deborahturkstra | Pockets of Hope
February 28, 2017 February 28, 2017 ~ deborahturkstra	~ 2 Comments
Jy is vandag 18 maande oud – Jy en jou sussie Katinka.
Ek stel al die hele dag uit om die te skryf, want ek weet ek gaan die trane nie kan keer nie; maar nou is ons huisie stil en sussie is al lankal in droomland . Jou kersie staan en brand soos altyd op die 28ste op die ou geelhout kis in die sitkamer. Pappa het hom soos altyd aangesteek en sal hom weer doodblaas uitblaas net voor ons in die bed klim. (snaaks hoe ek vandat jy nie meer hier is nie, die woord “dood” sover as wat ek kan vermy. Ek het altyd in antwoord op goed die woorde “dit is doodreg” gebruik of getik, maar nie meer nie. Nou is dit eerder “Dis als reg of 100 persent” ….as dit maar waar kon wees in my hart ook )
Soos ek al weet na (net) 18 maande, is die aantal mense wat saam met ons onthou, die maand weer minder…net ‘n paar van Mamma se nuwe vriendinne wie se babas ook saam met jou in die Hemel is. Mamma wens ek het nie een van hulle ooit ontmoet nie (en ek weet hulle wens ook so) maar terselftertyd is ek so dankbaar dat hulle daar is. Dit laat my darem so klein bietjie minder alleen voel. Ek besef ook dat dit nie gaan oor hoeveel mense jou saam met ons onthou nie, ek weet ek weet ek weet…Mamma kan maar net nie help om te wil hê dat ALMAL jou moet onthou nie.
Jou sussie het eers ‘n paar weke terug haar eerste treetjies gegee – in die Spur van alle plekke ;-), so sy loop nog nie regtig nie. Mamma wonder of jy al stap…of nee eintlik glo ek jy doen…dat jy al lankal die tuine en paadjies daarbo plat stap ….ek wil glo dat dit meestal aan die hand van jou niggie Mikayla is. Jou sussie se woordjies is ook maar nog min…Pappa het ook eers laat begin loop en praat. Sê jy al baie woordjies? Wat was jou eerste woord? Wie vang jou as jy dalk nog oor jou eie voetjies struikel?
Mamma mis jou seuntjie,
Mamma mis jou ontsettend baie!!
en sal jou vir altyd mis.
Duisend soene en drukkies
February 28, 2017 ~ deborahturkstra	~ Leave a comment
Een van ons vriende sê onlangs: “Februarie is die dinsdag van die jaar”
‘n Dinsdag van die week is so ‘n “niks seggende, doodgewone, ‘low-key ‘ dag van die week. “Opsien maandag” is verby, maar dis ook nog nie “Klein Saterdag Woensdag” nie en “Jippee dis Vrydag” is nog ver; om nie te praat van “Opwindende dit is naweek Saterdag” of “Rustige kuier saam met vriende of familie Sondag” nie…
Maar vir my was FEBRUARIE 2015 vrydag, saterdag en naweek alles in 1! Die opwindste, mooiste, lekkerste maand van my lewe….
Op 4 Februarie 2015 het ek en my man vroeg oggend in die kar geklim – met harte vol opwinding en afwagting – op pad vir ons eerste afspraak by ons ginekoloog. Ek was 8 weke swanger. Ons sou ons baba vir die eerste maal sien en sy/haar hartkloppie vir die eerste maal hoor. Die verkeer was erger as wat ons verwag het en alhoewel ons spesiaal daarvoor ekstra tyd in geruim het, lyk dit of ons dalk gaan laat wees vir ons half 9 afspraak…. my man probeer om my aandag af te lei en se skertsend ” Wat as dit ‘n tweeling is?” Ek lag dit dadelik af met ” Nee man moenie laf wees nie…dit sal nie wees nie” Nog nooit in al die tyd wat ons probeer swanger word of vandat ek die tuisswangerskap toets of bloedtoetse laat doen het, het die gedagte eers by my opgekom nie. Ek/ons wou net so vreeslik graag ‘n BABA hê!!
