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Thank you all so much for your prayers, good wishes and support. It is so beautiful to see how loved this little girl is.

Bereaved.

As I sit on my couch I can almost see the dust settle around me.
It’s been one month since Lilee took her last breath. One month since I’ve seen her. Held her. Kissed her. One month.
Family has come and gone. Everyone has gone back to work, back to daily routines. The pain is still there but life goes on.

I go to bed every night feeling like I’ve forgotten something, like I’m missing something, an anxiety that keeps me awake until my body is too exhausted to hold my eyelids open.
I wake up, every morning, after limited sleep with the same nagging feeling. The same despair. The same anxiety.

When Andrew and I left Canuck Place the night Lilee passed away, I had that anxiety. I needed to get home, now. I was aching and nauseous until I stepped foot into my home. Lilee and my home. Because it was here that her memory lived. Day by day since then, the anxiety has crept back slowly, and though my warm little home still brings me comfort and beautiful memories, the anxiety is becoming more and more powerful.
The other day, Andrew and I realized our friendship was coming to its end. He has a new life with a baby on the way, and there was a natural feeling of separation as that time is drawing nearer.
Even though he hasn’t been my partner for over a year and a half, and we haven’t been the best of friends since we split up, in the past month we have banned together, all outside issues aside, to support one another.
But my heart needs to heal from a multitude of things, and his life needs to take the direction it’s in, so friendship between us isn’t in the cards.
I didn’t realize how the connection between him and I was keeping that anxiety down, at least to a minimum. I guess in a way it gave me the illusion that Lilee being gone was temporary. That this family wasn’t broken forever and that we would be whole again. Andrew and I definitely do not have romantic feelings for each other, but we were tied together as family. I guess in a small way, being closer to him was being closer to Lilee.
Now, as that comes to an end, the panic has started to sink in. The true grieving.
Disbelief. Pain. Anger. Fear. Desperation. And unimaginable sadness. All thing I know I must feel in order to heal but all things that put lead into my heart and body.

I have had in my hands the most important thing in life. I had in my arms the goal of goals. The light at the end of the tunnel. The meaning. The answer. I knew what life was all about.
Now it’s gone.
Now she’s gone.
So how does one continue, after finding the answers and Understanding why we live in this world, Then having it ripped out.
Find a new end? A new reason? I don’t want a new reason. I had one. I had the best one. What motivation do I have to continue knowing life will never be as good as it was with her in it.

The hardest part of life right now, is knowing that no matter what happens in my life, no matter how much happiness fills my heart, I will never be as happy as I was when I had Lilee. If I have more children, I will love them with all my being, no more and no less than I love my sweet Lilee-Bean, but the absence of her will always bring a little darkness, no matter how bright her memory is.

Without her I will never be completely whole. I will never be completely happy. And it’s a very daunting reality.

I’m trying to take care of myself. I’m trying to create distractions. But missing someone this much feels like very slowly breaking a bone, a bone that will never fully break, just shards of it slowly cracking off, pain that gets worse by the day, pain that doesn’t subside.

I find peace in pictures, and joy in videos of her. I find laughter in friends and family, and comfort in the love surrounding me. But the pain is constant, and the inability to understand “why her” is a constant reminder that life will always be worse. That life will never be as good as it was when I could hold my little girl in my arms, read her a book and hear her say I love you mommy.

Bereaved,
Chelsey.

  1. TaraTara10-06-2013

    My heart absolutely breaks like that bone for you. xoxox I have been thinking about you a lot. I don’t know what to possibly tell you/advise you so I won’t. Your writing is beyond excellent. xoxox

  2. LoriLori10-06-2013

    I lost my daughter 1 1/2 years ago and I will never get
    that piece of my heart back. Take it one day at a time and do what
    you have to do to do. (((hugs)))

  3. Eileen GunnEileen Gunn10-06-2013

    Chelsey, you are the most amazing person I have gotten to know through your daughter. You have endured so much happiness, yet so much pain over these years – But LOVE,FAMILYand FRIENDS will help you get through this next stage in your life.Lilee will never ever be forgotten. It takes TIME to heal, and you need to take it one day at a time.
    With love and healing, Eileen Gunn

  4. DebDeb10-06-2013

    Our heart breaks for you and your unimaginable pain . I
    think of LJ everyday that I look at my bracelet or it rains. None
    of it’s fair nor will we ever understand. Sending hugs and positive
    thoughts Girlie oxoxoxoxox

  5. hannahhannah10-06-2013

    Is there a loveforlilee foundation . As there is for Terry
    Fox , maybe it might be something you and everyone can put together
    to help this terrible pain you are suffering . And lilee’s life
    will become a legacy to fight the fight of cancer , As there is a
    Terry Fox special day , so there could be a love for lilee day . I
    so wish I could help in some way , my heart feels you broken heart
    . And yes chelsey your writing is amazing , simply because it comes
    from your soul , heart and being , and thank you for allowing us to
    reflect on our own lives , and be thankful for all we have . take
    care chelsey .

