FSO:Mar. 5 - In Remembrance - A Special Request by ChefE

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This may be a hard one since a few of us have experienced loss firsthand over the past years.. My daughters birthday was today, so this week just seemed like a good time to give everyone a chance to remember a loved one- mother, father, sister, brother, beloved pets, or all family who stood out in many ways. Also remembering those who have given their lives for us is something we should do on a regular basis, even if we did not get the chance to shake their hand in person. Elizabeth.

Dear Elizabeth,

In the process of part taking in Friday Shoot Out, I have made some very special friends, and shared something very close to our hearts. We found that we both belong to the Club of bereaved mums. It must be ESP that you have sent from USA across the ocean to New Zealand at this very time for this week's challenge. For it came at the right time.

A very special member of my family has just joined our Club yesterday. Her baby died inside her, and right now she is waiting for some medication to induce the baby to come out of her body. She had to go through full labour and childbirth knowing that at the end of it , she was having a dead baby.

I remember my pastor's wife Olwyn Dixon telling me that this is the worst thing a woman has to face. I cried and felt an array of emotion for her. I cry for the loss of the healthy baby she lost. I am relieved that the baby didn't live to become a very handicapped baby.

This year, my Andrew would be planning his 21st birthday celebration. Instead his body lies in a grave at the Waikumate Cemetery as 55 day old baby. He is not there, he is up in Heaven. My heart remembers him everyday.

I have moved on, and I see having him for such a short time as a gift. A gift that I can comfort other bereaved mums. You will be surprised to know how many mums are bereaved. By my sharing, many mums or relatives share with me their loss. Some of them had never been free to talk about their loss because of their culture. Many tell me that my openness on this issue have helped them.

This post is dedicated to all mums, dads, grand parents who have lost their young loved ones. For no bereavement is worst than the tragedy of saying goodbye to and burying someone younger than you. It is against nature.

This post is also in remembrance of the loved ones of Barry and Linda, and QueenMM.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/campomelicfamilies/

New friends

We have a student from Yakutia, Russia in our beginners class in the ESOL school where I volunteer on Wednesdays at Mt Albert Church. I use non verbal communications during morning tea when I sip my cup of tea with her. Last year before school broke up, I offered to be her friend and not as a teacher as I can't understand Russian, and she was a very new student of English.

This Wednesday, her daughter asked if my offer still stands and I said yes. I arranged to meet with her after work today. I brought with me a little gift which my Chinese tradition called, " JIAN MIEN LI" a little gift for seeing you for the first time. It is indeed a little gift. When I gave it to her, she took it and told me that it is their custom to have a "Jian MIEN LI" as well.

So I took this photo to remember this simple exchange of friendship. I gave her a cheap pottery which I placed a few pieces of chocolate. She gave me a miniature Choroon, A kind of cup when on festivals are used to hold kymys of fermented horse milk.

With the translation of her daughter we got to tell each other our country and our families. Then I told her about my Andrew who had died.

The daughter said, in fact mum has 3 kids, the first one was a still born. We didn't have to talk, I touched my heart and then hers. We are both bereaved mums, our hearts are connected. I asked if she had a funeral for him, and she said no. She said, it's 34 years, but the heart still aches.

She served me Bliny, a Russian pan cake with stuffing of beef and mushroom. It was very delicious.

In the short time we were together, I got to know a lot about Yakutia, and we have similar fates of bereaved mums.

Remembering D, one year old angel.

This photo shows the housing that D and I lived in Singapore. Our husbands were professors at Nanyang Technological University.

http://ann-mythoughtsandphotos.blogspot.com/2009/02/thinking-of-my-friend-d-bereaved-grand.html

I made a special trip to see my friends D and S when I was in Australia. I have known D for twenty years. She shared the news of her little grandson D born in Brazil, and how he was stricken with one problem or the other. The last three years, little D had cancer.

Last year around this time Little D went to heaven. He was not even six years old. I met his Mum E. It was a privilege to spend time as one bereaved mum with another. I listened as E shared with me how it was when D had to be hospitalized.

As I wrote in my post when D just died last year, I pondered. Do I tell them that it is better that D had died. Personally, for myself, because Andrew was so seriously sick, it is better that he had died and we could move on. But no two cases is the same.

It is early days for E, experts say it takes three years. What ever it is, some one told me something very profound. Loss of a dear one is likened to losing a piece of a puzzle. Things will never be the same .

My fellow bloggers Queenmothermamaw, Barry and Linda, Chef E, they are belong to this club, club of bereaved parents. Membership is not by choice, but paid with a very heavy price.

D and E, my thoughts are with you as D's anniversary approaches.


http://health.groups.yahoo.com/group/campomelicfamilies

A girl's love for her horse.

