A Poem

Here is a poem that I got from grief group. I absolutely love it. It is an angry poem but, it says what I feel. I did change the word daughter to son. but, that is all that has been changed.

THE UNREALISTIC EXPECTATIONS OF OTHERS

Damn Right I’m Bitter! Damn Right I’m Angry

I heard through the grape vine that you think I’m bitter!!
Damn Right I am bitter!
I heard that you wonder if I’m not “Stuck” in the angry stage of grief.
Damn right I’m angry!
It’s only been a few months. Who gave you the right to decide how long I should
grieve?

My beautiful son is dead.
Not out on a visit to Grandma’s
Not off to school for a day.
DEAD.

I didn’t pick out his Easter outfit with the intention of burying him in it.
I didn’t bathe his little body and brush his hair knowing it was to be
my last chance to touch his warmth, never imagining the next
touch would be of a cold, hard, unmoving little boy.

Damn right i’m bitter!
Damn right I’m angry!

You have no right to judge me
Believe me, you have no idea of what I’m trying to live through.
If I make you incomforatagble, believe me, you return the feeling.
You go home to your healthy, living children and wonder how I can
act this way.
You go home to your normal life, while I go home to face a live
without my son.
The rug has been jerked out from under me
My network of faith, of religion, seems to have collapsed under me,
with no safety net.
I am fumbling in a foreign life, grasping for something that will help
this make sense.

You leave our meeting, rushing to take your children from the
nursery to playschool.
You talk about the about he hassle of finding time to get your kids’ Christmas
outfits bought, their Christmas pictures taken, the expense of gifts.
I leave empty-armed, no hassles for me, except to return to my quiet
empty home….alone.
No gift expenses for me, except funereal and the pruchase of a plot of
ground to place my baby in.
No big Christmas outfit decisions, only decisions for the heastone that
is supposed to express out love for our dead son.

So….you think I’m bitter?
You think I’m angry?
Damn right I’m bitter!
Damn right I’m angry!

Who Better?

Mary Von Bockem, whose daughter Catie, died at age three. 1966

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2 Responses

  1. (((Bobbie)))

    Hug your children, they need you and you need them.

  2. I can only imagine the loss you are feeling. I’ve never lost a child. I hope you will continue to heal, I believe writing is a great way as well. I read your blog about the counselor wanting you to write. May God bring you the words to write.

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