  6. JudyJudy10-06-2013

    as tears are rolling down my face I find myself not knowing what to say but I feel like I need to say something. I am so sad for you. I just realized now that you aren’t with Andrew which I thought you were. I thought you could help each other but now I realize that isn’t the case. I am so sorry for you and I hope you have good friends and family to help you through this. I wish I could take the pain away from you but I know I can’t. I know I don’t know you personally but big hugs to you. I will continue to pray for you.

  7. ShannonShannon10-06-2013

    Sometimes i wish they had told us in kindergarten that life is not fair.Bad things happen to good people.Little ones should never leave this world before their parents. Grief never really goes away. This kind of loss should never happen. But i do know that you will be happy again, never the same kind of happy , but equal. It will sneak up on you when you least expect it and your life will feel worth living again. This life really does speed by even if it is at a slugs rate right now. I believe that Lilee-Jean Will be with you always and she will help you get to your new normal.

  8. LoraLora10-06-2013

    Chelsey, I can’t even begin to imagine the heavy heart you
    feel. Im so very sorry and think of you and your family often. Just
    know that even though LJ is with you in spirit, the three of you
    will always be a family. To that beautiful little girl, you and
    Andrew were her world. Nothing can change that.

  9. KarenKaren10-06-2013

    The first thing that comes from me is anger. Following your
    blogs and Andrews one post written on the way back from Hawaii… I
    am pissed to read he has been in a relationship and has a baby on
    the ways. I think so much of you Chelsey but soooooooooo little of
    Andrew.

    • Andrew PuttAndrew Putt11-17-2013

      Karen, feel free to send me an email if you have anything else negative to say. This page is NOT the place to share anger, or hatred towards other people. Shame on you.
      -Andrew, andrewchristopher10@gmail.com

  10. ReganRegan10-06-2013

    Chels, you will be that happy again because she will make
    sure of it. She will guide you and light that path in its dark
    spots. The pain will lessen because she doesn’t want you to hurt.
    It’s true that life will never be the same and happiness will never
    quite feel the same, but it’s not meant to. There is no possible
    fucking way for me to feel an ounce of what you are feeling, but I
    DO know that you’ve been given a legacy far bigger than anything
    I’ve ever known. She is watching; she is no longer in pain and she
    wishes the same for you, as do all of us. You will never forget.
    But you will heal. And we’re all here rooting for you
    Mama.

  11. ReganRegan10-06-2013

    And, as an addendum, thank you for your purest honesty and
    for allowing us to share with you. xoxo

  12. Sher MatsenSher Matsen10-06-2013

    No words will make your pain better so just know that you are still in my prayers. I think of you everyday. Lilee-Jean is in heaven looking down on you.

  13. PaulaPaula10-06-2013

    Chelsea,

    We’ve never met, but I have been following your story for quite some time now. Know that I’ve been thinking of you and Lilee often, and praying for you both. No words I say will be able to fill the void in your heart, but know that you will only go up from here – time will heal. Think of Lilee helping you heal. She’s watching down on you now and wants you to be happy!

  14. PraisePraise10-06-2013

    Lilee = Love
    Chelsey = Strength

  15. liz hliz h10-06-2013

    You are not alone. Never feel that you are alone. It is so unimaginably tough to be facing this without a husband/partner but you have thousands of people rooting for you. Every dark minute in the middle of the night someone is thinking of you. It is unbearable to think of the pain you are in. It is so, so unfair and wrong that your beautiful, happy girl is no longer here. Just do it one minute, one day at a time. Just keep putting one foot after another and have faith that life will, somehow, be worth living again. Xx

  16. Elayne EElayne E10-06-2013

    I cant even imagine to know where you are in your life at this time, but like all has said , keeping your faith and somehow find strength in the Lord, lean on his shoulder as he has your little girl in his arms, know how much she is loved and that you are loved by him and all that surrounds you ! you have shown us all through writing your beautiful blog that you are one amazing woman and continue to be as I keep reading your blog! I know you will take every second , every minute, every hour to reflect in the wonderful years you had with your precious Lilee and that you will take very tiny baby steps knowing that your wind beneath you very broken wing will make you fly again ! my thoughts and prayers will continue .

