Ryan was here ...



My not-so-sweet nothings, mostly comprised of my feelings at losing my two-day-old son, Ryan David, to congenital heart defects, and to celebrate the arrival of Ryan's healthy little sister, Megan Elizabeth, and hopefully welcome another little miracle into our brood in July 2010.


Monday, December 18, 2006

A refresher

A dear friend forwarded this list to me last year around this time, and I've kept it posted at my work desk throughout the year, since it applies to more than just the Christmas holiday.

I'm not sure who made this list originally, but she did a great job, which is why I'm posting it again for those who are finding this time of year especially difficult after the loss of their child.

Holiday Bill of Rights for Grieving Parents

I have the right to go from ecstatic to tears in 30 seconds.

I have the right to be excited about going holiday shopping, only to get there and need to leave because of a panic attack.

I have the right to not be joyful every single moment or day of the holiday season.

I have the right to not send out Christmas cards, AGAIN.

I have the right to NOT listen to Christmas music when I can't bear it.

I have the right to be quiet, continue to grieve my child and be alone when I need to.

I have the right to choose not to participate in gift exchanges and holiday celebrations at my place of work, worship, or anywhere else.

I have the right to look for and feel joy and love in the holidays in my life; just please don't try and force it on me. I'll find it on my own.

I have the right to want to buy my child a Christmas present and take it to the cemetery.

I have the right to buy the present and decide that I can't bear to take it to the cemetery.

I have the right to get to my family's house late and leave early.

I have the right to walk outside and get away for a bit of fresh air when it gets to be too overwhelming.

I have the right to include my child in any activity that I want without getting the "funny looks."

I have the right to be angry.

I have the right to be alone with my child and not have to explain why I want to be alone.

I have the right to laugh at unexpected times and hug a pillow and talk to myself when I am remembering.

I have the right to long to have my child back, to have the life I once had.

I have the right to find a way to honor and remember my child during the holidays by whatever ritual I feel comfortable with.

I have the right to be me ... the one who now exists.

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