Welcome to In His Name

We are an official 501(c)(3) non-profit organization. We hope to offer comfort to those affected by a devastating loss to SIDS {Sudden Infant Death Syndrome} or SUID {Sudden Unexplained Infant Death} through educational resources, grief support, community, and prayer. We will be sending out the "SIDS Survival Kits" to families in Alabama and Tennessee, and will extend our support to any family that finds themselves on this hard, lonely grief journey. Our goal is to reach newly bereaved parents as soon as possible after their loss of an infant. To order a kit or to find out more about our kit, please go to the SIDS Survival Kit page, or click here. No one should have to walk this road alone!

Thursday, May 12, 2011

There is No Cure...

This past weekend I finished reading Elizabeth Edward's book "Saving Graces." She is such an absolutely eloquent writer. And the parts in which she discusses the loss of her son, Wade, resonated with me. He might have been a teenager when he passed away, but the one thing I have found on this journey is that the pain of losing a child {no matter what age they were when they left this world} is intensely the same. I was picking out a few quotes/passages to use in a future blog post on my personal blog, and I came across this one, which spoke to my heart and summed up everything, so I thought I would share. In this passage, she writes to a fellow bereaved parent about her recent experience:

Someone else writes me to ask why I am not getting professional help in my “recovery.” He views mourning as a goal-directed task: rally the troops, make a list, get it done! That has so little to do with the way I feel, and I cannot find words to make him understand. How can I tell him there is no cure for me? I cannot express how deeply this boy had grown into my being, and how I will suffer his loss every day that I breathe. I cannot be cured of it, any more than I can be cured of breathing itself. I suppose there will come that day when I will need to clean the dining room, when I must box the pictures, when I will decide what is to become of the things in his closet, when I will not be able to visit his grave each day. But we simply eat in the kitchen, and I do not walk into his room, and I make time for the cemetery and Wade, because it is important to me that he have some time in each day that belongs just to him. And if I started putting him away and blocking him out of my day, would I be recovering from his death? Well, the problem is that it also seems awfully like ignoring his life. The image I have for our family is grapevines, twisting around each other, interweaving, leaves pushing through until it is impossible to separate the vines without destroying much of their beauty. And this vine was, without warning, ripped from us and from among us. We heal only by growing around the wound, in constant recognition of its absence.


Malory said...

Powerful words right there.

Deanna said...

Stopping by to wish little Julius a Happy Birthday, and let you know that I'm praying for you!

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