Silent Tears


I wish 2 years later that I could tell the new grieving parents out there, that my pain has lessened. I wish I could tell them that my tears have stopped. I wish I could tell them that my anger has subdued. I wish I could tell them that it all makes sense. I wish I could tell them that I am okay.

I can’t say any of those things…but I can say that by the grace of God and through the love and prayers of family and friends, I’m surviving and I’m actually learning to live again.  To those that don’t understand the path of a grieving parent, I’m sure often times it appears we are doing good. You see our smiling photos on social media, you hear our laughs in a crowded room, you watch us as our lives seemingly move on much like your own. But that’s the great pretender in us….we have little choice but to pretend all is okay. We know the burden we carry and we know how heavy it is for others to try and comprehend it….so we fake it. We fake it to try and make you all less uncomfortable with our pain.

Thank God for the people in my life that I don’t have to fake it with….for those that God has blessed me with that allow me to openly talk about Skylar and the raw pain and emotions that still consume me.  I read something the other day by someone who had also lost a child and it referred to the black hole that will always follow us and that it is our job and goal to walk around it and not fall in. I thought about that for many days and just how true it is. It’s so very easy to look at the cards life dealt you and want to jump into that hole and let it soak you up.  But as a mother to 3 others that need me, as a friend that I know people rely on, as a daughter and a sister that I know my family can’t bear to lose… is my job NOT to fall in, but to learn to walk around it….every single second of every single day.

A good friend sent me this poem today and I want to share it with you, maybe it will help remind you of the daily pain we struggle with.


Silent Tears

Each day as evening starts to set

The ache builds in her chest

She knows that she must go to bed

And try to get some rest

She hugs her tear stained pillow close

When no one is around

And cries for one she loved and lost 

And screams without a sound

Others see her in the day

And think she’s doing well

But every day as evening sets

She enters her own hell

Time hasn’t healed her pain at all

Or quieted her fears

So every night, alone in bed

She sheds those silent tears

No matter how many years have passed, if a friend who has lost a child crosses your mind, say a prayer for them, trust me, they need it. We walk a path that never ends, it has no remedy for the pain and no ending to the agony. It just simply is. Some days are more bearable than others and some days bring us to our knees and shake us to our core……we will most likely always be the ones that need a little extra TLC. But we will also be the first ones that you can lean on for comfort and understanding.  No one understands pain like a grieving mother/father….no one.

As I always say…..hug your babies and tell those you love what they mean to you. Don’t wait, because life certainly won’t wait for you.

I love you more Skylar Lynn…in life you taught me what love was and in death you have given me strength I never knew I had.

12 thoughts on “Silent Tears

  1. April 16 2014; the night that changed my life forever. My daughter Kayla Renee, 6 weeks shy of turning 16, was a front seat passanger in a vehicle with two teenage friends, when the 16 year old driver took a sharp curve too fast and ran into a tree, the impact to the vehicle was right where my daughter sit. My daughter became a beautiful angel @ 8:20 pm three miles from home. She will forever be 15. She was the only one killed that night. The driver walking away with only a scratch and her best friend being rushed into surgery, and thank God you could never tell she was injured today.

    My friend posted this article on my facebook page today and told me to read about you the author. I have a hard time wrapping my head around my feelings and find myself shutting down a lot. I do believe I am still in the numb phase. When I read your article it hit so close to home. Explaining exactly what I have been having a hard time explaining and understand myself what I’m feeling.

    So much I want to say but just don’t know what to say. I have been glued to your blog all night.

  2. I lost my daughter the same year, in much the same way. You have my heartfelt sympathies, and deepest condolences. Be strong, for the blackness always beckons.

  3. I lost my grand daughter Kilah to child abuse in March of this year…your words.spoke directly to how I feel…I am sorry for your pain but thank you for writing these perfect words through your sorrow.

  4. My 16 year old daughter Leah died January ’14 of a cancer related illness. Your beautifully written blog posts echo the many feelings that are in my heart – thank you.
    I also want God to somehow use me in all of my pain because He has promised “to comfort us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” 2 Corinthians 1v4
    Like you I also find release through writing

  5. Hi, a friend who lost her 19 year old son 6 months ago reposted this from The Grief Toolbox on Facebook. My 10 year old daughter Erin died on August 14, 2014. I cried when I read your post but it summed up things in a way that only a grieving mom can do. You have a beautiful family and Skylar was beautiful. You have done a great job on your website, and I love the name. Mine is I’ve not as far along as you are on the site. I also write about grief on my blog I have tried to keep the Missing Erin site “lighter” since her little friends visit it sometimes. Sorry to talk your ear off, but I guess it’s one grieving mom to another 🙁 Hugs, Nicole Canter

  6. I lost my 9 year old son in a backyard accident. He was gone when I found him. That sight haunts me everyday. You put it (the pain) perfectly into words. It helps me to know I’m not alone in my grief.

  7. As always daughter – so beautifully written words that say everything your family is thinking and feeling. Sky is the last one I think about every night when I lay my head on my pillow. My oldest granddaughter will always be loved and always missed. Thank you for stating in words how we feel. Love you more

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