  17. Jody P, EdmontonJody P, Edmonton10-06-2013

    As the mother of a 6-year-old cancer survivor I grieve for you and wish that things could have been different. It goes without saying that you have a long road ahead and a year of “firsts” to get through. You will no doubt get lots of well-intentioned advice over the next while. Do your best to accept it with as much good will as it is given – that’s not always easy. People will feel awkward and will want to help by saying things like “time heals all wounds”. On bad days that can sound a lot like “suck it up” and that can hurt. I will tell you quite honestly that time doesn’t make bad things go away, but it does allow them to soften. *Be prepared to let that happen*. You deserve it. And on those really bad days if you can’t make waves, make ripples. Be kind to yourself. Take things slowly. This is your “new normal” (as we were told several times throughout our own journey). I’ve shed many a tear following your posts, but now I send you another mother’s love, hugs from my home to yours, and wishes for strength to live each day as best you can. Respectfully and with care and concern…..Jody

  18. Kristena OKristena O10-06-2013

    I too want to let you know that you’re in my thoughts all the time. I’ve never met you or your family (though I do believe my boyfriend went to high school with Andrew), yet I have followed your journey since Lilee was diagnosed and have cried for your family many, many times. With each blog you write, and each facebook update, my heart goes out to you more and I ask the Universe how on earth this could happen to such a sweet little girl. I do not know the loss of a child, but I know the loss of a mother, and I remember very well after the funeral feeling like everyone was going back to “normal life” while I was left barely breathing in a pile of rubble. It was an awful feeling. I want you to know Chelsey that even though you’re a stranger to me, I haven’t stopped thinking about you and Lilee, and that as you go through this next incredibly difficult journey of adjusting to life without your baby, you will continue to be in my thoughts every day. I care. Thousands of people care. We are angry for you and broken hearted for you, and ask the Universe (or whatever God we believe in) to help you through today, every single day. May you continue to be uplifted and may you continue to feel the solace and strength to carry on.

  19. SandiSandi10-06-2013

    There will never be an answer to the question “why her”. I have been asking myself that question “why him” for seven years and only recently decided that it will never be answered. Until I meet God, then maybe he will tell me his reason. The anxiety will fade, it takes a while. I went for help with my anxiety but, unless you find someone who has lost a child, they do not understand the depth of the anxiety and have no sugestions. Hospice does offer some help.
    I do not know you, I do not know your family and I HAVE NO ANSWERS. I am just a Mom who has lost a child and I have survived the first seven years as a bereaved Mom. If you would like to meet for coffee you can get in touch with me by asking Tracey for my number. I HAVE NO ANSWERS, to any of your questions but I will understand them and NOTHING you tell me will go any where. So, if you need someone to listen, I will. Love to you and lots and lots of hugs.

  20. ShaughnaShaughna10-06-2013

    I just finished reading your blog – twice. As others have said before, I do not know you or your family, but came to know you and precious Lilee through your blogs, facebook and the news. My heart sank when I read the part about you and Andrew not being able to continue your friendship. I was thinking at least you had each other to comfort, console and share memories together of your sweet, beautiful Lilee. I think of you every day, and wonder how you are coping. I feel so bad for the pain and the anxiety that you are going through every day. I’m so very sorry for your incredible loss. I care so very much. Love, hugs and prayers – from Victoria BC

  21. Randi DakinRandi Dakin10-06-2013

    The measure of your grief is equal to the measure of your love.

    Grief is a strange companion. At first, you bump into it awkwardly from time to time at the end of tangled hallways in the dark, quiet hours of the night and you immediately flinch and recoil, as if you’d brushed up against some unnameable dread in a freak-show carnival. You do not want to know Grief.

    But Grief persists in its strange courtship. It sits quietly in the corner of every room, of every moment in your life. You know that it’s there – you can’t escape the awareness that it’s there – but you secretly hope it will go away if ignore it long enough. You become proficient at letting your gaze slide past its bowed and hulking shape; you refuse to make eye-contact; you give it the cold shoulder. You are not on speaking terms.

