BY DEANA L. MARTIN
Written January 2012, one year after losing both children in a car accident. Deana is now the Vice President of Cry for Me No More, a nonprofit organization serving thousands around the country. She and her husband raise their sole granddaughter, who was in the car behind Deana's daughter and son.
I never really noticed how hot tears are as they roll down
my face. Sure, I have cried many times before you died; but you leaving made
time stand still and life feel so surreal.
Shock, numbness, nausea, and pain so severe I was certain I
would die.
Can’t they see it? Surly they can. No one acts as if they can see
it. My heart hurts so badly, my soul aches; my breasts hurt yearning for my
children, how can that be? Why can’t they see it? Why can’t they help?
Who am I now that my children have gone? Where am I now that
your voices are no where to be heard? T here
are no phone calls with crises to fix. No more reasons to give you money today.
No problems that only Mom knows the answers to.
It’s been a year now since you went home, and I find myself feeling
so alone. Who will care for me when I am old? What of my future? Where have my
dreams gone, your college graduations, your careers, your weddings, the
holidays at your homes?
Since you left I struggle with so many questions. Am I still a mom? I have no children now, so
how could I possibly be a mom? What if I had bought four new tires for the car
instead of two? What if I had not given you gas money to make the trip?
I never noticed how hot tears are as they roll down my face.
As I cry for missing you both as I often do, the tears fall in slow motion
symbolic of how today it’s still so unreal.
It seems like yesterday I received that dreaded call. "I hate
to have to tell you this," he said on the phone. At that moment I knew what I
was about to hear would change my life forever.
I knew what he was about to say I could not
bear.
But for some reason I did not know you were dead; I thought
mothers were to know those things, a feeling, a hunch. I had so much guilt that
I didn’t know my babies had died when I was in that meeting 10:30 that morning.
My first thought when I heard his voice was that you made him
call because our granddaughter, our "baby girl," had died and you could not
tell me yourself because of your broken hearts and your personal shock. But then I
heard those dreaded words that I will never forget.
"Amanda and Logan have been killed in an accident." Or maybe
he said, "Amanda and Logan are dead." Or possibly even, "There has been an
accident, and Amanda and Logan
didn’t make it." I don’t recall the exact words, but the end result was all the same.
I never noticed how hot tears are as they roll down my face.
As I cry today, one year later, I cry more for me and our little girl not having
you in our lives for I know you are home now and we will be together again one
day.
I thank you for leaving your baby girl here with me; I thank
God daily she was in the car behind you. We have each other and we will make it
through and create a new life together as you meant us to.
Caring for her has helped me to heal that part of me that
asked if I am still a ,om. My answer today is yes, I am a ,om of 3, 2 of my
children live in heaven and I have one precious little granddaughter who lives here with
me.
But the difference is today I have seen the other side; I
have experienced joy where last year I believed I never would again. I have laughed
and smiled and played as we used to do. I strive daily to go on in your memory,
with your love as my inspiration as you would want me to.
Some days I even forget to notice the temperature of the
tears as they fall down my face.
For once more they are healing tears. Tears of
joy, tears of anger and tears of sadness, they are not only the tears of a mother's broken heart.
In Loving Memory of
Amanda Suzanne Mills 12/15/85-1/20/11 and Logan
Robert Mills 5/27/89-1/20/11
One year after their transition home.
Written by their Mother
Deana L. Martin
