A few nights ago, during fellowship time at our little home group meeting, a couple of ladies mentioned that they were at the highest weight they’d ever been. My thoughts went to wondering exactly how many times I could have said that in the past 10 years since our middle son passed away. More times than I care to admit, that’s for sure.
A few days after our home group meeting, we attended a Celebration of Life service for a young adult son of some friends of ours, and the mom of this young man spoke and mentioned that she had gained 10 pounds in the month since her son had passed away. My mind swirled with thoughts of how unstable our lives feel when faced with such tragic loss.
I wanted to run up to her and hold her and tell her this is “normal”, though there is no “normal”, or so I’ve been told numerous times. Since running up to her wasn’t appropriate at that time, I thought I’d share what some of this journey through the sudden, unexpected, tragic loss of my child has looked like for me, and some of what I’ve read about other parents’ journeys.
It is totally normal –
To lose weight. (I’ve lost around 40 pounds about 3 times in the past decade.)
To gain weight. (Also about 3 times in the past decade.)
To want to sleep all the time. (I felt like I was so tired all the time, and often still do, but couldn’t sleep much.)
To never be able to sleep. (I still struggle to sleep peacefully through the night.)
To cry a lot. (Me. Me. And Me for the past decade.)
To not be able to cry. (Also, me, especially the day we were told of our son’s accident and the week between finding out and having to bury him. I hurt so bad I just wanted to scream and cry and wail, but nothing would come out.)
To want to talk and talk and talk about your tragedy. (I’ve heard of this, and I’ve known moms who lost a child and did this. But, this was not my experience.)
To not have any words for any one at any time. (Except for a couple of close and trusted friends, this is how I was for the first several years. But as the pain began to soften, I was more able to talk about our tragedy. For the most part, I need quiet and to process internally.)
To want to eat and eat and eat. (I’ve been here!)
To not care one bit about eating. (Also, been here, though not nearly as often:)
To feel like you are losing your mind. (As unsettling as this is, it is normal. Your world gets completely turned upside down and everything feels so out of place. Child loss is such an out-of-order loss that it is mind-blowing, for lack of a better way to describe it. You are not losing your mind, though it can feel like it for a long time. Sometimes this feeling still comes back to me. I recognize it as a “symptom” of grief, now, and it doesn’t usually undo me like it used to.)
To feel intense fear. (I was terrified another one of my children would die for quite some time after our middle son was killed in a car accident. I also was sometimes afraid to drive, feeling like if my child could die while driving himself to work on a rainy Monday morning, why wouldn’t I die while driving to the grocery store.)
To feel like you fear nothing. (For a long time after our tragedy, I pretty much alternated between intense fear and no fear at all. I remember often having the urge to just swerve over into on-coming traffic and “put and end to” all the pain I was feeling. When I mentioned this to my girlfriend once she had the fortitude to tell me that I probably wouldn’t die. Bad plan averted.)
To feel like you’ve lost your faith. (I’ve loved Jesus for as long as I can remember. Minus a few years in my teens, I’ve striven to walk faithfully with Him every day of my life. But when my 25-year-old son died, I questioned the very existence of God. I couldn’t reconcile an all-powerful and loving God with the tragic loss of my middle child.)
To be angry with God. (I felt completely betrayed by God. I remember saying to my husband shortly after our son was killed, “Why have I always tried to do the right thing? Why not just live however we feel like living if God can allow something like this to happen to someone who has always tried to be pleasing to Him?” This is a similar feeling to losing your faith, with the difference being, in my case anyway, that I had to forgive God for what I perceived as betrayal by Him. I also had to work hard at seeing life through a different lens than my short-sighted “quid pro quo” with God lens. What helped me the most in getting past this was to intentionally thank Him every day for all the amazing blessings I still had and have in my life because of Him.)
To have faith return. (This is my favorite thing to share in this list. It is also the most amazing and sometimes unbelievable. My faith not only returned, but I love God more than I can ever remember loving Him. I remember a day when my husband and I just looked at each other with awestruck looks on our faces and tears streaming down our cheeks and said, “I cannot fathom how this can be, but I love God more than I did before Israel (our son) died.” We were both just amazed that God could do that in the midst of our suffering, sorrow and anger. But that is the all powerful and loving God we serve.)
