Kristine E. Brickey

Note: The holidays are not happy and filled with anticipation for many people, particularly for the members of the awful 'Parents who have buried a Child' club. I am not looking for pity or sympathy, but I am hoping this piece, written from the prompt 'an offering' at MMWG last week, will add understanding. I want to love this time of year as I once did, and there are still moments that I feel that feeling. However, then there is this reality. Please share and know there are too many of in this club hosted by Grief. An offering Don’t cry.  He’s in a better place.  God must have needed him.  Stupid words from well-meaning people after my son died. Like he was an offering to Heaven. Why anyone thought those phrases would bring me comfort, I will never understand.  Eight years and six months now my Robbie has been gone, and I still find my heart boarding itself off from feeling too much on an almost daily basis.  Christmas is coming....

     She told me I had a beautiful soul.       She told me it was kismet, fate, that I came to be sitting beside her.       A stranger who sat at the same table in the dessert reception hall following George Takei's sharing of his family story of internment during WWII, has become a part of my story.       Last evening, I was blessed to be surrounded by many powerful, beautiful souls. Words escape my grasp as I search for a way to describe how my time at the 34th Anniversary Dinner at Congregation Shaarey Zedek is affecting me. Over 1,800 tickets were sold for this celebration. It was not what I'd expected.       "Why are you here?" I was asked at Table 72. Not accusatory. The woman asking knew who I was, said she'd 'Googled' me when she did the seating chart, said she'd intentionally set my group with the other artists, the people who'd created the video being shown later that ni...