After reading Holly's site,http://themares.blogspot.com/ I remember this girl I used to know. It is a true story.

Many many years ago, I lived next door to a teen aged girl K. She wasn't very good in literacy and numeracy, but she was a hard working girl. She left school after primary school, and she worked very hard in a green grocer shop. The owner was a Chinese man, as were most green grocers in New Zealand. He praised her to her mum and said he had never employed such a good girl.

She walked to the shop, and was never ever late, rain or shine, winter or summer. Spot on 6 am, she was at the shop waiting for the owner. She packed her own cut lunch so she won't have to spend her hard earned money.

As she was no good in numbers or social skills, the grocer gave her jobs like packing fruit and veges, and sweeping and tidying up at the back of the shop.

She saved enough to buy a horse. She really loved her horse which she kept at a farmer's paddock and paid him a small fee. Every Saturday and Sunday, early in the morning. Her Dad drove her to the farm, where she groomed and fed and rode her horse. Again, it was rain or shine, she was there. Such was her love an dedication to her horse.

The grocer gave her sacks of unsold apples and carrots which she shared with other girls who kept horses there.

I moved away to Singapore. When I came back for holidays, her mum told me K had cancer, and she had gone to play with my son Andrew, meaning she died. I was so sad, why did such a tragedy happen to a good girl like her. We hugged, once we were neighboures, now we both have the dubious honour of being bereaved mums.

Just before we went to Singapore, J her mum offered many of K's things to my girls. My girls had inherited many of her books, and an art easel. The kids had great fun with the easel. In fact, not only my kids benefited from these, many of the NTU residents' children enjoyed them when they came to my Playgroup workshops.

This is a photo of a green grocer near where we used to live, but this was not where she lived.

Nipped off in the bud.

During the last two weeks in New Zealand, there was a flurry of news that affected everyone here. It even made news in Europe. Little two year old Aisling Symes went missing in wet and unseasonably cold weather in Waitakere City of West Auckland.

Despite police and volunteers searching, she was found only seven days later. Yesterday was her funeral. I watched on TV and as her mother carried out her white coffin, my mind went back twenty years ago. I was that mother, seeing her baby's coffin being put into the hearse.

All deaths are sad, because they are separation from loved ones. But the death of Aisling as a child is even sadder. Her parents released a dove into the air. As it fluttered away, the young mother watched, and watched, until its pure white plumes disappeared.

It was Angela Symes' goodbye to her baby girl.

I post this photo of the apple buds on my apple tree. The apple that Aisling would grown into had been nipped off in the bud, the same way my son Andrew had been that November 22 1989 morning. Angela and me, we belong to this club, the club of bereaved mums. Entry requisite, I hope you don't have. Though my fellow blogger Queenmother mamaw and Linda were members before me.

A little boy called home

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The bells tolled:

Born into this world: 2 June 2003 Went to be with Jesus: 20 February 2009

After a three year battle with cancer, D went to be with the Lord at 1:25 p.m today (Queensland time, Australia).

The Chinese have a saying, The worst kind of grief is for a gray hair person to farewell a black hair person. I know, because I have been there, and during my journey of grieving for my lost baby, I know, it is not only Chinese, but universal. But I will never know exactly how his mum feels because no two situations are the same.

I grieve with you, you will miss D, your arms will feel empty.

I pray that God will be with you at this sorrowing time.

My prayers for the rest of the family.

As Christians, we can be consoled that D has gone to his Father in Heaven, though at this time, it is very difficult.

In God's name and with much love,

***White Yucca flowers for D's family***

Footprints

When I saw the Footprints on the walkway of the Arataki Visitor centre last Sunday, I remember the first time I read the poem "Footprints in the sand." The poem impacted me so much and probably more than many people who read it.

The scenario happened almost twenty years ago, I had just been told that my newly born baby son, Andrew  was dying. I wasn't told about his lethal situation before he was born, and it was just so difficult to accept that a well form baby could be so sick inside.

My pastor's wife and best friend Owlyn Dickson had informed the Church, The Auckland Baptist Tabernacle to pray for us and give us practical help especially with D then almost 5, and G18 months. 

Betty Stevens had sent this poem Via Owlyn, and there I was seated next to Andrew's cot and reading.

Footprints in the Sand
 
 
  One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
  Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
  In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
  Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
  other times there were one set of footprints.
 
  This bothered me because I noticed
  that during the low periods of my life,
  when I was suffering from
  anguish, sorrow or defeat,
  I could see only one set of footprints.
 
  So I said to the Lord,
  "You promised me Lord,
  that if I followed you,
  you would walk with me always.
  But I have noticed that during
  the most trying periods of my life
  there have only been one
  set of footprints in the sand.
  Why, when I needed you most,
  you have not been there for me?"
 
