azsummer2003

Then there are some of us who never really get over it. I am one of those people. People who do not know that my son has died would have no idea while speaking to me, but I am rotting inside. I was extraordinarily close with my son, he was my only boy. I have a daughter whom I adore, but even her love cannot begin to fill the void that has left a sad song singing in my heart forever. I write during the day, I get things published. I entertain, I take care of two dogs, a husband a large house, and love my daughter completely while she is away in college in another state. But none of it is fulfilling anymore. If you have other children, or if you are close one particular child (if that one hasn't died) cling to them. THey will be your savior. You will heal to the point where in front of other people, you will be able to act as if nothing has happened. But inside you will weep, and sometimes that sad sound will creep out of your mouth in ways that sometimes sound inhuman. If you are one of the few who are truly able to go on - I beg you to do so. Much of our "healing" (which is a stupid word to use to describe it, because you never really heal) has to do with what other types of love we have in our lives. What our relationship with the person was who died (such as a talented, promising and kind child or teen who has not had the chance to even finish school) if they were your only child, only son or daughter, if there are other children, can we have more or are we too old? My book doesn't have a happy ending, but it leaves the door open to the possibly of an afterlife and perhaps even some ADC. But until the day I release my last breath, I will be forever waiting for the day for my heart to stop beating. My son's death has been devastating to my husband and myself. And to our daughter - we were all close. It took us 17 years to have it all and in one moment it was ripped away from us with no explanation. People like us don't get better. We don't travel on our journey hoping to find the end because we realize the only thing that is at the end of our journey is our deaths. (Thankfully not our daughter. She truly has no idea how weak we are.) Give your grief respect. Eventually you will learn to play the game that so many of us have gotten so good at. Shortly you will begin learn what feelings are not accepted, and which ones are - and for how long. You maynot, but the world will put a time limit on your grief. It's the dirty little secret of grief we don't like to talk about. That some people hurt more than others, and some people never recover. About half of us can go on about our normal lives and find a level of peace. Others - not so much. Here is my son's website, please turn on your speakers. It has hundreds of links to self help groups such as this one (this one is highlighted) and there are videos of some of the most mind bending songs, stories and gods messages you have ever seen. I hope it brings you a measure of peace I have yet been able to find. If you have a job, I would suggest going back to work after a few months - it will be the best thing for you. I am a counselor to bereaved parents, I write music and I write books. I think my profession has a profound effect on my over all sad attitude. I wish you better luck than I have had. But you will find there are thousands of other women out there who feel as I do. It's okay to feel sad. It's normal. You won't kill yourself because you have other children. I can promise you that. Children are god's medicine. www.TaylorBurgstahler.memory-of.com

I saw Taylor the other day, clear as day. He was wearing a white oxford with rolled up sleeves and a pair of khakis. I haven't told too many people for fear they would think I was insane. Let me try to explain how the night played out. At the Desert Mountain High School Awards Banquet, I sat with some very dear friends of mine. I sat with Brian Hassett and his daughter Laura. They have been there for us since Taylor's tragic death. I was scared to go to this banquet because Brooke was going to be sitting onstage and my husband was stuck in PA therefore I'd be sitting all alone. But I when I saw Brian and Laura there I knew I would be able to make it through the ceremony. The evening of the awards banquet at DMHS, I had a feeling, a kind of sensation that Taylor was with us. I also had this feeling that if he was, he was feeling gypped. As though he knew that had he been alive he would have won several awards also. I could sense his disappointment. He seemed to miss his friends and was trying desperately to be "part of the group." As one of Taylor's friends made his way to the stage, I was certain I saw Taylor nearby. I sat and watched as Taylor ran up behind Nick Jacobson and slapped him on the back - hard enough to make Nick trip on his way up the stairs. There was no mistaking it, Taylor had slapped Nick's back and said, "Greeeat job Freddy!" and laughed as he did it. And then I just had the sensation that he was still around, watching his friends, but feeling left out. After the awards banquet, one of Taylor's best friends, Kevin Hassett (whom I lovingly refer to as my other son) waited for Brooke and I outside so we could talk. Kevin has been hit hard by the loss of Taylor. Kevin as always been thought of as a part of our family and I feel this strong maternal need to include Kevin in our family activities. We really love him. While we were standing outside, Brooke suggested that I take a picture of the two of them. Of course I said yes so I did. But the strangest thing occurred. All the pictures we took were all superimposed. This is a digital camera, that I've used many times before for night time shots and they have always turned out very well. This time (as you can see from the pictures below) there appeared to be a fuzzy outline of -- something. When we looked at the preview of the picture, I said to the two of them, "It's Taylor!" "Taylor's here with us because we wants to share this moment with the three of us." See what you think. In the first picture, you can see the image of Taylor standing to the front left of Brooke. You can see the outline of his head directly above Brooke's white shoes. You can see the outline of his shoulders, chest and arms. He appears to be standing facing the camera. Same haircut as when he died. It's definately Taylor. In the second one you will see the letter "B" and what appears to be an "orb." There is SO much energy around! Taylor is Kevin's guardian angel for sure!

