About A Bereaved Parent or anyone who has lost someone they love.
I listen more and talk less because it takes something really significant to make me want to interrupt what you’re saying – the little stuff no longer matters.
I appreciate the daylight outside even when it’s cloudy or raining or snowing because I’m healthy enough to be outside.
“Simba” the courageous cub in the Lion King movie reminds me of my son.
I’m better with my own company for extended periods of time because I no longer fear being alone.
Holidays and Sundays make me sad.
I know the difference between an acquaintance and a friend.
I don’t have much patience for whiners.
A ringing phone at night stops my heart from beating.
For the newly bereaved – I’m bereaved. Not sick, and not contagious so please come by and visit me.
God is listening. His plan isn’t mine, but I feel that He does exist; He has to, or how do I continue without believing I will see my child again?
I care more about those I care about because I know that nothing stays the same.
Toy Story makes me cry.
I think about when my son got to Heaven and met my Mom and Dad.
When you mention my child’s name I’ll be grateful you were thinking about him.
When I travel I take my time, stop and marvel at the sights because I see a fragile world that changes in an instant.
I’m again grieving the death of my parents, or my friend, or relative who died years ago because this loss dredged up the old.
I won’t let much time go by without phoning you to say hello.
The tragedy of a complete stranger touches me.
I see a bird, or a rainbow, or the sun set and I think about angels.
Call me if you’re going to be late or I’ll worry.
When I say “I’ll pray for you,” I really will.
I love to sit on a park bench and watch children play, or teenagers tease one another, or a couple hold hands, so much that I have to be careful people don’t think I’m weird.
I stop myself when I begin to whine about something trivial because I remember when he was hurting and frightened, yet he asked me if I was OK.
Photographs by http://twistedpixels.ca/index.html