A Thin Line.

A Thin Line.

The complete and utter heartbreak from hearing “I am sorry your loved one has passed,” the complete and utter excitement from hearing “We have a kidney for you.” The sorrow and pain of hearing “We did all we could do, but we could not save your child,” the joy and heart lifting feeling of hearing “Please get to the hospital there is a heart on it’s way.” The ying and yang, the lowest of lows and the highest of highs, someones best day and someones worst. One life ends and one life begins anew. These are just a few of the polar opposites when someone passes away and someone else gets to live on. When your heart is breaking and someone else’s heart is full of hope for the future. There is no greater pain than to say goodbye to a child, a mom, a dad, a brother, sister or spouse. There is no lonely like the lonely when you walk through the door of your home, the same door your loved one walked out of for the last time. William Shakespeare said “The purpose of life is not to find your gift, but to give it away.” There is no truer statement when it comes to organ donation. We are given this life, these bodies are a gift. We are supposed to take care of them, treat them as if they where temples, but the abuse we put them through is sometimes detrimental. Once a kidney stops working, a liver quits functioning, the heart starts deteriorating, the lungs have no capacity, or numerous other organs begin to decline, we look to organ donation. The field of donation has come so far in the last ten years, the ability to transplant almost any organ has become a reality. But for this to happen someone has to die, someones son, daughter, mother or father has to lose their life for another to live. As many of you already know Lindsay was an organ donor. This was her own conscious choice at he age of sixteen. Her decision to save lives through donation fit right in with her dream of becoming a surgeon. So many times I have asked myself “Why her? Why did Lindsay have to pass for someone else to live?” The question will never be answered while I walk this earth. I will only get the answer when I leave this world and stand before God. The emotion felt when your loved one passes and you know someone else will live is virtually unexplainable. The immediate feeling of numbness passing through your body and you feel helpless, you feel as if your heart and soul has died right along with your loved one. At that point, the fact that someone else will live, someone else’s life will be extended does not matter to you, in fact it almost brings you to anger.  I had to come to realization that it was not the recipients fault that Lindsay passed away, they did not wish for her to have an accident that Sunday afternoon in August of 2016. I have only been on this side of organ donation, I only know the hurt and the pain of loss. I do not know the joy and elation of getting that phone call telling the recipient to get to the hospital as soon as they can. I personally know one of the recipients of Lindsay’s donations. She is a wife and a mother of two. I work everyday with her husband and her son. She was in almost complete kidney failure and Lindsay was able to save her life and give her many more years to spend with her family. Even knowing the recipient does not make the loss any easier, it does not make the pain any less. I had taken quite a bit of time off from work after Lindsay passed away and when the time was drawing near for me to return there was one thing I had to do. I had to see her and her husband, I did not want the first time I saw her husband to be at work. I did not know how I would react. Would I break down and cry, would I want to punch him, would I be happy for him, would I hold some sort of resentment for his gain and my loss? We did meet, and the first thing she said was “Lindsay is right here” as she  patted her lower abdomen. When I saw the smile on her face and the tears running down her checks all of my anxiety, all of my fears, where gone. We had an amazing visit and we talked about her surgery and of course we talked about Lindsay. You could see in her eyes the pain she felt for us but in her voice you could hear the appreciation for the sacrifice made. I often wonder if the other recipients that received Lindsay’s donations ever think about our family, if they ever think about the fact that a seventeen year old young lady had to die for them to carry on. Do they ever think about who she was, what she had accomplished, or where she was headed in this life. 

I asked Jeanne Connolly, who works for Carolina Donor Services, and has become a good friend to our family, to send me a statement concerning both sides of this life altering time. This is what she sent to me, “From what I have been a part of with the recipient families that resonates over and over again is that while sometimes writing or receiving a letter to the donor/recipient families can be difficult because they know that their loved one had died which allowed them to live, which is a struggle sometimes. When a donor recipient family meeting happens it brings a sense of knowing that the decision to donate has given both sides a bond that brings a sense of peace and understanding. One donors mother who met her son’s heart recipient said there  was finally a sense of calm and knowing that her son still lived on. As she listened to his heartbeat in the recipients chest it was what she had needed to get that peace. Every year on Mothers day the recipient sends flowers to his donor mom and they have established an ongoing relationship. In his words: The best tribute I can give to my Donor and his family is to live.