By die ginekoloog se spreekkamer aangekom (uitasem en net-net betyds) groet die ontvangsdame ons met die woorde; ” Dr is in teater vir ‘n noodgeval, ek weet nie hoe lank dit gaan neem nie, julle kan of wag of ons moet herskeduleer na more of so….”
Ons het egter al klaar TE lank gewag vir DIE dag, so nee, ons sal wag al is dit nou ook die hele dag….gelukkig kon die dokter ons toe so 2ure later wel sien….
Hy vra onverskoning vir die wag – ‘n mamma met ‘n tweeling swangerskap het baie vroeg in kraam gegaan. Eks kort hierna na die sonar kamertjie – so opgewonde om ons baba vir die eerste maal op die skerm te sien. Dit was sommer gou toe hoor ons die hartkloppie – wat ‘n wonderlike geluid. Die emosie van dankbaarheid wat by my opgekom het was so groot!! En toe skielik noem die dokter dat hy net gou wil kyk of daar nie nog ‘n hartkloppie is nie; ek was heeltemal uit die veld geslaan oor die opmerking, maar voor ek nog iets kon sê, sê hy; “ja hier is nog ‘n hartkloppie…julle het 2 babatjies.” Ek het ewe vir die Dr gesê:”Dokter maak seker ‘n grap” waarop hy gesê het dat hy nooit oor so iets ‘n grap sal maak nie.
Ek kan nie beskryf hoe ek gevoel het nie, en om eerlik te wees ek dink nie ek kan eers presies onthou wat deur my gedagtes gegaan het nie. Wat ek wel weet en onthou is dat dit emosies en gedagtes van BLYDSKAP en vreugde was. Ek onthou my man het aan die onderkant van die bed gestaan en my voet ‘n stywwe drukkie gegee en net geglimlag en sy mooi bruin oë het GELAG.
Die res van die afspraak het in ‘n blurr verby gegaan…Die dokter sal ons oor 2 weke weer sien. Ons het uitgestap tot in die parkeerarea sonder om eintlik met mekaar te praat…ons albei het net hierdie (on)gelooflike nuus ingeneem en dit laat ‘insoak’.
Ons het dadelik daagliks vir ons twee pikkewynne begin bid…vir hulle groei en hulle beskerming – en teen vrees. Ons was bewus van die eerste trimester risiko’s en stastistieke, maar het glad nie op dit gefokus nie.
Ons het vir 4 dae die nuus vir ons self gehou en al klaar begin planne maak en gesels oor of dit seuntjies of dogtertjies gaan wees of een van albei….
Ons het gewag vir die naweek sodat ons dit op ‘n feestelike manier en in persoon met my suster en swaer en skoonouers in Stellenbosch kon deel. Vir my ouers in die Karoo, het ons ‘n foto in die pos gegooi want ons wou dit bietjie meer visueel en tasbaar doen as om die nuus net met hulle oor die telefoon te deel. Almal was saam met ons baie baie bly.
‘n Baie goeie vriendin van my se eerste babaseuntjie is ook op 4 Februarie gebore …ek kon in hulle vreudge deel met ons eie blye nuus in my hart.
Op 22 Februarie het ‘n goeie vriend van my man net buite Wellington getrou en ek onthou die dag as so mooi en lekker…van die mooi aantrek, die ry soontoe, die praise en worship in die kerk, die son buite, die mooi omgewing en berge…Dit was ekstra spesiaal om in hulle mooiste dag te kon deel en die liefde en die LEWE te kon vier, terwyl net ek en my man weet dat daar 2 babatjies besig was om in my maag te groei. Ek onthou nog hoe ek allerhande verskonings gemaak het oor hoekom ek van die alkohol vrye sjampanje wou drink. Daar was net ‘n paar bottels hiervan op die troue so jy moes mooi daarvoor vra 😉 en my vriende weet hoe lief ek vir ‘n glasie wit wyn in die somer is!
(Die foto is geneem by die troue – sal ek ooit weer so gelukkig kan lyk soos hier…..)