    Sometimes, it catches you by surprise, frightens you when you turn around too quickly. You run, gasping and breathless as far as you possibly can, your heart beating loudly in your ears like waves crashing against the shore. Emboldened, Grief begins to step directly in front of you where you can’t help but see it. “I did not invite you! Get away from me,” you hiss. Grief retreats and silently slinks away only under your fiercest gaze.

    Eventually, you decide to try and win Grief over. You insist that Grief examine your greatest treasures and assess their full worth. You demonstrate over and over again why you could not possibly deserve to have Grief standing in a corner of your room. But now it is your pleas that slide off, unaddressed.

    One day Grief tackles you from the sidelines and as a thousand points of glass enter your body you remember only that you fell to your knees. Grief commemorates this victory by wrapping you in a blanket of darkness. You don’t protest, at first, but later you will unleash your full rage at this injustice. “We will talk NOW you bastard and you WILL listen to what I have to say!” And Grief does.

    You walk. Through seconds, minutes, hours, days, nights, weeks, months, years… Grief never leaves your side. When the shards of glass in your veins cut through to your heart, you admonish, “It was you who did this to me!” Grief offers no apology but when you look deeply into those eyes, you see their admission of complicity.

    You cry. And slowly come to realize that more often than not, it is Grief holding you when you do so. Night after night, you give yourself up to those arms with their strange comfort. The darkness slowly turns from black to grey; the glass shards slowly dull and sometimes, when you turn to Grief to say, “Do you remember when…” the pain is a little less. Especially when Grief offers up a sad smile and nods, “Yes, I remember too.”

    The landscape around you has been shifting and changing without your awareness but one day, you realize you are standing in a different place. You didn’t expect to get there, you’re not sure how you got there, you don’t know if you like it, you just know that it’s different. That night Grief pours you a glass of wine and you watch the sunset together. The air is warm, the breeze is soft, you can hear a bird singing in the distance. You have finally become friends.

    Some distance starts to grow between you. You still call, you still get together, you still talk, but it’s not like the old days – you’re both going different directions in your life now and that feels okay. You know that Grief will still walk through the door on unexpected days but there’ll be some softness, some warmth to those visits. You are content to let Grief go its own way, grateful for the time you spent in its constant company.

    • ChelseyChelsey10-09-2013

      This is profound. And incredibly beautiful. Thank you for posting. Did you write this?

  22. Renee AldridgeRenee Aldridge10-06-2013

    I’ve never met you but, my daughter and her boyfriend and also my sister know you I believe. I read your posts and, my heart breaks every time, all the while thinking you are one of the strongest, bravest young women I have known about! I pray for you and think of you everyday, I send you all of the strength I can! Lilee will be with you, right there with you anytime you need her. Draw from her strength and the people around you. You can do this. Much love and as many hugs as you need…..

  23. JodiJodi10-06-2013

    I wish I could tell you I understand. But, I cannot. I do not know the pain of loosing a child. But I can tell you I know the pain of loss, of sorrow, of grief, of despair, of hopelessness. Wishing I was the one gone, that I could take their place But, I also know the feeling of healing, of renewed hope, of happiness and a re-birth. God has a plan for us all and a reason we must go through horrid situations. Though we may not understand, He is there, even during the most dark and bleak situations. Time heals. Wounds that may not completely heal remind us of where we’ve been and were we have made it to. Your grief is almost tangible. Your sorrow palpable. But, you have chosen to share your true feelings with those following your story. We feel for you and with you. You may not realize that if even just one person doesn’t take their child for granted, you have succeeded. You have made it day after day. It is now a month. You have made it a month. And tomorrow, it will be a month and a day. Even if just going through the motions, you have proven you have the strength to carry on. Lilee would be so proud of you. I am proud of you. I wish I had the words to make everything alright. Sadly, I do not. I can only offer the knowledge that there is a path for you to follow. When you find your new path, you will find peace. Love flows from us all. You are loved from those who never met you, from those that hear your story, from those who are touched by your ordeal. I wish you comfort, healing, and peace- now and in the days where you feel you just cannot possibly carry on. A new chapter is just beginning for you. We will continue to send our thoughts and prayers for you and send hope so you may see the light during dark times. From our family to yours, peace, comfort, and hope.