It is a fine line we walk as the survivors of a donor, a fine line between hurt and happiness, between loss and living, between grief and gratitude. This fine line often seems to grow even thinner on days that we truly miss our loved ones. On days we know that someone, somewhere is walking, talking and breathing. but they are not.  It is a fine line we will walk for the remainder of our lives, but knowing that the best tribute a recipient can give to their donor and family is to live does make the line a little broader.



The Why Day

The Why Day

Mark Twain once said “The two most important days in your life are the day you were born and the day you find out why.”  

I believe we can all say we have the first day nailed down, the day we were born was very important, not only in our lives, but in the lives of our parents. The day we were born truly was the first day of the rest of our life. It was a day that set in motion a vast, infinite amount of paths that have lead us right were we are today. Now, where we are  has been a result of decisions, circumstances and conclusions that have had many forks in the road and it has been up to us to choose which way to go. All of these paths should have led us to the second part of Twain’s statement, “…the day you find out why.”  I am not sure about you, but after fifty three years I am still looking for that flashing neon sign that says, “Today is the day you find out why.”

After I read Twain’s quote, for what I believe, was the very first time, I began to think long and hard about “the why day.” Was it the day I was born? Was Twain insinuating that both days were actually the same day. I know the minute I arrived in this world I had no true thought process, although, I am sure I was tired from the move and I have no doubt I was hungry. But was that day in October many years ago my day to know why? It could have been for my parents, because like all parents, we feel the day our children are born is the greatest day of our lives. We feel like that is why we are put on this earth. to keep the human race moving forward by bringing new life into existence, but is that wonderful day a “why” day? Or could the “why” day be a day you, through no conscious effort, change the life of someone you did not even know? A simple act of emptying the change from your car into the hands of a hungry person who has been down on their luck. Could it be a loving word of encouragement that brings someone back from depression and the darkest thoughts of suicide. Could your day have been yesterday when you showed a random act of kindness and an anonymous onlooker with the hardest of hearts began to soften and realize the joy of compassion. Could your day have unknowingly already passed or is it still waiting to arrive? How do we find out what day our why day is? A question so many will spend a life time asking and may never get the answer.

A life time. To many, this statement means longevity, years of living, years of experiences, years of family and years of love. To me, so far, it has been fifty three years. To others it was only a few hours, a few days, a few months or seventeen years. To the ones that only made it a few days, a few months or seventeen years, I feel they are looking down and know beyond a shadow of a doubt what their “why day” was, it was the day, if they were organ donors, they became a hero. It was the newborn that passed away in their mothers arms. It was the toddler that fought the most courageous fight against a disease they never heard of. It was the father of two that worked every day to save lives running into burning buildings. The mom that said an oath to protect and serve so we could all sleep in peace. It was a beautiful seventeen year old young woman, it was my daughter. It has been every organ donor that has been a hero and a life saver. Lindsay, my daughter, lived a lifetime in seventeen years. She was the one giving her change to a down and out person, she was the one sitting and listening to a friend and bringing them back from a very dark place, she was the one showing a random act of kindness to those who felt unwanted, unliked, or shunned by the popular crowd. She was a leader, she was a sister, she was a friend and she was an organ donor. In my heart and mind she had many days that I thought were her “why day,” but I am almost positive, the lives that she saved would think differently. I have accomplished a lot in my life, and because of Lindsay I have accomplished so much more. I have stood behind a podium many times in front of hospital CEO’s, surgeons, doctors, nurses and family members of other organ donors and told Lindsay’s story. I have become the President of a foundation that we, her four parents, started to continue her legacy and to support the charities Lindsay was involved with. I started a blog for my own therapy and to help other grieving parents. I have become a published author, to help share how I, a father, handled and am still handling the loss of a child, and to hopefully help the next father understand he is not alone. But my “why day” is still yet to come, my day will come with the same sadness and grief that is shared by so many everyday. My “why day” will be my last, when I close my eyes for the last time and know in the depths of my soul, “why.” My day will also bring joy to random strangers and their families as they know their love ones now have a fighting chance. Strangers that in the mist of their joy, morn for the donor and their family. My day will come when I am standing beside Lindsay and we both know our two most important days and why.

