I just spent the weekend with a thousand people who have lost a child — possibly one of the most unnatural and painful things someone can experience, especially as a parent, grandparent, or sibling.
At the conference there were, of course, many tears. There were also smiles, hugs and laughter. And so much love. And although I couldn’t see it with my eyes, I’m sure there was also anger. Guilt. Resentment. Fear.
These are not just the experiences of grief; this is the experience of being human. Of being alive.
As humans, we have found countless ways to avoid the experience of being human. We can sleep through our life. But when something as unnatural and profound as losing a child happens, we are jolted awake.
In a moment, every layer of doing is pieced and broken away from our being, and we are left naked. Open.
This is painful. And we have learned that pain is bad. So we believe that grief is bad.
We call it a “wound.” We picture a deep cut. It doesn’t kill us, but it categorizes us. We are damaged goods. “Incompatible with life.”
But is life the thing to which we are incompatible? Or is it a certain way of living?
Could it be that those who have been jolted awake have been jolted alive?
What I see this weekend is a group of uncommonly alive human beings. Extraordinarily bright lights, uncovered and shining. Deep reservoirs of humanity, fresh and open.
We call it a wound, but I believe it would be more accurate to call it a well.
Often, when we talk about healing through grief, we describe something that looks like backfilling a well with dirt.
That is not healing; that is going back to sleep.
When a well is dug or re-dug, the best thing to do is to keep it open. To allow its water — its tears and laughter, smiles and anger, singing and crying — to nourish a world that thirsts for real life.
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It has been 45 years since the loss of our son. I’m not “over it”, I never will be. Getting over it would be like he never existed. I still have moments when am overcome with – what? I don’t know what to call it; but I will cry for a short time. If anything good has come out of this tragedy it is because his body parts which could be harvested went to help some people in need of them. It has also made me much more caring of other people. In my old age I have found a passion for writing on being kind to others is all that matters to the supreme being, if there is one, which I have chosen to call Old One.
Our son of 19years, and only child, died in 2004. This year marks a milestone were he has been gone longer that he was alive. Such a strange, empty scale. We miss him every day and wonder what could have been.
Our son Jonathan died may24, 2021. He was 15. Holidays are rough and milestones are grueling. There are lots of them. Drivers Ed which he would have done that summer, homecoming games and dances, proms, graduation last spring. Now he would be in his freshman year at college somewhere. Every milestone going by that he isn’t a part of is another loss. At least I’m not crying uncontrollably every day now. The holidays are coming up here soon starting with Halloween through new years and his January birthday. Sometimes when I take out the dog I feel the sun and hear the wind moving his windchimes and wonder what he is up to that day. This article resonated with me.
I lead a group of parents of adult children that died by suicide yet I too become overwhelmed with a gut retching scream from within 11 years later and it comes from no where. The sobbing is uncontrollable it may last for a minute or an hour always accompanied by the why? I’m left wondering what was going thru my 30 year old sons mind as he put that riffle in his mouth and pulled the trigger. God oh God why was he unable to reach out to me….his mother…someone that when he gave me cards were always signed thanking me for always being there for him.