Februarie was ook die maand waarin ons gehoor het dat ons die laagste tipe tweeling swangerskap het (ons babas het elkeen hul eie amniotiese sakkie en plasenta )
Ons was in die wolke en Februarie 2015 was die mooiste mooiste maand – alles behalwe die dinsdag van die jaar.
February 2, 2017 ~ deborahturkstra	~ Leave a comment
Ek glo Christian se lewe hier op aarde (al was dit in ons mens terme ‘n kort lewe – 40 weke) het ‘n impak op baie mense gemaak. Asseblief onthou hom saam met sy ouers en ousus. Christian sal altyd hulle eerste seuntjie bly. Noem sy naam, “acknowledge” hom op sy verjaarsdag, op Kersfees, by die geboorte van nog boeties of sussies….
February 1, 2017 ~ deborahturkstra	~ 5 Comments
Ek onthou nie baie van die eerste klompie maande na Dawid se dood nie…met ‘n pasgebore babadogtertjie in die huis wat versorg moet word en ‘n STUKKENDE hart, het ek maar net probeer oorleef van 1 voeding na die volgende. As ek terugdink is meeste van die tyd net ‘n blur…..
Maar wat ek wel baie goed onthou is hoe ek elke nag vir URE op die internet gesoek het na stories van ander baba-verlies Mammas. Enigiets wat my minder alleen kon laat voel. Ek het blog na blog gelees van Mammas wat deur soortgelyke trauma en verlies is…dit was die tyd wat ek my oë uit my kop gehuil het en ja die gelesery het my effens minder alleen laat voel…dat daar tog nog vrouens op aarde is wat steeds asemhaal en bestaan nadat hulle hul babas se dooie lyfies moes vashou. Ek onthou ook hoe ek gevoel het die Mammas is te ver….te ver in afstand, maar ook te ver verwyderd van my “verwysingsraamwerk.” Hulle het almal gewoon in die VSA, Australie of in die UK.
Ek kon niks/baie min vind oor Suid- Afrikaanse mammas, wat nog te sê van Afrikaans sprekende Mammas. Ek het ook aangesluit by groepies op faceboek…en daar is seker waarde daarin, maar dit was maar dieselfde …oorsese Mammas ver van my land, met wie ek in Engels moes kommunikeer….en om my hart uit te stort en presies te verwoord hoe seer en swaar dit is, in iets anders as my moedertaal, was moeliker.
Wat ek probeer se; ek wou so graag lees van Mammas hier in my eie land (hetsy Afrikaans of Engels), in my provinsie, in die Kaap omgewing of selfs in my buurt. Nie dat mens wil hê baba verlies moet met ander gebeur nie, maar dit gebeur wel ongelukkig. En ek dink tog elke storie kan 1 of 2 mammas in ons eie land, in die Wes-Kaap of dalk 10 km ver , minder alleen laat voel, ‘n klein bietjie troos of selfs hoop bring.
As gevolg hiervan was en is my doel vir die jaar (wat die blog betref) om elke maand die storie te deel van ‘n “plaaslike/nasionale” mamma of gesin. Januarie is reeds verby sonder dat ek dit gedoen het, so ek is dankbaar vir Februarie se storie.
Nicola, baie baie dankie dat jy ingestem het om Christian se storie te deel. Ek kan nie eers dink hoe moeilik dit vir jou moes wees om die gebeure van 2/2/16 op papier te sit nie. Nicola is een van die baba-verlies mammas wat ek so 6 maande terug by ‘n bedienings aand by De Bron kerk ontmoet het. Dis more Christian se eerste verjaarsdag in die hemel so ek dink dit is “gepas” dat ons Februarie storie Christian se storie is!
“I’ve been meaning to write about the worst day of my life for the past 10 months, but have always just managed to push it aside as I just never felt that I could put into words the million thoughts in my head.
Now that it’s almost been a year I’ve decided to finally write Christian’s “story” for a friend’s blog who went through a similar experience…
I know this story is meant to be an inspiration to others who are going through the same ordeal and to help them in some way but I am going to try and not sugar coat anything and just tell it as I experienced it and am still experiencing it daily.