Please, if you have not registered to be an organ donor,

let today be the day

you know your




Trying to Remember

Trying to Remember

I’m not sure if you are old enough to remember the commercial, “This is your brain on drugs.” For those of you that are too young, here is brief description of how the commercial went. There was a hand holding an egg which represented your brain. The hand then takes the egg, cracks it and lets it pour into a very hot frying pan. This is to represent your brain on drugs. It is a very effective way to show what drugs can do to your brain. I feel there needs to be a new commercial, one that replaces the word drugs with grief. In this new commercial they need to crack two eggs, one for your brain and one for your heart. Let the eggs ease out slowly and begin to simmer in the heat of an old seasoned cast iron frying pan, because there are days when you feel your heart and mind are just fried. There are days when Lindsay lays so heavy on my heart and that in turn, fills my mind with grief. On these days if I slice up the normal trials and tribulations of everyday life, mix in a little drama, season with a bad day at work and  throw all that in the pan with the eggs, well you get the idea. I have tried so hard to change the recipe of grief, I have tried so hard to use different ingredients, to use a different pan, to bake instead of fry, but at the end of the day no matter how you serve it grief is still grief. It still hurts, and it can still, on any given day, be a buffet of heartache. 

The day your child passes away is a day you never want to remember, but you spend your entire life trying not to forget. My wife and I are on vacation in the mountains of North Carolina, an area we both enjoy spending time. As we started out on our adventure yesterday I wanted to go to Chimney Rock. This small town is located on HWY 74 and it is sandwiched in between the towns of Lake Lure and Bat Cave. Chimney Rock is just that, an out crop of rock from the mountain side that gives the appearance that the mountain has a chimney. You drive over three miles up the mountain on some very twisting and narrow roads to reach the base of this natural beauty. You then get in an elevator, which was built inside the mountain, and start a twenty-six story climb. Once you make your way through the gift shop you are looking up two flights of stairs to reach the top. I am not a fan of heights, never have been and never will be. It is not so much a fear of heights as it is a fear of falling and coming to a very sudden stop. I grabbed the rail with a death grip, looked at nothing but the next step and made it to the top. I very carefully made my way to the center and looked up. What an a amazing view. You can actually see three different states from the top. You can see waterfalls, lakes and the beauty that is the NC mountains, but I was still looking for what I had come to see. I had to close my eyes for a moment and there she was, in my mind, I could see Lindsay and Jarrett standing possibly right where I stood. I could see her looking at the same beautiful mountains God had put here just for us to enjoy. It was worth the climb, it was worth the fear, it was worth it for me to be where she was. I have visited this area many times, and they were special because of the many family vacations I took as a child, but today was different. Lindsay had spent a week in Lake Lure with her mom, stepdad, her brother and best friend just days before she passed away. Some of the last pictures ever taken of Lindsay were taken on this trip. I just needed to be where she once was. As I said at the beginning of this paragraph, you spend a life time trying to remember.

A Father’s Grief is an outlet for me to try and explain how I am dealing with the loss of my daughter. How her passing has not only affected me but the lives of so many.  It is a means in which I have tried to heal my own heart, while trying to help others. Through the urging of family, friends and even strangers to publish my writings I have done just that. The book “A Father’s Grief – A Year of Healing” is now available through WestBow Press. Publishing this book was a bitter sweet journey, but it was a journey worth taking, it was a risk worth taking, it is a way to remember, but most importantly it is a way to heal.   

If you would like to purchase a copy of my book you can visit westbowpress.com and simply search my name, Brad Benton. You can also click the “Book” link on this website and it will take you to the West Bow Press page to order. You may also visit my Facebook Page, A Father’s Grief – A Year of Healing and click on the Shop Now link. If you visit my page please like and share it. A portion of the sales will go directly to the Lindsay M. Benton Foundation (lindsaymbentonfoundation.com) as we continue Lindsay’s legacy and help the charities she worked with.

I hope you were smiling.

I hope you were smiling.

