Bearing The Unbearable --- The Loss of A Child
Without Prejudice
It's beyond comprehension to lose a child, there is no agony like it. It's called the exquisite agony. No one should have to endure it, but we do. And trust me no one wants to.
For me it's been 23 years and forever and now it's like it was yesterday. Under my skin it's there ready to break open at any time. It's my sorrow, it's my blood, It's my life.
People that have not lost a child can not know and you would not want them to. For to understand they too would have had to lost a child.
It's the wrong way round, it's simply unbearable.
Lauren was incredible. I know everyone says that but she was. She loved, she shone with an incredible beauty, it glowed from her, incandescent and blinding. And she was mine.
She wanted everyone to be happy, like her. She was peacemaker, she was the baby in a family of 4 girls. She lived life, she loved life, a wise soul, born ancient and she had been here before, it seemed. She had an invisible friend as a little girl.
She saw things before they happened, she knew things, and she followed her Mum, everywhere. She was mine, I was hers and for 12 and a half incredible years we travelled our journey together. Hand in hand, arm in arm, twin beings.
I knew she was going to die, I knew it. About a month before she died I had a premonition she would not survive this world. She was too innocent, too pure, she twirled to a different dance than the rest of us. And I was scared.
She was "accident prone "
She had gashed her eye once on a plastic crate. Her Dad had to take her to the Hospital emergency department, hold her head incredibly still while they stitched her. He was never to forget her terror and pain. It hurt him more than her.
The car door slammed on her fingers and nearly severed them she was 3. The doctor had to lie her on the kitchen table and stitch her baby fingers. The skin so soft it was almost impossible to stitch it and it kept giving way.
When she waded into a pond she gashed her foot on a broken bottle and it gushed blood so bad her Sister Alena ran a mile to get help. Her heart pounding, legs pumping, she ran for her little sister. More stitches, plaster and almost plastic surgery to mend the white soft underbelly of her foot.
I spoke to the surgeon of my concerns. She wasn't the naughtiest of the girls, so why was she the one being injured all the time. I told him I had an accident prone brother, also quiet, bookish, and that he had died.
The surgeon laughed off my concerns, children were adventurous he said, but I knew, just knew. My concerns were great. Then she was in plaster again shortly before she died, landing funnily on a trampoline and badly twisting her ankle.
She was on holiday then with family friends and had to be admitted once again to Hospital.
We went to Bali in the June before she died, just the girls and I. She swam in the pool till late at night while we watched her and sat at the swim up bar. She was at one with the water, a sleek almost ethereal creature.
She was dubbed the Otter, by a male friend. And she was, her head breaking surface quietly from the water, nugget brown face, white teeth gleaming, dark shiny hair flowing down her back. Water cascading off her and once again she would dive, her fat little bottom the last thing to be seen.
An American lady told her of the sea otters off the coast of California, near the Baja. She told my little otter that the real otters were in danger of becoming extinct.
And Lauren wanted to go there, one day.......
She never did make it. She died 5 months later, drowned.
My little champion swimmer.
One day I am going to Cabo, she will be there, swimming in the warm waters. Gliding, swimming with her God, her friends, her family. Returned to the sea. And just like in Bali I will swim with her once again. My love, my daughter, my soul, my being.
X
It's beyond comprehension to lose a child, there is no agony like it. It's called the exquisite agony. No one should have to endure it, but we do. And trust me no one wants to.
For me it's been 23 years and forever and now it's like it was yesterday. Under my skin it's there ready to break open at any time. It's my sorrow, it's my blood, It's my life.
People that have not lost a child can not know and you would not want them to. For to understand they too would have had to lost a child.
It's the wrong way round, it's simply unbearable.
Lauren was incredible. I know everyone says that but she was. She loved, she shone with an incredible beauty, it glowed from her, incandescent and blinding. And she was mine.
She wanted everyone to be happy, like her. She was peacemaker, she was the baby in a family of 4 girls. She lived life, she loved life, a wise soul, born ancient and she had been here before, it seemed. She had an invisible friend as a little girl.
She saw things before they happened, she knew things, and she followed her Mum, everywhere. She was mine, I was hers and for 12 and a half incredible years we travelled our journey together. Hand in hand, arm in arm, twin beings.
I knew she was going to die, I knew it. About a month before she died I had a premonition she would not survive this world. She was too innocent, too pure, she twirled to a different dance than the rest of us. And I was scared.
She was "accident prone "
She had gashed her eye once on a plastic crate. Her Dad had to take her to the Hospital emergency department, hold her head incredibly still while they stitched her. He was never to forget her terror and pain. It hurt him more than her.
The car door slammed on her fingers and nearly severed them she was 3. The doctor had to lie her on the kitchen table and stitch her baby fingers. The skin so soft it was almost impossible to stitch it and it kept giving way.
When she waded into a pond she gashed her foot on a broken bottle and it gushed blood so bad her Sister Alena ran a mile to get help. Her heart pounding, legs pumping, she ran for her little sister. More stitches, plaster and almost plastic surgery to mend the white soft underbelly of her foot.
I spoke to the surgeon of my concerns. She wasn't the naughtiest of the girls, so why was she the one being injured all the time. I told him I had an accident prone brother, also quiet, bookish, and that he had died.
The surgeon laughed off my concerns, children were adventurous he said, but I knew, just knew. My concerns were great. Then she was in plaster again shortly before she died, landing funnily on a trampoline and badly twisting her ankle.
She was on holiday then with family friends and had to be admitted once again to Hospital.
We went to Bali in the June before she died, just the girls and I. She swam in the pool till late at night while we watched her and sat at the swim up bar. She was at one with the water, a sleek almost ethereal creature.
She was dubbed the Otter, by a male friend. And she was, her head breaking surface quietly from the water, nugget brown face, white teeth gleaming, dark shiny hair flowing down her back. Water cascading off her and once again she would dive, her fat little bottom the last thing to be seen.
An American lady told her of the sea otters off the coast of California, near the Baja. She told my little otter that the real otters were in danger of becoming extinct.
And Lauren wanted to go there, one day.......
She never did make it. She died 5 months later, drowned.
My little champion swimmer.
One day I am going to Cabo, she will be there, swimming in the warm waters. Gliding, swimming with her God, her friends, her family. Returned to the sea. And just like in Bali I will swim with her once again. My love, my daughter, my soul, my being.
X