As with my first child, Lara who is now 2 years and 8 months, I had a very healthy pregnancy with Christian. Apart from all the usual symptoms and extreme morning sickness all my appointments at the doctor were great and we were given no reason to worry whatsoever. With Lara I had an induction at 39 weeks, but decided since it would be my last pregnancy that I wanted to wait until I went into natural labour with Christian. At just over 40 weeks, on a Monday, I went for a checkup at the doctor and asked him what he suggested (as I really didn’t want a C-section – I’m afraid of them). He told me that if I went into labour that weekend that he wouldn’t be on call and that his partner would have to do the delivery. Since I wanted my gynae who I knew and trusted we decided that I would come in for a scheduled induction on the Wednesday morning.
On Tuesday morning just after 8am I suddenly felt something was happening and what was the start of early contractions. We were so excited, called the grandma’s with the news, left Lara with her nanny and made our way to the hospital.
The doctor did a quick check and informed me that everything looked great and that I was in labour and should head down to the delivery room.There everything went as normal, they hooked me up to the monitors, checked Christian’s heartbeat and stats and told us to just stay as relaxed as possible.
I asked the nurse if it would be fine if I spent some time on the exercise ball as I wanted the labour to carry on as naturally as possible before I got my epidural. She assured me that it was fine. At that stage (apart from the pains of the contractions) everything was still going great and I was sending pics of me on the ball to my group of girlfriends who were anxiously waiting for the first pic of Christian. Marius was still doing a bit of work on his lazy boy in the delivery room☺
I can’t remember the exact times, but I think it was just after 10 when my gynae came in and asked me if I was ready for the epidural yet? I told him that I still wanted to wait a while, but would call him when the pain was getting too much. 30 Minutes after he had left the deliveryroom, I told Marius to call the nurse as the contractions were suddenly coming hard and fast and I could feel things were starting to happen. I told her that I was ready for the epidural. She called the doctor and started getting me ready for my drip. The moment she pushed the needle into my arm I suddenly felt lightheaded and as if I was going to pass out. I told her that something was wrong and that my blood pressure felt very low. She just told me that everything was fine and that it was probably just the shock of the needle, but as all women know – we know our bodies and we KNOW when something feels off. I insisted that something was wrong and that she should check my blood pressure again. When she took my blood pressure it was dangerously low and she immediately put the monitors on my stomach to check Christian’s heartbeat. After a while of trying to find his heartbeat she called the doctor who came running into the room. He immediately started pressing on my stomach and trying to find a heartbeat. At this moment I already knew something was seriously wrong and felt as if I was going to pass out. I just kept
asking the doctor: “what’s happening, is he dead, is he dead” at which he finally just nodded…
At that moment it felt as if my mind was floating above my body, as I just couldn’t make sense of it. How could my baby suddenly be dead when everything was just fine and why is nobody doing anything to save him. The doctor then told me that my placenta had completely torn away from the side and that I had lost a massive amount of blood internally which had cut off his oxygen supply. My stomach was suddenly rock hard with all the internal blood I was loosing and they had to still “break my water” to release some of the blood. I was lying there fully dilated with no pain meds, going into natural labour while waiting for them to prep the theatre for an emergency C-section. I still remember every single detail of that moment, even though everything was a blur. I remember my husband’s worried face (as my life was in danger), I remember the excruciating
pain I was feeling as my baby boy wanted to be delivered and I was too weak to give natural birth to him. I remember the terrible tobacco smell of the nurse who was handling me and feeling nauseous from it… When they finally wheeled me into the theatre they asked Marius to please wait outside. I remember screaming from pain and asking them to please just get him out of me, as I couldn’t handle the pain any longer. As they lifted me onto the operating table one of the assisting doctors told me congratulations, as he thought they were delivering my baby now. Immediately after that I went into a deep sleep…
When I finally woke up I just felt as if I wanted to die or sleep or just not wake up. They brought Christian in that afternoon at 5pm so that I could hold him. He was absolutely perfect, weighing 4.3kg. He looked just like Lara when she was born, but just bigger. He was the most gorgeous, big baby boy and to this moment I can still remember his exact weight in my arms. I regret not holding him longer, not undressing him and taking in every single detail of his body, not calling a photographer friend to come and take proper photos of him (as I only have a few terrible phone pics of him). At that moment the pain of holding my dead baby was just too much for me to handle and I physically couldn’t hold him any longer.