  24. MelissaMelissa10-07-2013

    Oh Chelsey….. I have been holding off reading this till now. Everything that you write is so amazing, it’s like I’m there for a brief moment. I’m not saying I know your pain, but I feel for you tremendously. I am so truly sorry for your pain. Prayers always

  25. Linda CareyLinda Carey10-07-2013

    Chelsey you are in my prayers you have so
    many people who you have touched by sharing your thoughts and feelings with and also for sharing your beautiful daughter. I do not know you except for the times I have seen you and responded on face book. You are someone I admire and wish one day you find peace and love as you are such a lovely person and such an amazing Mom. Lilee will always be with you and always in your heart

  26. Patti JonesPatti Jones10-07-2013

    Our hearts hurt for the loss of Lilee. I have been grieving the loss of a son of mine for 2.5 years now. My heart is with you.

  27. Kristy WiebeKristy Wiebe10-07-2013

    My heart aches for you :(. I cannot even begin to imagine
    how you are feeling. All I can say is just breathe, find your
    breath, find peace and comfort there. Xoxo

  28. AshleyAshley10-07-2013

    My heart breaks for you! I personally know that there is nothing that can be said or done to make you feel better. I wish you didn’t have to be in the club that holds parents who have lost a child. I lost my son 6 years ago and honestly it never gets easier you just learn to live with it. When my son passed away I was given this to give to family and friends…maybe this will be useful to you as well…
    This has been posted several places on the forums but I had a request to pin it here, so here ya go:
    I didn’t write it, don’t know who did. If you do happen to know could you give proper attribution?

    Bereaved Parents Wish List

    1. I wish my child hadn’t died. I wish I had her back.

    2. 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 she was important to you also.

    3. If I cry and get emotional when you talk about my child I wish you knew that it isn’t because you have hurt me. 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.

    4. I wish you wouldn’t “kill” my child again by removing his pictures, artwork, or other remembrances from your home.

    5. Being a bereaved parent is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn’t shy away from me. I need you now more than ever.

    6. I need diversions, so I do 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.

    7. I know that you think of and pray for me often. I also know that my child’s death pains you, too. I wish you would let me know those things through a phone call, a card or note, or a real big hug.

    8. I wish you wouldn’t expect my grief to be over in six months. These first months are traumatic for me, but 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.

    9. 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.

    10. 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.

    11. 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.

    12. 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.

    13. When I say “I’m doing okay,” I wish you could understand that I don’t “feel” okay and that I struggle daily.

    14. 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 quiet and withdrawn or irritable and cranky.

    15. 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.

    16. 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.

    17. 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.

    18. I wish very much that you could understand; understand my loss and my grief, my silence and my tears, my void and my pain. BUT I pray daily that you will never understand.

  29. DanielleDanielle10-07-2013

    Chelsey you are in my prayers. Your strength inspires me. I do not know why our little angels have to be taken for that I have no answers. I have survived 8 years without my son and have learned to live with the pain. I know that I am not the same person as I was before my son came into my life, but I am happy. I hope that you can find comfort, Lilee will always be apart of you. May you keep seeing the light in those darkest of days and know that Lilee and yourself have touched many hearts. My thoughts and prayers are with you

  30. jacqueline Vesterinenjacqueline Vesterinen10-07-2013

    there is not much I can say that hasn’t already been so beautifully said by the other writers. Keep up your writing Chelsey . you are a beautiful writer and it is appreciated. It will help you through. Life will get better. Just know you are in our thoughts.

  31. RachelRachel10-09-2013

    Sending you love.

  32. DeeDee10-09-2013

    My thoughts are with you. In her own sweet way Lilee will always live on in the hearts of those who met her.

  33. TaraTara10-09-2013

    I love your honesty Chelsea, It’s both heartbreaking and inspiring. I have lost and grieved but not for my child. I can empathize but I can’t imagine the pain. I came across this top 10 things of what NOT to say to a parent who has lost a child and I am sharing because sometimes I think we all mean to be helpful and supportive in our words but, for me, at the the end of the day, I know no words will bring Lilee back or ease the pain you are experiencing.
    1. Four years on I get up every day with the exact same sadness I had the day my child died. The only difference is I’m more skilled at hiding it and I’m much more used to the agony of my broken heart. The shock has somewhat lessened, but I do still find myself thinking I can’t believe this happened. I thought that only happened to other people. You asked how I was in the beginning yet you stopped, why? Where did you get the information on what week or month was good to stop asking?