What is Normal after your child dies? Original poem by Tara & Heath Carey Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realize someone important is missing from all the important events in your family's life. Normal is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays, X-mas, Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, New Years, Valentine's Day, July 4th and Passover. Normal is feeling like you can't sit another minute without getting up and screaming, because you just don't like to sit through anything anymore. Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand what if's & why didn't I's go through your head constantly. Normal is reliving the accident continuously through your eyes and mind, holding your head to make it go away. Normal is having the TV on the minute you walk into the house to have noise, because the silence is deafening. Normal is staring at every boy who looks like he is Taylor's age. And then thinking of the age he'd would be now. Then wondering why it is even important to imagine it, because it will never happen. Normal is every happy event in your life always being backed up with sadness lurking close behind, because of the hole in your heart. Normal is telling the story of your child's death as if it were an everyday, commonplace activity, and then seeing the horror in someone's eyes at how awful it sounds. And yet realizing it has become a part of your "normal." Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor your childs's memory and their birthdays and survive these days. And trying to find the balloon or flag that fit's the occasion. Happy Birthday? Not really. Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of something special Taylor loved. Thinking how he would love it, but how he is not here to enjoy it. Normal is having some people afraid to mention my son, Taylor. Normal is making sure that others remember him. Normal is after the funeral is over everyone else goes on with their lives, but we continue to grieve our loss forever. Normal is weeks, months, and years after the initial shock, the grieving gets worse, not better. Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to this loss, unless they too have lost a child. Nothing compares. NOTHING. Even if your child is in the remotest part of the earth away from you - it doesn't compare. Losing a parent is horrible, but having to bury your own child is unnatural. Normal is taking pills, and trying not to cry all day, because you know your mental health depends on it. Normal is realizing you do cry everyday. Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone but someone stricken with grief over the loss of their child. Normal is sitting at the computer crying, sharing how you feel with chat buddies who have also lost a child. Normal is not listening to people make excuses for G-d. "G-d may have done this because…" I know Taylor is in "heaven," but hearing people trying to think up excuses as to why a fantastic young man was taken from this earth is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to this grieving mother. Normal is being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned the house, did the laundry or if there is any food. Normal is wondering this time whether you are going to say you have two children or one child, because you will never see this person again and it is not worth explaining that Taylor is dead. And yet when you say you have one child to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as if you have betrayed the dead child. Normal is asking G-d why he took your child's life instead of yours and asking if there even is a G-d. Normal is knowing you will never get over this loss, not in a day nor a million years. Normal is having therapists agree with you that you will never "really" get over the pain and that there is nothing they can do to help you because they know only bringing back your child back from the dead could possibly make it "better." Normal is learning to lie to everyone you meet and telling them you are fine. You lie because it makes others uncomfortable if you cry. You've learned it's easier to lie to them then to tell them the truth that you still feel empty and it's probably never going to get any better -- ever. And last of all... Normal is hiding all the things that have become "normal" for you to feel, so that everyone around you will think that you are "normal." The above poem was originally written by Tara and Heath Carey after they lost their daughters Violet and Iris in 2002 when natural gas caused their apartment to explode. I have taken the liberty to rewrite and change parts of the poem to fit it more to Taylor's personality. I hope you are able to apply the same techniques to this poem to help you remember your child. Visit My Website