The languid, lazy summer sun

Brings a reverie of relaxation.

The beach days of yellow glint

and ocean spray,

Tickling our toes and our imaginations.

I think of small daughters and days gone by:

Ice cream cones and wet bathing suits,

Blazing campfires and golden marshmallows,

Squirt gun laughter and library lounging.

I remember sharing daylight and fun

With two small giggling girls.

They are much older now,

But my sundown memories keep them forever tiny.

                                 - - Author Unknown

This Newsletter produced and distributed    

in loving memory of Rona Thompson

by her parents,

Jerry and Beth Reynolds

RECENT LOVE GIFTS

The BPNT Chapter has the following Donation Programs:

• Monthly Newsletter

• Postage 

• Newly Bereaved Letters

• Library Book Fund

• General Operations of the Chapter

• Bereaved Parents of the USA

Your tax-deductible donation to BP is a good way to remember your child or to honor another family member or friend. Please mail your checks and the name or names of your memorial or honoree to Robert Ottman, Treasurer, BPNT, 415 Mimosa DR, Denton, TX 76201. Love Gifts came from:

-Rica Holtzinger, in loving memory of her daughter Tamara Robinson

TEARS

By Maya Cearo

St. Petersburg, FL

Dedicated to my daughter Molly

2/18/96 – 4/5/00

I find them hidden everywhere.

In forgotten places, they are there.

In the laundry where your shirts should be

In the darkness where my eyes can’t see,

In the store with popsicles, you won’t eat,

In your shoes that no longer hold your feet,

In the scent of the teddy you’ll never hold,

On the jacket you wore when it got cold.

I find them and they break my heart

And tear my grieving soul apart.

On the cups that used to touch your lips,

On the tutu that once hugged your hips,

Inside the plastic crayon box

You played with when you had chicken pox.

On the tissues I used on your runny noses,

Out in the garden in the bed of roses.

They fill my lungs till I have to scream.

They fall from my eyes even when I dream.

So I weep, and the worst thing that I fear

Is without you there’ll be no end to the tears.

You Taught Me How to Love You

You taught me how to love you by
The way that you loved me;
And by your unseen sustenance,
To see what you could see.

You gave to me through who you were
The gift of what I am.
Your pride in me is now my pride;
Your faith, my caravan.

Your life does not conclude with death,
Nor will it end with mine,
For all the lives I touch, you touch,
And so on through all time.

                              - - Nicholas Gordon

Then, there are the casual acquaintances, you know the ones who say, "hi, how are you?" when the really don't care or really don't want to know. These people are the people, who sigh in relief, that it was my child who died and not theirs. You know...the "better them, than me" attitude. (not that I blame them for that sigh or attitude,
I too wish it happened to someone other than myself).

My post-grief friends are the ones who climb with me, side by side, inch by inch, out of the pit of grief. They have no way of comparing the pit climber, to the pre-grief person, I once was. You see, they started at the  bottom of the pit with me. They are able to reassure me when I need reassurance, rest when I need resting, and encourage me to move forward when I don't have the strength. They have no expectations, no memories and no recollection of how I "should" be. They want me to get better, to smile more often and find joy in life,
but they've also accepted the person I've become. The "person" who is emerging from the pit.

                                                 - - - Author Unknown

A Bereaved Parents Wish List

I wish my child hadn't died. I wish I had her 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 she 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 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.

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 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.

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.

I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over. These first years 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.

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 she 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 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 quiet 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 her. 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 my grief, my silence and my tears, my void and my pain. BUT. . . I pray daily that you will never understand.

- - - - Author Unknown

What I Learned at the BP/USA National Gathering

There is never a resolution in the loss of a child.

We have to understand God less but trust him more,

Create a new normal—NEVER GET OVER IT—live with it,

Tolerate it.

Don’t should on yourself.

Guilt is nothing more than the belief that we have hurt someone for whom we care.

I was as good a parent as I knew how to be at the time.

No one can intellectualize losing a child.

 -- Virginia Gallian,

Bereaved Parents of North Texas

  Where Are All The Butterflies