At first, there’s a flood of “I’m so sorry” variations as soon as you mention the loss of your child. It’s only been a few weeks since you said goodbye. These common condolences, while considered thoughtful, seem to fall quite short. Maybe it will get better with time.
Soon you hear, “I know how you feel; I lost my _____,” when asked why you may be a bit melancholy. You know they mean well, but how could they possibly know how you feel? Why do they think losing a _____ is the same as losing a child? Maybe this, too, will get better with time.
After a while, either said, implied, or even in our own thoughts, we “should be over it” seems to echo. What exactly does that mean? We should no longer miss our child? No longer hurt because they are gone? Does being over it mean we’ve stopped crying? We shouldn’t talk about our child? We shouldn’t be grieving anymore? It seems to most often be the latter. It must be time now.
While for a lot of things the old saying “time heals all wounds” holds true, but it definitely does not when it comes to grief and a loss as significant as your child. It isn’t time that heals us. In fact, we don’t really “heal” at all because the grief never goes away. It just changes. Everything changes.
At some point in our lives, in school, or maybe after our grandparents pass, we learn there are 5 Stages of Grief. We are taught about each one: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. The way they are explained lends to the belief that we go through each stage and move on to the next. So why is it taking so long?
The reality is that we don’t go through each stage one by one. We bounce around, never “completing” any of them. Sure, almost all of us start in the Denial stage. What parent lives longer than their child? That can’t be right. Once you realize it is true, you’ve completed that stage. Except a few weeks, months, (or even years) later, you find yourself questioning that all over again.
We all certainly get into the Anger stage pretty quickly as well. We’re mad that we have to plan their services, pick out flowers, something for them to lie in, their clothes—the list goes on. Then angrier still that we cannot hug them again. Or hear their voice. Being angry all the time isn’t good for anyone, so eventually that calms down. We have now completed that stage. Then, after a while, something stirs it up again—usually a family event or a holiday. Here we are, angry that they are not here to celebrate with us.
Okay, but if we stop complaining about “x, y, and z”, we can have our child back, right? How about if we take their place? Too much? Fine, I’ll do “blah” if it just doesn’t have to hurt so bad! Obviously, none of that is going to work. I can’t speak for all, but I know for myself that after 18 years, I’m still trying to make a deal.
There’s no escaping the intense sadness and depression that come with losing a child. This stage, we have to watch a bit closer. Many of us tend to get “stuck” in this one. It’s okay to be stuck for a while in this stage. Just make sure you have something to hold on to. For me, TCF has been one of those things I hold on to. Family. Friends. While there are times I can let go a little, I can find myself needing to hold on again and again. Seeking professional assistance can be necessary as well. It’s not a bad idea to keep a list of assistance sources, as we may need more than one from time to time.
I’m not sure I like “Acceptance” much when it comes to grief. In my mind’s definition, I see acceptance as being okay or allowed, while acknowledgement is simply a statement of fact. In reality, they mean the same thing, but somehow it’s easier for me to acknowledge that my child is no longer here than to be okay with it or allow it. Neither is the equivalent of “being over” the loss or completing the Stages of Grief. Soon enough, I will be right back in Denial again.
Grief is fluid. There is no time limit. It simply changes. Everything changes. We change. We have to.
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I lost my son 2 weeks after Christmas in 2021, and then lost my mom in April that same year and I am still hurting especially now that the holidays are right around the corner. i feel like the person who invented the saying it gets easier over time as never lost 2 of the most important people in their lives. One that made you a mom who didn’t even make it to his 21st birthday and the one that gave birth to you on the original due date of your son. I get it they are in a better place, but us as a family is not our daughters had their senior prom and graduation that year and the 2 people that were suppose to be there to cheer them up were not there and that was hard. so most days I am feeling all the stages at once.
My son passed on 11/15/24 – I’ve been struggling to find a simple means to answer the question “how are you doing?” – it came into my mind, and I blurted it out to someone recently. “I’m brokenhearted now for the rest of my life”. My son had a lot of health issues, but none of that ever superseded his victories and his smiles and his unconditional love….he was love incarnate. I expressed this during his funeral, but what I didn’t realize was how true that was, and now, for me at least, love is also gone with him, at least for however many more days on this earth I’m to endure. I’ve even tried to say out loud things like “My son passed 5 years ago…” 10 years, 40 years….no matter how long into the future it’s never different and I know it won’t be. My biggest struggle now are those who’s definition of heartbreak is a broken relationship, a lost job, the loss of a parent even isn’t as profound as when your child must go. Everything about me now is different and permanently and irrevocably worse, and I think understanding that and figuring out how to live with that is all one can hope for.
Today marks 5 months since our 18 year old son went to Heaven. I have learned a lot about grace- for myself and for others. For myself, I can simply say excuse me and walk away of it’s a day I don’t want to answer the “how are you doing” question or risk having an eruption if I do answer. Grace towards other who cannot grasp the immeasurable pain associated with the obvious loss of his physical presence but also the secondary losses of no marriage for him, no children, no ____. I’m glad they can’t grasp it as I wouldn’t wish it on anyone and am so sad to know there are so many of us who have this shared experience and are doing our best to figure out who we are now that we are forever change. Personally, I can extend understanding better towards those who try to fathom what it may be like, compared to those who know about our loss and say nothing. That lack of acknowledgement or lack of effort to just say “I’m sorry”, especially from those who were considered friends, is worse for me.
My son killed himself on 11/6/24. He was 20 years old. He did it in front of me, his grandfather, his grandmother, and a family friend. None of us were quick enough to stop him, and I cannot get it out of my head. He was the sweetest, kindest, and saddest person I have ever known. He struggled with his mental health for so long, and I could never find him help. I feel like such a failure despite what everyone says. I was supposed to protect him, and I couldn’t save him. I feel so trapped, so lost, and like being here is so pointless now. I have family around. I know they love me and feel bad, but those I am around right now didn’t know my son. No one did. He didn’t let anyone in. Every day I struggle with feeling depressed and angry. With wanting to just disappear into the wilderness and avoid everyone forever. I don’t know how to continue without him. I know we aren’t supposed to be our children’s friends, but he was my best friend. We just got each other. How are we supposed to go on without our babies?