The life and times of a little hippie in the Bersagel-Briese clan.
All the hot showers we want.
No more cafeteria food.
Haven’t rode an elevator since we left.
It’s quiet at the house.
No long drives splitting our lives between two children.
A king sized bed and three pillows each.
Yet, give us the option and we would take all the cold showers and live on a twin mattress again in a second.
This list is adapted from something that the hospital gave us and another parent had put together. It is our hope that you read this and it will hopefully allow you to feel more comfortable around and with us. This is a very difficult time for everyone, and we know that none of us really know what to do or say.
– We wish that Liam hadn’t died. We wish that we had him back.
– We wish that you won’t be afraid to speak Liam’s name. He lived and was very important to us. We need to hear that he was important to you also.
– If we cry and get emotional when you talk about Liam, we wish you knew that it isn’t because you have hurt us. Liam’s death is the cause of our tears. You have talked about him, and you have allowed us to share in our grief. We thank you for both.
– Being a bereaved parent isn’t contagious, so please don’t shy away from us. We need you now more than ever.
– We need diversions, so we do want to hear about you, your family, and your life. But we also want you to hear about us. We might be sad or cry, but please also let us talk about Liam.
– We know that you think and pray for us often. We also know that Liam’s death pains you, too. We wish you would let us know these things through a phone call, a card, a note, an e-mail, a text, or a real big hug.
– We wish that you won’t expect our grief to be over in six months. These first months are traumatic for us, but we hope that you understand that our grief will never be over. We will suffer the loss of Liam until the day that we die.
– We are working very hard in our recovery, but we wish you could understand that we will never fully recover. We will always miss Liam, and we will always grieve that he is dead.
– We wish that you wouldn’t expect us not to think about it or to be happy. Neither will happen for a very long time, so don’t frustrate yourself.
– We don’t want to have a pity party, but we do wish you would let us grieve. We must hurt before we can heal.
– We wish you understood how our lives have shattered. We know it is miserable for you to be around us when we’re feeling miserable. Please be as patient with us as we are with you.
– When we say we are doing okay, we wish you could understand that we don’t feel okay and that we struggle daily.
– We wish you knew that all of the grief reactions we are having are very normal. Depression, anger, hopelessness and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So please excuse us when we are quiet and withdrawn or irritable and cranky.
– Your advice to ‘take one day at a time’ is excellent advice. However, sometimes a day is too much and too fast for us right now. We wish that you could understand that sometimes the best way is a minute or an hour at a time.
– We hope that if you see us out and about that you say hi. We might be smiling or laughing, joking or having a good time – that’s okay to do. Please don’t think that it’s because we are not appropriately grieving.
– Please excuse us if we are rude, it is certainly not our intent. Sometimes the world around us goes by too fast, and we need to get off. When we walk away, please let us find a quiet place to spend some time alone.
– We wish you understood that grief changes people. When Liam died, a big part of us died with him. We are not the same people that we were before Liam died, and we will never be those people again.
– We wish very much that you could understand – understand our loss and our grief, our silence and our tears, our void and our pain. But we pray daily that you will never, ever understand.
I’ve debated for a while as to how much to say and how much to reveal about how Tuesday went, and I think that this is one of those days in life where it’s going to be okay not to share everything. I can tell you that for the entire day, it felt like walking through life in somebody else’s body.
The funeral and burial services were what they were. Well, I mean that they were perfect, beautiful, and emotional. The end. Liam is buried at Cedar Hill Cemetery in Castle Rock, and he is in Section 1…if you are ever in the area and would like to stop by for a visit – I’m sure that he would like it.
Just like the morning, in the evening we found ourselves overwhelmed by love and support. Hundreds of friends and family came down to greet us and to show us how much we are cared for. It was probably one of the most humbling experiences of our lives, and one that we will not soon forget. We know that a lot of schedules had to change, a lot of babysitters hired, and a lot of gas tanks filled – but please know that we are so grateful that you made the effort and came down…it means so much to the both of us.
As the immediacy of loosing Liam dissolves in the next few weeks, the new reality will harshly set in. We have needed you all up until now, and we will need you all in new ways in the future. Please check in on us, send us e-mails and texts, stop over, and encourage us to visit you. Thank you for everything you have done, and for everything that you are going to do.
This is the photo booklet that we gave out last night at the reception. We hope that you keep it and look at it when you are missing Liam as much as we are….