The three days thereafter in the hospital was a blur of blood transfusions, doctor visits, tests, crying, sleeping and visits from friends (most of whom I couldn’t ever remember until a month or two after). We had a service for Christian the Friday after I came out of hospital and I physically felt as if I was breaking down. I didn’t see anyone who was at the service and hardly heard anything that was said around me.
The strangest thing for me was the three weeks after his death. We had SO many people who came to visit us and I could actually sit and smile with them or laugh at their jokes. I felt guilty about this and felt ashamed that I was laughing when I should constantly be crying or felt as if I wanted to. Marius had to leave on a business trip to Barcelona after this and I insisted on staying home alone with Lara. Everyone was worried about this, but it was ultimately my saving grace. In those 10 days I could cry my eyes out when Lara wasn’t seeing, I could go through all the little things in Christian’s room, could smell his clothes at my own leisure and shut the rest of the world out.
It’s now been almost a year to the day and all I can say is that it doesn’t get easier, no matter what anyone says. Yes you learn to cope and go on because you don’t have a choice. Life goes on whether you want it to or not. I think that if I didn’t have a gorgeous, crazy and funny toddler at home who still wanted all my attention and who still made me laugh I might have lost it. If I didn’thave a job that I had to keep doing or a wonderful husband who I still had to somehow be there for I would definitely have just climbed into my shell and stayed there until I don’t know when. Fortunately and unfortunately you just have to go on and put that smile back on your face for the sake of your loved ones. I know that I have not been a great friend, daughter and sister this past year, but at least I know I’ve been a great mother and a good as can be wife and that was as much as I could manage. Not a single hour goes past in my days that I don’t think about what have happened and miss my baby boy. Every single time I see someone’s newborn on social media I cry and feel an incredible ache in my heart. Christian’s room is still 80% the way it was and his clothes still packed away in his closet. I just can’t bring myself to packing away my child into boxes, but I know that I will have to sometime soon.
I can’t say that this experience has made me stronger because I don’t think it has. I feel like it has made my heart much more vulnerable and that everyday is just another day of surviving. One of the hardest things is realising that life goes on and that people “forget”. You sometimes feel that you blame them for it, but you can’t, as no one in this world can understand the pain of losing a child until it happens to them. I’ve had friends who’ve had babies and all I want to do is tell them when they are on their way to the hospital “imagine hearing now that your baby is dead”. I feel that it is the only way I can somehow make them understand even though I don’t want to take one moment of their joy away. Marius keeps telling me that it’s not about other people, which I understand, but I just desperately want to keep the memory of my perfect baby boy alive as I didn’t have a miscarriage (which I know can be just as traumatic) but I lost my healthy, fully grown baby boy. I held him in my arms and I felt his 4.3kg weight in my arms. I came home and had to unpack his sterilised dummy and freshly washed clothes in an empty room.
I honestly have no advice for parents going through the same thing, but can say that somehow we learn to carry on and that you should allow yourself the space to grief and deal with your loss the way you see fit. Don’t let anyone tell you how you should be feeling and don’t feel guilty about your emotions. “
An insight on miscarriage
October 24, 2016 ~ deborahturkstra	~ Leave a comment
Die volgende post is vir my gepas juis omdat Oktober-maand, “Pregnancy and Infant loss awareness” maand is.
Dis ‘n post van ‘n Mamma van scarymommy.com. Dis vir my gestuur deur iemand wat al jare en jare met infertiliteit sukkel en self die hartseer van ‘n miskraam ken.
