Drinking from the cup of grief is swallowing battery acid

A burning, constricting, end of life anxiety and torment

Torment that ascends like a rolling wave, gentle and deadly

All encompassing, all consuming

The thought followed by the swallow

I swallow death, and death swallows me

This particular poison never kills

It incapacitates it’s victims with anxiety and disbelief

I swallow these thoughts, a concoction of bitter sadness

Lost dreams, splitting heart, and ripped seams

I swallow this poison, or does the poison swallow me?


3 thoughts on “Swallowing

    • Jennifer, thank you so much for your kind words, and for sending the gifts! I am thankful to have the support of someone else who went through this…how long has it been since your loss? Thanks for connecting.

      • I had to say goodbye to my precious Isaiah on August 3, 2008…. A little over four years ago. When I read your words, it takes me back to the days that I didn’t want to wake up to more pain. I didn’t want to die, and yet I walked around with a piece of me that was “dead.” The broken dreams, hopes and plans that I had for my son. I had three older boys before Isaiah, and another little boy after Isaiah. It didn’t matter how many children I had, or was to have later in life…. I was still short, a son. Nothing can take that away, or replace him with sweet thoughts of what I have here on earth. That’s the part that people don’t seem to get. It’s a part they can’t “know” unless they have experienced this kind of pain. There is no greater pain that I have experienced, than the loss of a child.

        I’m sure that you have already been annoyed by certain “words of comfort” that others have said to you, and in the end, they were better off not saying anything at all. They mean well, but boy does it make you angry. You feel like saying, ” If it was your child that died, would you want me to say this to you????” I had a friend that told me that Isaiah was happy and whole in heaven. That he is in a better place…. I didn’t need a preaching. I already knew that he was safe, happy and whole. I needed people to listen to me— my words— my heart, without a reply to “fix” my pain.

        I am in a different part of my journey than you, but I can promise you, I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN the raw pain that takes place within your life, right after burying your child!! I have learned to live with the loss of my son. With the daily pain. I hold in the tears, and let them out when I can’t hold them in another minute. I can feel God hold me. He doesn’t always speak to me during my rare breakdowns, but wraps His love and perfect peace around my soul, as His hands catch every tear drop.

        I will continue to walk with you Brittni, as you mourn the loss of your precious Ella, and will read your words without judgement… not “tell” you how you should be, or what you should be doing. This is your daughter- your loss- your healing….

        Ella is blessed to have her mommy share her life with the world…..

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