If you didn’t get one, just stop by! We have some extra copies that we would love to give out.
The last couple of days have forced Ahna and I into making decisions and talking about things that we never, in a million years, would have anticipated needing discussed. We have an amazing support system of family and friends, and feel very much held up by everyone’s love.
Despite all of those hard topics and hard decisions, there is one that neither of us seems to be able to make: removing the wrist band from the hospital. We both know that it’s just a flimsy, disposable band that is supposed to be trashed as soon as possible (and probably should have been replaced a few times during our stay at the hospital)…but…they also are the only things that outwardly say “Here is Liam’s Mom” and “Here is Liam’s Dad.” Most people wouldn’t even notice them, but they are still there – visual reminders of who we are.
Sometime soon we are bound to take them off, and as they are removed, so will the last physical reminders of the hospital stay. It’s surprising that something that is so trivial is also so hard, but there are lots of memories that live within the wristbands.
All services will be on Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Funeral: The service is a private service for family only.
Reception: The reception will be held at Pegasus Restaurant located in Castle Rock, Colorado. This is open to anyone to stop in and visit and will run from 5 pm through 8 pm. Come and stay for as long as you like. Click here for directions.
In Lieu Of Flowers: Please make a donation to the Liam Bersagel-Briese Benefit Fund. Money from the fund will go back to The Children’s Hospital in Liam’s name. At some point in the future, we hope to plant a tree or garden for Liam as well. Information on the benefit fund is below.
Donations can be made at any 1st Bank location, or by sending them to: 1st Bank in Castle Rock: 2 Plum Creek Parkway, Castle Rock, CO 80104. Phone: 303-688-5000
Web site listing 1st Bank locations: https://www.efirstbank.com/customer-service/find-location-list.htm
As we sit here and grieve a new loss, we are reminded of another that occurred 11 years ago today. There are no explanations that this universe holds that would make us understand why these two losses had to happen so close to each other; but I have to think that as sure as the sun rose this morning, Uncle Jonathan and Nephew Liam held each other in tight embrace.
Family and Friends-
It is with tremendous sadness and grief that I write this message to tell you that Liam passed away this morning due to complications from his brain injury. He has struggled hard since he was born on December 19, and now he no longer has to struggle at all.
The gift that we have experienced of having him with us for as long as we did will be forever cherished and foremost in our hearts. He has taught us so much, and will continue those teachings for a long time to come.
Ahna, Ezra and I would like to thank each of you for the love, support, thoughts, prayers, and help that you have given to us thus far. There is no way possible that we could have been able to be there for each other in the way that we did without what you gave to us.
We are in the process of planning a private funeral service and a public open-house for either Monday or Tuesday. Updated information will be posted to the blog.
All our love,
Oren, Ahna, and Ezra
I suppose that this kinda ties in to the previous postings about how we are doing, but it feels like a little different take on the question. There is one statement that seems to pop up every once in a while when some folks around here check in with us: ‘it must be a crazy roller coaster ride.’ The answer? Well, sort of. I think that we have found what some roller coaster enthusiasts have been searching for for years…a ride that takes you up, puts you on high, and never lets you down.
Sure, we experience lots of emotions and we go back and forth fairly regularly between nearly all of them. But what’s different about this experience versus any other is that we don’t find ourselves involved with big swings up and down – it’s just always up. Whether it’s anger, hope, sadness, despair, encouragement, fear, understanding, happiness, or something else all together; it’s just all of the time all the way.
I know that it’s hip and cool to suggest that Valentine’s Day is a made up holiday for the card-making corporations (heck, I did it again this year which automatically means that it’s hip and cool). We all proclaim that we don’t need a specific day to express our feelings for each other, yet odds are that we come nowhere near expressing how we feel on a day-to-day basis…so one day out of the year specifically dedicated to the romantic, emotional, and complete relationship that you share with your loved one is alright with me – even if it’s a made up holiday for the card-making corporations.
This year we spent the holiday, you guessed it, at the hospital. We enjoyed some treats from our nurses, visits from our family, and a romantic dinner of leftover lunch cafeteria food. Despite the position that we find ourselves in, we find that our relationships with each other, family, and friends have been bolstered by this experience. The room was decorated by Nana, and if even for a day, it was nice to have some color in the room (the little bug in the photo was given to us by the hospital for Valentine’s Day).
The Life of a Little Hippie 