I knew you were there before the strip turned blue. Days, even a week before I bought that test, I felt you. I recognized the twinge in my abdomen, the butterflies, the soreness in my breasts, and the ever so slight nausea that greeted me in the morning. A physical feeling that I can’t describe in words except to say that I ‘just felt off’ came upon me, and I knew you were there, and I loved you. You were loved.
You didn’t stay very long, but it doesn’t take long to become part of a family. And for the short time you were with us, you made us a family of four. You made us so, so happy.
I am sorry you didn’t get to stay longer. I am sorry that you did not get to grow. I grieve for the future that I had planned for you in that short amount of time. But I am so glad that I knew you, even for the briefest of time. And I will never forget you, little one, not ever.
Miscarriage is not the most popular topic of conversation. I’m still struggling to understand why, given that around 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. That is not an unsubstantial number.
Perhaps it is due to the general misinformation and misconceptions about miscarriage. Perhaps it is too uncomfortable knowing we have absolutely no medical intervention that can prevent or treat a miscarriage. Or perhaps people just don’t know what to say.
We know the protocol when a person (adult) dies. There is a funeral service; the life of the deceased is talked about and celebrated. Condolences are offered as well as meals brought to the home of the survivors; support is offered in any way that is helpful. Death, while sad, is a part of life, and is recognized as such.
Miscarriage is death before life.
Often times, it is death that only one person feels or even knows about, and carries alone. That would be thanks to the 12-week rule our culture embraces. That is, women are advised and encouraged to keep their pregnancy a secret for the first twelve weeks until they’ve reached the “safe zone” (the chance of miscarrying plummets after the 12th week).
This is problematic for a number of reasons. First and foremost, it is sometimes impossible to hide a pregnancy, even in the early weeks. Crippling nausea, debilitating exhaustion, and a myriad of other physical symptoms may manifest. I worked in a small office during my first pregnancy, I told my bosses around week 6 because nausea had me running to the bathroom every half hour. I was perpetually exhausted and relied heavily on my spouse and parents for help. And let’s not forget the emotional circus pregnant women are now the star of. Waves of torrential hormonal shifts are rocking a woman’s body, and every aspect of their physical self is being affected.
Secondly, if that pregnancy is lost, women still need support. Imagine what happens when a pregnancy that no one knew about – but still has altered her in so many ways- suddenly ends? Imagine having to carry the burden of that grief all on your own while the rest of the world exists in blissful ignorance of the loss you suffered.
After my miscarriage, I felt many things: sadness, anger, isolation, and even some depression brought on by a substantial downswing of hormones. I was lucky that those very closest to me knew, and I had their support. But the rest of the world just kept turning. And I had to keep turning with it.
And so I took my daughter to her regularly scheduled playdates and made small talk with other moms and sang the silly songs. I was a silent bystander in my own body, as it purged any evidence of this life from me.
I also felt something I did not expect: foolish. I felt foolish for being sad. I felt I did not have the right to grieve, because, as people would point out to me, “It was really early.”
And again, there is the problem with the 12-week rule. Because we are encouraged not to disclose our pregnancy until the twelfth week, there is an unfair assumption that we can’t really be excited about our pregnancy until then.
Let me make one thing very clear: You are allowed to feel however you want or need to feel when you find out you have a human life growing inside of you, no matter when you find out.
And while words like “viable” and “’sustainable” are thrown at you in regards to the progression of your pregnancy, there is no line graph where the love you feel for life inside you increases with the number of weeks it gestates. Pregnant is pregnant. Loss is loss.
Miscarriage isn’t just a loss we feel emotionally. It happens to our bodies, inside of us. We experience it physically. To expect a predetermined level of grief from a woman who has loss a pregnancy is absurd and presumptuous.
So, as a society, let’s do better. Let’s be more honest, open and empathetic.
Needing to talk to someone, anyone, I turned to an online community. Upon sharing my story, I was overwhelmed by the love and support that was offered. Most of all, I was shocked at the number of women who had similar stories. If this online community is but a sample of all the women you know, imagine how many of them have lost a pregnancy, and how many are aching to talk about it.