    2. Please don’t tell me that all you want is for me to be happy again. Nobody wants that more than I do, but it’s something that can only be achieved with time. On top of that, I have to find a new happiness. The happiness I once felt, that carefree feeling, will never return in its entirety. It also helps to have the patience and understanding from loved ones.

    3. Please don’t say ‘I want the old [Chelsea] back!’ Or, I can see the old [Chelsea] coming back! [Chelsea] is not coming back. This is who I am now. If you only knew the horror I witnessed and endured you would know it’s not humanly possible for me to ever be the same person again. Losing a child changes who you are. I’ve been told my eyes look haunted.

    It’s a strange thing for someone to tell a grieving mother, but it’s true – I am haunted. My views on the world have changed, things that were once important are not now and vice versa. I feel as though you’re telling me two things here. Firstly you don’t like the person I am and, secondly if the old Sam’s not coming back I’m out of here. By the way there is nobody that misses the “old Sam” more than me!!! I’m mourning two deaths here; my daughter’s and my former self.

    4. If you chose to acknowledge my daughter’s birthday or the anniversary of her death on the first year, it’s terribly gut wrenching when you didn’t bother to acknowledge the second or third or fourth. Do you think any subsequent birthday or anniversary is not as sad for me? It also says to me in very big neon lights that you’ve moved on and forgotten about my daughter.

    5. Please stop with the continual comments about how lucky I am to have my other children particularly my daughter. Do I say this to you? Then why say it to me? I’ve buried my daughter do you seriously think I feel lucky?

    6. It’s not healthy to cry in front of the kids? You’re wrong. It is perfectly healthy that they see I’m sad their sister has died. When someone dies it’s normal to cry. What would not be normal would be for my children to grow up and think “I never even saw my Mum sad over [child's] death.” That would paint me in a light that would tell them it’s healthy to hide your emotions when obviously it’s not.

    How to talk to a parent who has lost a child. From someone whos been there.

    7. I have four children I don’t have three. If you want to ignore Ella as my third child because she’s dead go for it but don’t do it for me. Four not three!

    8. There are still some days, yes four years on, that I still want to hide away from the world and take a break from pretending everything is oh so wonderful and I’m all better.

    Please don’t just assume I’ve thrown in the towel, or worse, actually be so thoughtless as to wonder what’s wrong with me. I’m grieving.

    9. I did notice. To the friends and family that found the entire death and dealing with my sadness all too hard and held secret events behind our backs that were lied about, stopped inviting us to things we had always been included in and slowly ended our relationship thinking I didn’t notice.

    10. Grieving for a child lasts until you see them again. It’s a lifetime. If you’re wondering how long your friend or family member might be grieving for, the answer is forever. Don’t rush them, don’t trivialise their sadness, don’t make them feel guilty for being sad and when they talk to you, open your ears and listen, really listen to what they’re telling you. It’s possible you’ll learn something. Don’t be so cruel as to give up on them remember it’s not about you it’s about them.

  34. PamPam10-11-2013

    Dearest Chelsey, without a doubt what you have gone through is the toughest challenge you will ever endure. No words, no hugs, no looks of empathy can make your days without Lilee bearable. I remember when my husbands adult son died suddenly and his grief stricken sister would ask me over and over why did this happen…”why would the universe do this to us” – she wanted an answer. But there is no answer, no answer that would be accepted at all, ever, by any one person that would make any sense to…why. I am so sorry this pain is in your heart, your pain is in my heart too and I wish you a time when you will smile again. Whenever that time comes.

  35. CindyCindy10-11-2013

    Chelsey,

    Just over 3 and a half years ago I had a beautiful baby boy who was born with a birth defect that I was reassured by doctors is a very small easy to fix defect. After he was born, before I could even touch him, they whisked him away to surgery and I had to wait to see my son. Surgery went well but his defect was his bowels being outside his body and the had swollen up and weren’t getting enough blood. So after another surgery they had a better chance of getting blood flowing and making him healthy. His kidneys started to fail and his lungs were to weak so they put him on oxygen. 4 days after he was born the doctors told us there was no hope and we needed to say goodbye to our son. As my husband and I sat in a private room waiting for our baby we asked what now? All I could think about is how do I play this? How am I supposed to be a mother to a son who’s gone. Can I even call myself a mother. Nothing can describe the emptiness I felt.

