I wish you could understand the pain that I feel.
I DO NOT want you to ever experience the pain,
I just wish I had someone to help me carry the hurt.
My heart actually hurts, it's a physical pain
and I'm scared that I won't be
able to survive the grief of losing Loria.



I wish you wouldn’t say,
"If there is anything I can do, let me know."
I don’t ever know what I need or if there is
anything you can do – just go ahead and
do whatever you think needs to be done.
At times I'm incapable of making decisions.
Just getting out of bed in the morning
remains an effort.



I wish you'd listen to me and be
accepting and supportive of my feelings
and emotions.  I think I'm going crazy with
all of these wild thoughts.  The anger,
sadness, depression, guilt, the mental confusion.
Help me with these feelings – not by giving
me advice, but by simply listening.
Let me rant and rave, allow me to verbalize my
fears and frustrations.  Don’t try to
analyze them, just help me to let them be!



I wish you wouldn’t expect me to be "normal."
What is normal ???
Don’t expect me to "be over this" within
your expected time frame.  I'm still grieving.
I am NEVER going to get over this,
but I'll hopefully learn to live with the pain
and the loss.  Don’t make me feel guilty
by not having met your recovery schedule.
Don't expect me to not think about it or
to be happy.  Neither will happen at your
insistence, so don't frustrate yourself.



I wish you would say my child's name.
Just because she's no longer living with us
here on earth, doesn't mean that she never existed.
I would welcome a conversation about my child.



I wish you'd send me a card on her
birth date or the anniversary date of her death.
If you think of Loria, you are my friend.





I wish you'd remember my child with me.
I love hearing and talking about my child.
It may bring a tear to my eye, but that’s OK.
Maybe you can even share a tear or two with me.



I wish you'd support me in my examination
of my faith and my philosophy of life.
The death of my child has changed me.
I'm not the same person I was before
my child died.  I cannot just accept life
for what it once meant to me.  I may (or may not)
return to those past beliefs and philosophies,
but give me the time and space to do my exploring.
I'll probably be a better person for the
journey and subsequently a better friend.



I wish that you understood when I say,
"I'm doing okay", I don't really feel okay.
It's simply the best that I can give now.



I wish that people would never again say,
"You gotta' get past this, Susan."  Tell me
how you would "get past this"
if your child had died.



I wish I could help our friendship, but I just
don’t have the energy.  I don’t want to put the
entire responsibility of our friendship on your
shoulders, but I just don’t have any more room
on mine for another burden.  I hope you will stay
with me – not just for the present time, but for
however long it takes.  If you are a good friend
to me, I don't want to lose you too.  Just give
me some time and space and perhaps one day
we'll realize that the bond of our friendship
has grown even deeper because of the journey
that we've taken together into the
valley of the shadow of death.



 

Linkware graphics used courtesy of Angels Design.