If you are unsure of what to say to someone who has lost a pregnancy, it’s actually really simple. Just tell them that it is okay to feel whatever they are feeling. It is okay to grieve, and that you are there for them. Dr. Jessica Zucker, a psychologist who specializes in women’s health, created a line of pregnancy loss cards. My favourite reads as follows:
“Grief knows no timeline. Take all the time you need
If you want to rest, do.
If you want to scream, do.
If you want to distract yourself, do.
stuff your face,
call me morning noon and night,
While I have physically and emotionally healed from my miscarriage, I will always remember the life that could have been. I will never forget his due date nor the future I had imagined.
Hopefully, I’ll get to plan a new future with a new life. We’ll keep trying and living. And if there’s one thing I have learned, it is just how precious my life and the lives of those I love are, and to never take them for granted.
Hartseer is stom
October 10, 2016 October 10, 2016 ~ deborahturkstra	~ Leave a comment
Ek sal nooit hierdie 3 woorde vergeet en hoe baie dit vir my in my intense hartseer beteken het nie. Goeie vriende van ons, het vir my en my man in die hospitaal kom besoek. Hulle het ‘n bos goudgeel rose in ‘n pragtige beker gebring met 2 klein kaartjies, 1 om ons dogtertjie se geboorte te vier en die ander kaartjie om die verlies van ons seuntjie te “acknowledge” met net hierdie 3 woorde in:
Hierdie 3 woorde het so ‘n groot impak op my gemaak. Dit het ‘bewys’ dat NIKS wat enigiemand nou sê ‘n verskil gaan maak nie. Die omvang van die verlies is eenvoudig net te groot vir enige woorde.
Vanaand se post sluit hierby aan,
Hier is 4 goed wat jy kan doen vir ‘n vriend/vriendin wat ‘n geliefde verloor het:
SAYING LESS IS MORE
Do not try to fix their pain by saying something to cheer them up or attempting to remind them to be grateful of what they still have. ( ek het so baie gehoor: “wees dankbaar vir julle dogtertjie, fokus op haar.” ek wou gil en skreeu elke keer as ek dit hoor -Geen kind kan die plek van ‘n ander kind vul nie! Ons het drome en planne en liefde spesifiek vir ons seuntjie gehad. Sy plek in ons harte, in ons huis en in sy bedjie kan nie vervang word deur sy sussie nie. Dit bly leeg.) There are so many statements made in a helpless attempt to relieve the person’s pain. Those sentences might be intellectually true but they are emotionally barren. This is why they hurt. Intellectual truth does not mend a broken heart.
Sounds simple. It needs practice, practice to stay with someone in pain, practice to just be. Accept that you might be feeling uncomfortable in the other person’s pain. It’s ok, you may still remain there with them. You don’t need to do or say anything, just your presence will be appreciated. It is an illusion that in times of crisis people need space. Respect someone’s wish, if they tell you so. Otherwise, be present.
Bereaved people might openly show their sadness and grief. Others might show strong emotions like anger and rage at the injustice of death having taken their loved one too soon. Allow your friend’s pain. Welcome their tears. Welcome their strong emotions. A person expressing strong emotions is relieving tension, it is a normal and healthy reaction, unless they are likely to harm themselves or others.
REMEMBER THE LOVED ONE
After loss, people often want to talk about their lost loved one. Grieving parents want to talk about their baby, their child. Remember their love one with them. Mention their name. Talk about your memories. People are often afraid at the potential of increasing the bereaved person’s pain. Let me tell you, your mentioning the loved one’s name cannot increase the pain that they have already experienced during the loss. Nathalie Himmelrich
Stuur hierdie aan jou vriende en familie, hulle weet gewoonlik nie hoe om jou te help of wat om te sê nie.
October 5, 2016 ~ deborahturkstra	~ Leave a comment
Vanaand se stukkie is vandag vir my gestuur deur een van my nuwe vriendinne, ook’n Mamma wat nie haar baba kon huis toe neem nie.
I thought it was a sad time
that followed the death of someone you love
And grief is not something that you complete
But rather you endure