What else can I say but “Thank You!!” Thank you to all that came out this Saturday for the second annual Lindsay M. Benton Volleyball and Corn Hole Tournament and helping us celebrate what would have been Lindsay’s 20th birthday. What an amazing group of volunteers that gave up their Saturday to come out to help and to support the tournament. Thank you to Captn’ Bill’s Backyard Grill and the amazing staff that took such great care of us and each and every person that walked through the gate. Thank you to each person that took the time to come out and play volleyball, corn hole and to purchase raffle tickets for such a great cause. The turnout this year was not what we had last year, but it was expected. We knew, because of the continued clean up, repairs, and heartbreaking loss of property due to hurricane Florence, the attendance would be down. We could not let this get our spirits down and we “as a foundation” pledged to enjoy the day, enjoy all that were in attendance and without mention, enjoy remembering our Lindsay Lou. The most memorable part of the day, by far, was the young man that won the bike during the raffle. When he realized he had won he went straight up to the bike, confirmed his name on the ticket and rode that bike right out of the door and all around the Captn’ Bill’s volleyball complex. To see the joy in this young man’s heart is a big part of what this day was about. I had to go outside and stop this young man and tell how happy I was for him. No matter the turn out, the day was a success. We raised over half of the amount that we raised last year, we met some wonderful people, we laughed, and we remembered a beautiful young lady, that just happens to be my daughter.  

Lindsay Lou, this was not a Tiffany’s, princess, or Barbie themed party like the ones you had in the past, but this party was for you. Happy birthday Sweetie, I miss you more than my heart can take sometimes. The gifts you received this year did not come in a nicely wrapped box with a beautiful bow, what you received were gifts of hope. Hope that a cancer patient will live to see another day and possibly celebrate their birthday one more time. The gift that a young person with special needs will have a fun filled day of activities and feel a sense of worth. The gift of life to someone that is on a long waiting list for a life saving transplant. The gift of knowledge for a student that will follow your dreams of being in the medical field. The gift of freedom to a art student to share their visions with the world. The gift of security that the cheer squad that you loved so much can do more, go more, and have more. A special gift you received this year will go to an outstanding organization, Samaritan’s Purse, as they help bring hope to the many people effected by hurricane Florence. The gifts that were given, maybe not to you, but through you will bring hope, value, life, knowledge, freedom, security, and a peace of mind that all is not lost. Gifts that were given from the heart with an unspoken love.

As I was scrolling through one of the many social media pages today looking at all the pictures and comments of the tournament I came across a post that truly captured what this is all about. A hymn written 145 years ago by a man that had lost almost everything. He lost his children to disease and a ship wreck. He lost his home, his business and his fortune to fire, but yet he still had faith, he still had the security of knowing no matter what stumbling blocks are placed in your path, no matter how much pain is in your heart,  there is always hope.

“When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul”

Happy Birthday Lindsay girl, hope you were watching and I hope you were smiling.



Let me start by apologizing for not posting a blog last Sunday, September 15th, things were a little hectic in this area. We were in the last days of dealing with hurricane Florence. We went several days with no power, no WiFi and no internet. I have lived in the same small town, across the Cape Fear River from Wilmington NC, my entire life. I have been through several tropical storms and many hurricanes in my fifty three years, but I have never lived through what hurricane Florence brought to our front door. This hurricane was large, it was powerful and it was slow. This storm brought rain unlike any storm I have ever seen before. In most cases a hurricane will make landfall and be gone in a less than a day, I am referring to the very first heavy rain band until the last warm breeze hours later. They usually come, dump inches of rain, do their destruction and leave. Florence must have really been tired from her journey across the Atlantic Ocean, because she decided to sit down right here on the entire southern coast of North Carolina and visit for a while. For two and a half days she poured rain from her dark nemising clouds, and her winds blew continually, only stopping as if she was taking a deep breath to blow again. 

I have seen the best in people and I have seen the worst. I have seen humans giving everything they have to help a neighbor and I have seen humans taking everything a neighbor has. I have seen people giving, because they have extra, and others having nothing. I have seen people taking from another, just because they can. I have seen damage from wind and I have seen devastation from water. I have seen entire homes flooded and everything within the walls of that home lost to the rivers, creeks, lakes and the 2 plus feet of rain Florence poured on our part of the world. I have seen first responders rescue families from their roof tops and I have seen people steal a family’s last gallon of gas from their generator. I have seen insurance companies, contractors and charitable organization helping the masses with answers, repairs, shelter and food. I have also seen the bottom feeders of the world trying to take the last dollar a family has pretending to be one of the good guys. Times like these bring out the good in so many, and unfortunately, it brings out the worst as well. The power workers, the linemen, the men and woman that leave their families to travel hours, even days, to come to our towns, our cities, our neighborhoods to help. The few that complain because someone else has power and they still don’t. These linemen put their own lives in danger trying to restore what we have come to take for granted and they do it for complete strangers.