    We finally got to hold our baby, with our family surrounding us we all said our goodbyes. We each took our turn to hold him, hoping that in such a short time he felt loved.

    On February Third 2010 at 12:10am my son was gone and life as I knew it was done. I too had that driving need to go home, so we raced home and silently got into bed. I woke up in the morning and remembered instantly how my life had gone for cloud nine to rock bottom. My husband,
    Who I still to this day have not asked how he handled it, went back to work because being busy helped him cope.

    3 days after he passed I read in the news paper that someone had thrown their child in the trash and they didn’t think baby would make it. I was so mad, I wanted that baby. I would have loved it and cherished it. Cause at that point I wanted anything to fill the good and take the pain.

    I found something when a girl I went to highschool with called me out of nowhere and said she just
    Miscarried twins and she wanted to talk.

    She had two girls 4 and 1. Those girls became my everything especially the youngest. I started to heal without even realizing it. It didn’t hurt less when I thought about My son but I was able to distract myself from the pain. There came a point where I could pretend it never happened, I could easily tell people that no I don’t have children, yes I want some. I wanted to be normal, so I pretended to be normal.

    3 months after my Baby passed away I got results from his autopsy. My little boy had complete organ failure, his brain had caved in and if he had lived he would have been in a wheelchair but perfectly aware that he couldn’t do what other kids did. I think Dr. Blair thought it would help me find peace knowing what his life would have been like, and that maybe this was a blessing in disguise.

    I didn’t really see it as such until February third 2011 when my son Benjamin was born. I did not want to be in labor, in my mind this baby was not coming out on the anniversary of his brothers death. But it wasn’t my choice, I only had 5 hours of labor, there was no stopping it. I even refused to walk around. But as I said, I had no choice. I was a little angry, how dare god mar my day of pain with a blessing. How date he try to heal my hurt.

    But he did. My son Benjamin amazes me everyday and seeing him I finally agree with Dr. Blair. It was a blessing in disguise. Having Benjamin didn’t fill my void it helped me move past it and accept that my heart will always hurt when I think about my first son. My eyes will always water when I remember the pain, and my mind will always remember Cameron Peter William Slootweg as my son. I will always be his mother, nothing can change that.

    You have been through more than I went through but the pain is still the same, the emptiness is still the same. But you will get through this and you will be ok. All of us angel moms are here for you.

    Stay strong.

  36. JACKIEJACKIE10-12-2013

    Oh Chelsey

    your write up, has torn at my heart…..I’am one who truly knows this feeling well…..a part of your “whole” is gone….your heart has been ripped into a million pieces…the “numbness” is wearing off and reality has hit……I remember all this very well…living in that numbness was somewhat better than facing reality! As time goes by….you will somehow learn to cope…however you WILL NEVER get over losing Lilee. My son also passed away from cancer….Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, he had just turned 14…..we spent many months in BC Children’s Hospital on 3B (Tyler’s picture is on the wall in the hallway) I presented it to the doctors and nurses as a gift after he passed away, its a big cross stich of a bears picnic, with Tyler’s plaque inserted in it. He is forever my hero, as I’m sure Lilee is for you….these kids are special!!! We as adults could never endure what they had too…. please Chelsey, stay strong, hold your head up…..an never forget Lilee is forever with you…she is your beautiful guardian angel forever with you….
    Hugs to you!!!

  37. MaggieMaggie10-15-2013

    I wish I could give you a really big hug <3

  38. KimberlyKimberly11-02-2013

    I can’t imagine the emptiness you feel right now. I think I speak for all of us when I say you are not alone. We are all here for you. I think of Lilee often.

  39. GregGreg11-19-2013

    Chelsey,

    although we have never met, my family and I think about Lilee and you often. We hope that you will find solace and strength. Lilee is and will be with you always, and you will always be her mommy.

    The grief is unimaginable. My heart is broken for you. I just hope and wish that you are slowly able to walk the path, day-by-day, that leads to tomorrow, next week, and beyond.

    My deepest respect and a big bear-like hug.

  40. Jessica PetersJessica Peters11-26-2013

    I was just thinking about you Chelsey, and hoping you’re
    managing to take things day by day, and that you are still feeling
    that love and warmth from everyone around you, and that there is
    any sort of comfort in it. XO

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Leave a Reply

Thank you all so much for your prayers, good wishes and support. It is so beautiful to see how loved this little girl is.