Dee realizes that now.
  
  I am exhausted and disenchanted that I have to be the woman among my family and friends who has to live without one of their children. I resent this cruel twist of fate that has rendered me in a state of mind so different from those who knew me before Devastation Day. I wish I didn’t feel the overwhelming contrast in our worlds and I also wish I knew how to bridge the gap which out of order death has created. No one wants to live feeling inferior among others. That is my problem, not theirs, that I still cannot participate in social events without my heart weeping about who is missing.
  
  Living without Amy is an identity changer. I despise my new identity. I am unrecognizable even to myself so I totally understand why others wonder what happened to me.
  
  It will take time before I am able to reinvent myself again as mother, wife, daughter, sister, aunt and friend. Until then, please be patient and kind to a woman who has lost her way. It takes more than three years to find yourself after losing a vital piece of your heart and life.
  
  Always remembering Amy.
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  Posted in Death of a child, death of an adult child, Grief, Grieving, grieving mom, Grieving parent, Loss of a child | 7 Comments
- Don’t Quit
  
  Posted at 9:36 pm by deeincollingo, on July 10, 2016
  Don’t Quit
  
  Author Unknown
  
  When things go wrong, as they sometimes will, when the road you’re trudging seems all uphill, when the funds are low and the debts are high, and you want to smile but you have to sigh, when care is pressing you down a bit, rest if you must but don’t you quit.
  
  Life is queer with its twists and turns, as every one of us sometimes learns, and many a fellow turns about, when he might have won had he stuck it out.
  
  Don’t give up though the pace seems slow — you may succeed with another blow. Often the goal is nearer than it seems to a faint and faltering man, when he might have captured the victor’s cup, and he learned too late when the night came down, how close he was to the golden crown.
  
  Success is failure turned inside out — the silver tint in the clouds of doubt; and you never can tell how close you are, it might be near when it seems afar; so stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit — it’s when things seem worst that you must not quit.
  
  When Amy was in 8th grade, she was separated from all of her friends and went through a horrible challenging time. Amy was a late bloomer and rather naive compared to most of the other 8th grade girls. Two girls who professed to be her friends were the definition of the worst bullies anyone could imagine. Separately, they were ok, but together … well suffice to say I shudder thinking that they could now be parents and raising children of their own. So as Amy struggled, the mother monster in me kicked into high gear and I did whatever I could to help her through this terribly challenging year. I bought her the Don’t Quit laminated card and through the years, up until Devastation Day, she carried it in whatever wallet she was using.
  
  In order to stay fit, Amy joined a boxing gym after her personal trainer at a popular gym kept hitting on her. To say she loved going to this new no-frills boxing gym would be an understatement. The owner of the gym had an amazing attitude and Amy admired him. After her sudden passing, he drew this mural on the large wall over looking the boxing ring. The very first time we saw it, he told us he could feel Amy’s presence overlooking the ring watching over them.
  
  Amy’s friends at the gym were devastated by her sudden passing. After the graveside ceremony, the owner of the gym presented us with a heavy weight boxing belt donated by a professional boxer with Amy’s photo on it. My son keeps this on display in a lighted bookcase in his house.
  
  Amy was the most resilient person I have ever met. She had no ego so she struggled with the many huge egos that she kept encountering. I was always amazed the way she just kept bouncing back. She never quit.
  
  Today as I sat crying and feeling totally defeated by the loss of my beautiful, resilient, compassionate child, I felt a gentle nudge to read this poem and take a page out of Amy’s life story.
  
  I cannot give up on searching for light on the other side of this seemingly never ending tunnel of darkness and despair.
  
  Amy, I am always remembering you with love and will always admire your tenacity and resilience.
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  Posted in Death of a child, death of an adult child, Grief, Grieving, grieving mom, Grieving parent, Loss of a child | 10 Comments
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Category: death of an adult child

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