The saddest day, for me, was Wednesday the 19th day of September. I received a call from my brother, he was at his storage unit and it had flooded. Almost two feet of water had filled his unit and several containers that held so many precious memories. All the memories of his children, the books, the journals, the photographs all destroyed. All the books that he and my sister in law had read to their children as they grew and saved to read to their grandchildren. The retirement memories from my brothers school, my grandfathers bible, my sister in laws hope chest that held so many cherished items. As I stood there and looked at years of memories stuffed in garbage bags, it broke my heart. I knew how much each and every memory meant to them. They kept saying over and over again, “It is just stuff, we still have each other.” No matter, it still hurts to see so many years of your life ravished, ruined and now residing in large black plastic bags bound for the county landfill. So many items never to be looked at or held again. So many things that will not cover the walls of their new home, so many trinkets and souvenirs that would bring a smile as it sat on a shelf, gone. My sister in law came over to me and gave me a big hug, I thought to myself I should be hugging her. Then she said these words, “We have lost a lot, but you have lost so much more.” What a loving and profound statement that fit our situation and the situation of so many after a catastrophic storm. Possessions can be replaced, houses can be rebuilt, new memories can be made, but nothing can replace the loss of a loved one.

Out of Order

Out of Order

I have thought about this topic many times over the past two years, and the sensitivity of discussing it. I briefly touched on this subject in my second blog “Take a Minute Before you Speak to a Grieving Parent.” I may lose a few readers over this, but I have to get it out of my brain.

How grief effects us all so differently and takes us down the many different paths of emotion. How to some, losing a parent is the same as losing a child. I know I may offend some people, I may step on some toes, but the one thing you have to remember is this blog is written by a father who has lost his daughter, not a man who has lost a parent. The pain of loss can never be taken away nor can it be compared to any other pain, but the level of pain and grief, in my opinion, when you lose a child is beyond comprehension by anyone that has not lived through it. 

There are so many levels of grief, so many stages of pain, and many ways it effects each person differently. There are as many ways to handle grief as there are days you have left to walk this earth. When you lose a loved one it hurts, no matter if the relationship was good, bad or indifferent they were once a part of your life, but to lose a child, I believe, puts you in a entire different category of grief. When you lose a parent you have lost your past. The person that laid the foundation for everything you are today. The person that taught you how to be a parent. Does that make it any easier, absolutely not. It still hurts. When you lose a child you have lost your future. You have lost all the dreams you had for that child, no matter the age. You have lost all the hope you had for their happiness, for their joy and for their future. The very foundation that your parents laid is now starting to crack. You have lost a part of yourself. It is almost like losing an arm or leg because in your mind you will never be whole again. I remember reading once that, “Losing a child is like putting a period at the beginning of a sentence.” In other words their life has come to an end before the story ever really began.

If you have lost a mother, father or grandparent, with all due respect you only know what its like to lose a mother, father or grandparent. You can only understand what another person that has lost the same feels. You only know the pain and grief that comes with the loss of an older loved one. Please understand in no way am I trying to disparage  the pain and grief that comes with the loss of a parent, or sibling. I can, as of now, say I do not know how you feel because I have never walked your path of grief, the grief you are feeling for your parent. That being said, no one can imagine what a person that has lost a child feels, what they are going through, or the depths of pain that ravage their heart, mind and soul without having lost a child of your own. 

I have lost all of my grandparents, Frank and Maylor Gore and Rockfellow and Ethel Benton, but I am still lucky enough to have both of my parents and my brother. My mom just turned seventy five. My dad is seventy eight, and can still out work me any day of the week. I don’t know the grief and pain of losing a parent, I don’t know how it feels to be without the people that raised me and taught me to be the man I am today. I don’t know what it is like to have your “go to” person gone from your life. There is one thing I do know for sure, and I pray it does not happen any time soon, but I hope one day I do know  what it is like to lose a parent. You see, I never want my parents to know what it is like to lose a child. I never want my parents to know the pain that almost cripples your body, paralyze’s your heart and empties your soul. I never want them to see their child laid to rest in a small plot of land with marble and bronze markers to remind people who now resides there. I don’t want my parents to live through the emotional nightmare of losing a child. I don’t want my parents to see what is left of my future vanish before their eyes. I don’t want my parents to wonder about what could have been. In this cycle we call life, our parents are suppose to bury our grandparents, we are suppose to bury our parents and our children are supposed to bury us. Your cycle of life is broken by the death of a child, the natural order of life has been disturbed by attending their funeral, and your world seems to end as you solemnly stand at their graveside. This is not supposed to happen, and that is why it’s different.

