Wish List for Bereaved Parents
What makes a mother
I wish my child hadn't died, I wish I had him back.
I wish you wouldn't be afraid to speak my child's name. My child lived and was very important to me. I
need to hear that he was important to you also.
If I cry and get emotional when you talk about my child I wish you knew that it isn't because you have hurt
My child's death is the cause of my tears. You have talked about my child and you have allowed
Me to share my grief, I thank you for both.
I wish you wouldn't "kill" my child again by removing his pictures, or other remembrances from
Being a bereaved parent is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn't shy away from me,
I need you now more than ever.
I need diversions, so I don want to hear about you, but, I also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I
might cry, but I wish you would let me talk about my child, my favorite topic of the day.
I know you might pray for my often. I also know that my child's death pains you, too. I wish you would let
Know those things through a phone call, a card, note, or a real big hug.
I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over in a short period of time. I wish you could understand that
my grief will never be over. I will suffer the death of my child until the day I die. Grief is a life long process.
I am working very hard in my recovery, but I wish you could understand that I will never fully recover. I will
always miss my child, and I will always grieve that he is dead.
I wish you wouldn't expect me "not to think about it" or to "be happy". Neither will
happen for a very long time, so don't frustrate yourself.
I don't want to have a "pity party", but I do wish you would let me grieve.
I must hurt before I can heal.
I wish you understood how my life has shattered. I know it is miserable for you to be around me when I'm
feeling miserable. Please be as patient with me as I am with you.
When I say "I'm doing okay", I wish you could understand that I don't "feel" okay
and that I struggle daily.
I wish you knew that all of the grief reactions I'm having are very normal. Depression, anger,
hopelessness, and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So please excuse me when I'm quite and withdrawn or irritable and cranky.
Your advice to "take one day at a time" is excellent advice, however, a day is too much and too fast
for me right now. I wish you could understand that I'm doing good to handle an hour at a time.
Please excuse me if I seem rude, certainly not my intent. Sometimes the world around me goes too fast and I
need to get off. When I walk away, I wish you would let me find a quiet place to spend time alone. I wish you understood that grief changes people. When my
child died, a big part of me died with him. I am not the same person I was before my child died, and I will never be that person again.
I wish very much that you could understand - understand my loss and grief, my silence and my tears, my void and
my pain. BUT…I pray daily that you will NEVER understand.
I thought of you all, I closed my eyes
and prayed to God today.
I asked what makes a Mother
and I know I heard him say,
"A Mother has a baby.
This we know is true."
But God can you be a Mother
when your baby's not with you?
"Yes you can!" He replied
with confidence in His voice,
"I give many women babies,
when they leave is not their choice."
"Some I send for a lifetime
and others for a day.
And some I send to feel your womb
but there's no need to stay."
"I just don't understand this God,
I want my baby here."
He took a deep breath and cleared His throat
and then I saw a tear.
"I wish I could show you
what your child is doing today.
If you could see your child smile
with other children and say.."
"We go to earth to learn our lessons
of love and life and fear.
My mommy loved me oh so much
I got to come straight here."
"I feel so lucky to have a Mom
who has so much love for me
I learned my lesson very quick
My Mommy set me free."
"I miss My Mommy oh so much
but I visit her each day.
When she goes to sleep
on her pillow's where I lay."
"I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek
and whisper in her ear,
Mommy don't be sad today
I'm your baby and I'm here."
"So you see my dear sweet one,
your children are OK.
Your babies are here in my home
and this is where they'll stay."
"They'll wait for you with me
until your lesson is through.
And on the day that you come home
they'll be at the gates for you."
"So now you see what makes a Mother.
It's the feeling in your heart.
It's the love you had so much of
right from the very start."
"Though some on earth may not realize
that you are a Mother until there time is done
They'll be up here with me one day
and know you're the best one."
From the heart of a bereaved Mother... This is now what 'normal'
Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realize
someone important is missing from all the important events in your
Normal for me is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for
Birthdays Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, Valentine's Day, July
4th and Easter.
Normal is feeling like you know how to act and are more comfortable
with a funeral than a wedding or birthday party...yet feeling a stab
of pain in your heart when you smell the flowers and see the casket.
Normal is feeling like you can't sit another minute without getting
up and screaming, because you just don't like to sit through
Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand what if's & why
didn't I's go through your head constantly.
Normal is reliving that day continuously through your eyes and mind,
holding your head to make it go away.
Normal is having the TV on the minute I walk into the house to have
noise, because the silence is deafening.
Normal is staring at every baby who looks like she is my baby's age.
And then thinking of the age they would be now and not being able to
imagine it. Then wondering why it is even important to imagine it,
because it will never happen.
Normal is every happy event in my life always being backed up with
sadness lurking close behind, because of the hole in my heart.
Normal is telling the story of your child's death as if it were an
everyday, commonplace activity, and then seeing the horror in
someone's eyes at how awful it sounds. And yet realizing it has
become a part of my 'normal'.
Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor
your child's memory and their birthday and survive these days. And
trying to find the balloon or flag that fit's the occasion. Happy
Birthday? Not really.
Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of something
special my baby loved. Thinking how she would love it, but how she is
not here to enjoy it.
Normal is having some people afraid to mention my babies.
Normal is making sure that others remember them.
Normal is after the funeral is over everyone else goes on with their
lives, but we continue to grieve our loss forever.
Normal is weeks, months, and years after the initial shock, the
grieving gets worse sometimes, not better.
Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to
this loss, unless they too have lost a child. NOTHING. Even if your
child is in the remotest part of the earth away from you - it doesn't
compare. Losing a parent is horrible, but having to bury your own
child is unnatural.
Normal is taking pills, and trying not to cry all day, because I know
my mental health depends on it.
Normal is realizing I do cry everyday.
Normal is disliking jokes about death or funerals, bodies being
referred to as cadavers, when you know they were once someone's loved
Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone, but someone
stricken with grief over the loss of your child.
Normal is sitting at the computer crying, sharing how you feel with
chat buddies who have also lost a child.
Normal is feeling a common bond with friends on the computer in
England, Australia, Canada, the Netherlands and all over the USA, but
yet never having met any of them face to face.
Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother, talking and
crying together over our children and our new lives.
Normal is not listening to people make excuses for God. 'God may have
done this because...' I love God, I know that my baby is in heaven,
but hearing people trying to think up excuses as to why healthy
babies were taken from this earth is not appreciated and makes
absolutely no sense to this grieving mother.
Normal is being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned the
house, did laundry or if there is any food.
Normal is wondering this time whether you are going to say you have
two children or one, because you will never see this person again and
it is not worth explaining that my baby is in heaven. And yet when
you say you have 1 child to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as
if you have betrayed your baby.
Normal is avoiding McDonald's and Burger King playgrounds because of
small, happy children that break your heart when you see them.
Normal is asking God why he took your child's life instead of yours
and asking if there even is a God.
Normal is knowing I will never get over this loss, in a day or a
And last of all, Normal is hiding all the things that have
become 'normal' for you to feel, so that everyone around u thinks your normal