It has been 4 weeks and 2 days since that terrible call. It does not get easier. Yes, I can laugh. Yes, I can love. Yes, I can find joy. However, there is still a numbness that protects me from the overwhelming sadness and brokenness of losing my oldest son. It comes in waves and I never know when the waves of raw grief will hit. They may be triggered by a conversation or seeing something he loved. I never know, all I know is my journey through this life without him, has only just begun.
I have been reading many books about the unbearable grief of losing a child. Parents who have gone through this unbearable loss describe so much of what I am feeling. There is a kinship in connecting with those parents. In them, we see that God did not punish us by taking our child. We see they are great people, with great families. This horrid loss does not discriminate. It happens to parents from all walks of life and we never know when or if it will happen to us, until it does.
I never wanted to be in this club, but those other members are my greatest comfort. How can someone with an intact family truly console me? Please don’t misconstrue what I am saying. I am not saying, not to console someone who has lost a child because you have not. I am saying, there are things you should never say.
Don’t ever say you know how we feel because you have lost your mother or father or anyone other than your child. There is no word for the parent who has lost a child, because IT IS NOT NATURAL, it is not supposed to happen. I have lost my mother and father and I grieve them still, but the death of our parents is something expected. Our parents are supposed to pass on before us. Our children are not supposed to pass before us. You can never know the way it feels unless you have experienced it.
Instead, be a friend, bring a meal, offer a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on. Ask the person what they need. If they want to talk about their child, let them. If they want to talk about everything else, let them. If there are other children in the family, do something nice for them. They are seeing their parents in unbearable pain. The have lost their sibling. Their world is shattered too.
Don’t ever tell someone that has lost a child that they are laughing too soon or not soon enough. Don’t assume because someone is not walking around weeping, that they are okay. Trust me, they are not okay. Be mindful, don’t say you had the worst day of your life because you spilled coffee on your shirt. You don’t know about the worst day of your life, unless you have lost your child. A stained blouse can be replaced, you cannot replace your child.
Understand that a person who has lost a child may grow angry and lash out. They are struggling with the deepest hurt and pain. These emotions may rise up and need to be directed at something. Let them get it out, let them vent. Try not to get angry, but be more understanding of where it stems from. If they tell you that they screamed in their car alone, don’t say they should not do that or that it could have hurt someone else. I know how hurtful that is, because someone said it to me.
In one of my grief books, parents remembered how they screamed in the car and in the shower. Don’t tell me or any other grieving parent what we should or should not be doing. You have no idea unless it happens to you, and pray it doesn’t. I can tell you, you will probably be screaming in the car and shower if it does. Stop with your judgement. You do not know the broken heart of someone that has lost a child unless you have. There but for the grace of God go you. Be thankful, not judgmental.
Remember, no one knows what the next moment brings better than someone who has lost a child. We were all like you. In one moment, our lives changed forever. We will never be normal, nothing will ever be alright every again. We are changed, and our lives are changed forever. A hole in our heart will NEVER HEAL. Our lives will be measured by before and after our loss. Never take one moment for granted, because in one second you could be the newest member of this club. We were not born members.
The members of this club seem to bond almost instantly. The thing we share in common is so great, we know the pain and that fosters the connection between us. We validate each other’s feelings. We know what is like to be angry at God. We know what it is like to feel like we do not want to go on without our child. We understand we will grieve forever for the dreams that died with our child. We know how hard it is to see our child’s friends reach milestones that our child will not. We know what it feels like when someone says something that hurts us. We know what it feels like to know we will grieve this loss forever. We understand our grief is something will will manage, but it will be with us until the end of our days. We know what it feels like to be changed forever. We know what it is like to be a grieving parent.
We also regale each other with stories of dreams, signs and other things that tell us our child is still here, still with us. We need to believe and have faith we will see our child again. We need to hear the stories of others who have had profound, undeniable signs of their child’s presence. It is what we seek the most in my opinion. It brings me comfort more than anything else.
It does not get easier. Some days are harder than others. We never know when the waves of raw grief will hit. Even if we have a good day, it does not mean tomorrow will not be bad. It will never get easier. We know that, you need to know that.