To lose friends, family and acquaintances. (One of the first things we were told by a grief counselor was, “Your address book will change.”, meaning the friends and family you associate with now will not remain the same. I didn’t believe him and even determined in my heart I would never let this happen. But it did. I think it cannot be helped. Pretending to be okay when you are not even the same person you were pre-tragedy is too exhausting. And there are too few people who can let a parent be who they are after the tragic loss of one of their children.)
And on that note:
To be easily annoyed, irritated and down-right angry. (Pre-tragedy, I was a fairly patient and compassionate person; I was a good listener and was able to listen without expectation of being listened to. For the first few years after our son passed, I did my best to continue being who I thought I was – a good listener, caring and compassionate, not in need of the same being reciprocated. After actively listening, smiling appropriately, nodding when necessary and replying compassionately only to get a dismissive and even disapproving look if I talked about the giant gaping whole left in my heart by the passing of one of my children, I’ve given up on trying to be that person to everyone I knew and associated with before I came to know tragic loss. I was told, many times during the first year after our loss, to “live authentically”; say “whatever you need to say”; “take all the time you need to grieve”; “there is no time line to grieving” etc. Why is all that only true for the first year and, possibly the second year? Because, from what I’ve experienced and read of other parent’s experiences, this kind of grief doesn’t just last a year or two. This is a grief that lasts as long as a parent’s love lasts – forever. It changes over time. It is softer and easier to carry. But it hasn’t lifted and healed like the grief I’ve experienced after the loss of grandparents, aunt and uncles, friends, parents and even a younger sister.)
To have the most ridiculous things said to you. (People-myself included- say such stupid things. A man we knew who had lost a young girl, a friend of our youngest child, came through the line at our son’s visitation and told me that people would say the most stupid things to us, but to let it be like water off a duck’s back – just let it roll off. I determined to be that way. But I’m not that way. It is just another exhausting unrealistic expectation for me to try to do that. So, I prayed a lot about things people said and still say. And then I realized I need to change my address book, just like our first counselor said would happen. We can’t control what people say and do, but we can control what we say and do. I had to give myself permission to take care of myself. I still have to do that sometimes. It isn’t in my nature to put myself first. But the wound left by the tragic loss of a child insists we do that. And it is okay to do that. (Within reason, of course.))
If you are on the path of living after one of your children has passed on, I am so very sorry. My heart aches for you, because I know the anguish caused by the loss of one of our children. I hope and pray you find some solace in my meager sharing.
I started doing research on the loss of a child within a few days of our son passing, because that is how I am wired. I have to learn about something new I’m experiencing. Some of the information I gathered has been incredibly helpful, some completely unhelpful, but most somewhere in between. The thing none of this research and learning has been able to do is change what happened. That is something I’ve come to the conclusion (probably hundreds of times) that I will never be able to fix, change or accept. I have to learn to live with it, and that on a daily basis. Some days are easier than others. But most days are challenging, as far as being happy and content are concerned.
I find great joy in my family – my husband, children and grandchildren. I rejoice greatly in the God who saves me, helps me, strengthens me, loves me and comforts me. I have plumbed new depths of faith I never even dreamed of pre-tragedy. And for that I am eternally grateful. My hope and prayer is that you will find this to be true, as well.
Some books that I found particularly helpful, though I found it very difficult to focus and concentrate while reading for quite some time (years) after our son died, are:
Life After the Death of My Son by Dennis L. Apple
On Grief and Grieving, by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
Lament For A Son, by Nicholas Wolterstorff
I Wasn’t Ready to Say Goodbye, by Brook Noel and Pamela D. Blair
Permission to Mourn by Tom Zuba.
The Bible, and it’s author, the living God, is the greatest source of all comfort, as written in 2 Corinthians 1:3-4:
“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”
I also found it incredibly helpful to read about near-death experiences and what people learned about heaven during their experiences. When our son was stationed in Japan, I did my research about that country (and the Navy) through him, listening intently to all that he was experiencing there. When he passed, I desperately needed to know, again, where he was/is and what he was/is experiencing. So, again, I researched it. Heaven is quite the place! I can’t wait to go there.
“Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth. For you died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is our life appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory.” Colossians 3:2-4
My Journey Through 