  The Lord replied,
  "The times when you have
  seen only one set of footprints in the sand,
  is when I carried you."

  Mary Stevenson
 
 
  Copyright © 1984 Mary Stevenson, from original 1936 text, All rights reserved

http://www.footprints-inthe-sand.com/index.php?page=Poem/Poem.php

I did not ask God," Why me? It's unfair!" But I did tell God I accept Andrew but to tell me in time "Why me?"  I think I am confusing myself here. What I mean is I did not ask God, why did you gave me a dying child? Rather, what I mean is what is the purpose of giving me a dying child? AmI making myself clearer?

A few days later, a very good friend and a doctor at the hospital B.T. told me that I was probably the best Mum for Andrew. I loved him, and I did not abandon him, as did a mother in  the next cubicle.

Forty days later, I saw a crying mum. I went to hug her. The husband asked what was wrong with Andrew. I said," He is terminal." The poor mother hug me tightly, and said," So is my boy, we just found out that there was nothing they could do for him, and we just made the decision to turn off the machine." She hugged me back. We were two poor mums with dying babies. 

The husband thanked me, prior to my telling her that Andrew was terminal, for some 2 weeks after giving birth to her baby, she had not uttered a word and everyone was so worried for her..

That was when I said, "Thank you, God, You just told me that was why you chose me to be Andrew's mum. You gave me a special gift to comfort grieving mums." 

I have moved on, Andrew was and is and will always be part of me. He gave me the gift to encourage bereaved parents, to comfort them. Some people don't understand, and tell me to go for theraphy because they think I should not talk about him. My Grand dad, who lost his son when my 4th Uncle drowned at four years old ,was still telling us about this uncle and how he drowned when Grand dad was in his seventies. I guess, it takes a bereaved parent to understand one another.

When John Travolta's son died, I heard his wife saying  something to this effect," It is not right for a parent to bury a child." The Chinese have a saying," The Grey/white hair saying goofbye to the black hair." I have heard, this is the worst kind of grief. My grand parents buried two young sons. When I had Andrew, I thought of my Grand Mother.

I am with these two organisation, because I believe I have much to offer.

 http://groups.yahoo.com/group/campomelicfamilies/

www.childbereavementsupport.org.sg

Today my Associate pastor Judy Ashman shared in her sermon how she was able to help this young mum whose baby had just died. I was thinking, it can't be a coincidence, I had wanted to write this post for a while. And this morning, I was thinking this morning is the time to write it.

Let me quote what she preached:

Psalm:42

Now tears are his food day and night. He is filled with sorrow, mourning, despair. And yet in the midst of this turmoil he remembers the joy of intimacy with God and he makes a choice to put his hope in God, to trust God and actualy to praise God. As hard as it was, I encouraged this young mum to do just this, to trust God ad to praise God even though her baby had died. It was a terrible time of grief that day and in the weeks and months that followed, but prayer gave me a link to the anchor of hope. to jesus my strong anchor in the time of trouble.

Judy emailed me, I am sure she doesn't mind me sharing this. I felt touched with what God could do with the young mum's life.

Hi from Judy

Sunday, January 11, 2009 2:43 PM

Hi Ann
I went to your blog site tonight and was so blessed to read your story.

 I wish I could have shared the update of the story of the young Mum I talked about in my sermon (there was not enough time) because she has used her grief to speak into the lives of so many other Mums who have lost babies. She joined an organisation that works with Mums who have had stillborn babies and has shared how God walked with her through the pain. Now, when she looks back she can tell me that "God was working things for good in the midst of the tragedy." It seemed so hard, almost cruel, at the time to encourage her to praise God but because she did just that she impacted so many lives. 

There is power in praise and she knows that at a deeper dimension now than before the tragedy. I know she will never forget her little baby, Sam, and I hope she will also never forget the God who knows, the God who cares and the God, Jesus, who has walked the path of suffering and who promises to walk with us in the midst of our suffering.

www.mabc.org.nz

.

 

Lone Kite flyer

Yesterday, November 22nd was my late son, Andrew's anniversary. He would be nineteen but he is a nineteen year old angel.

The water engineer took me for a walk/climb at Mt Roskill extinct volcano.

There was a lone kite flyer.

He was trying in vain to fly his kite.

My heart is as lonely as him.

For who does the strong wind howl?

It howls for my sorrow. It churns in my heart like a tornado.

It howls for all the mums whose babies have been snatched from their wombs.

It howls for all the mums whose children have been snatched from their arms.

Blow wind blow, take the kite up high.

Soar kite soar, take my sorrows up with you.

Howl on, oh wind, despite your anger, you give me comfort.



http://health.groups.yahoo.com/group/campomelicfamilies/