A mothers hope -



When my son died I hoped it was a mistake. It was not.
I hoped it was a dream. It was not.
Before my son died, I hoped for enough time in that day to clean my house, provide my family
with clean laundry, taxi service and healthy meals. I loved dinner time with my family. After my
son died, I did not know what day it was, cleaning our home or doing laundry were things I no
longer thought of. I did not cook. I did not shop for food. I did not eat.
I hoped he would come back. He did not.
I hoped I would gain understanding. I did not.
I could not understand how I could wake up on a perfectly normal morning and my son was gone
from his room, gone from our home and gone from our lives.
I hoped for acceptance. I found none.
I hoped those around me would understand me. They did not.
How could my beautiful, vibrant, healthy son be gone?
I hoped for peace. I had none.
I hoped for sleep. I had none.
I hoped for courage to resume my daily life. My life was out of my control. The only thing I was
sure of in the early days of my grief was that I knew my life would never be the same again.
I hoped this empty feeling would go away. It did not.
I hoped that some day my family would be normal again. We were not.
I hoped I could stop looking for our son in every baby boy I saw that was chubby and had dark colored hair. I could not.
I hoped I could become the parent to my surviving children that I knew they deserved. I could
I knew how much they were hurting but I could not help myself and I could not help my children.
My daughters needed my comfort.
I was their mother but there was no comfort in me to give.
I never hoped for laughter. How could I laugh when my son was dead?
I hoped the feelings that consumed my every waking moment would somehow change so I did
not feel as though I could never again be in a public place without crying.
At 3 months after my son died, I hoped for a reprieve. I no longer could stand the pain and I sawmy doctor. I knew he must have an answer to my question, “how long will I feel like this”. He did not.
When my son died, I never hoped for joy. I could not imagine joy as part of our lives ever again, but there is joy.
When my son was a baby, I watched over him. I thought I would watch over him for my entire life. I was wrong.
I hope with all my heart that he is watching over me.

Date: April 8, 2010