“At least they had a good life, they lived a long and full life, they are in a better place” are things, I would assume, someone who has lost a parent hates hearing as much as a parents that has lost a child hates hears hearing “I know how you feel” from someone who has never lost a child. There will always be loss, there will always be pain and there will always be grief in the lives of those left behind. But we should never compare one person’s grief to another. We should never claim to know how they feel unless we have been in their shoes and walked the same road of heartache. We should never, ever claim to know how they feel, because no matter the age of the loved one lost, no matter the relationship, no matter the cause of our grief, we all have our own journey of grief that can only be traveled alone. 


Pain Level, 10 Plus

Pain Level, 10 Plus

Pain as defined in the Merriam – Webster dictionary; a usually localized physical suffering associated with bodily disorder (such as a disease or an injury) also a basic bodily sensation induced by a noxious stimulus, received by naked nerve endings, characterized by physical discomfort (such as pricking, throbbing, or aching), and typically leading to evasive action. b acute mental or emotional distress or suffering 

Pain is registered in many levels and comes from many varied sources. Pain can come from all different directions and hit you when you least expect it. In some cases it can be bad enough to knock you to your knees. There is physical pain, such as a broken ankle, having a kidney stone or a toothache. Mental pain that comes from stress, the pressures of life or some sort of phobia. Pain from life experience’s such as a broken heart from an ended relationship. A doctors or nurse may ask, “How is your pain level from one to ten?” They may prescribe a pill to help ease the pain, or physical therapy to restore strength to the effected part of the body. A psychiatrist or therapist may ask you to describe your feelings to determine the underlying reason for your mental pain or anguish. Many people wear their pain on their sleeves for all to see, and some keep it all internal, never wanting others to know they are suffering. 

I have had the broken bones, kidney stones, the toothaches and ended relationships. I have had days I thought my head would explode from stress and pressures of everyday life. I have stood in a hospital room and watched my daughter leave this world. I thought I had been through pretty much every type of pain there was until two years ago today. On September 02, 2016 I walked into a church filled with over 800 people, standing out of respect for Lindsay and my family. As I write this blog, two years today we laid Lindsay’s earthly body to rest. That is a pain that exceeds all others, and like always I tried to keep the pain tucked away so no one can see. This day made it real, it made it final, she was gone, my Lindsay Lou was gone, forever. It does not matter if they are seventeen, twenty seven or ninety seven you still see that little seven year old girl holding out her hand for you, her dad. There are no cures for the pain you feel when you lose a child, there is no pill, no cream, no treatment, no surgery. There is nothing that can ease the pain of your heart breaking, shattering. No cure for the emptiness, the feeling of failure, failing as a father, to protect your child. I remember thinking to myself, “Why was I not there to protect her?.” I know in my heart we, as fathers, do our best to raise our children to make the right decisions, to think before they act, to make wise choices. We do this because we know we will not always be there to ward off the monsters that hide under their bed, or save the princess trapped by the evil queen in the castle tower. We will not always be there to hold their hand as they cross the street. We will not always be there when they are faced with peer pressure and decisions that may affect the remainder of their life. We have to trust we have done our best, we have to believe they did listen some of the time, but most importantly we have to have the courage to let them go. Whether you are letting them go to the movies, letting them go on a date, letting them go in marriage, or letting them go forever

 There are days like today when I will get quiet, I don’t have a lot to contribute to the world around me. I remember, I reminisce, and I reflect. There are times when I will catch myself just staring off into nowhere, looking at nothing, trying to find something.  Days like today when the pain is 10 plus. Days like today when I think of the lyrics by Brendan Graham in a song Josh Groban made famous. Every parent that has lost a child knows the peace and ease of pain when they feel the presence of their child, for awhile.

 When I am down, and, oh, my soul, so weary
When troubles come, and my heart burdened be
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence
Until you come and sit awhile with me”