The COVID virus gave us a new condition known as Long-haul COVID. Although the virus may be long gone, the person is left with persistent symptoms from the disease. These unlucky individuals are now being called “long-haulers.” Having just passed the 13th anniversary of my son, Danny, I realize that I have become a grief long-hauler. The sharp edge of grief may be gone, but I still carry the pain and emptiness of Danny’s death with me every day.
My grief has taken so many different forms during the last thirteen years. There were the early years of gut-wrenching pain and uncontrollable tears. Then there were the years where the pain and tears were less, but looking back on memories always brought on fresh waves of grief. Then I reached a point where the memories became more of a comfort and the tears came only when something triggered my grief, like hearing a song that Danny used to play on the drums. So now, thirteen years in, I believed that I had reached a plateau in my grief – always there and always the same. But I am finding that that is not the case. My grief has morphed again into something different.
As bereaved parents discover, the loss of a child is much more than the loss of the child’s physical presence; it is also the loss of hopes and dreams for the child. It is a loss of the present and the future. So in 2012, I lost all the things that I had hoped for in Danny’s future. First and foremost, was his recovery from substance use disorder. Then there was college and the hope that he could fulfill his dream of becoming an EMT and firefighter. I had hoped that he would be able to have a happy and healthy relationship with someone. I don’t think I consciously thought about marriage and children, but I am sure that that may have been in there somewhere. While I have always recognized these losses, I had a new realization the other day. Enough years have passed since his death that the future that I imagined for Danny has become the present in which I am living. The hopes I had for him were abstract, they lived in my imagination. But now I am faced with the reality of those expectations not being met and the hurt of that loss hits hard. It is the difference between thinking that those things will never happen for him and the truth that they didn’t happen for him. Perhaps this is too subtle a distinction, but it feels harder to accept this in-my-face reality.
What does this new grief look like? It looks like the young family in church with their two small children and their grandmother. It is the wife and family that Danny won’t have and the relationship with grandchildren that I don’t have. It is the conversation with friends as they talk about how their kids are helping with the care of their grandmothers and are getting married and having children of their own. It is the Christmas cards with my friends’ now extended families. It’s the void that memories can’t fill.
Those of us who are grief long-haulers are still suffering, though it may not look like it to others. Time may smooth out the raw edges of grief, but its passage also presents us with new losses. We are continually challenged to find ways to cope with these losses. Expressing my feelings in a journal or through poetry helps me lighten the weight of my grief. The passage of time also challenges us to find ways to stay connected with our child(ren). I found that it is harder to keep Danny’s memory alive now that we have moved to a different town and are spending time with people who never knew him. It also means that I can no longer go to the cemetery on his anniversary and leave the single red rose on his grave as I have done for so many years. I need to get creative in order to keep that connection alive. On his recent anniversary, we went to a restaurant that we visited on a family vacation and where we had an experience that became a part of Scott family lore. Danny had written a story for school based on our experience at that restaurant with his own twists and exaggerations of the event. I took that story and read it out loud at the restaurant. It helped me feel closer to him and was a reminder of his wonderful sense of humor.
Long-haul grief is real and those of us who are long-haul grievers know it. The hole in our hearts will never heal and our love for our child will live as long as we live. To those of us who say, “When will you get over it?” we will proudly answer, “Never!”
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Hi Joan,
I’m also a long-haul griever. My son 17 year old son Mikhail passed away on March 5, 2003, just 10 days before my son Joey was born. Joey is now 23.
Many people don’t fully understand what this kind of loss feels like. Because of that, so many of us carry our grief quietly and often alone.
This year felt especially hard because I can feel my grief changing again. Even after all these years, it still shifts in ways I don’t always expect.
I just wanted to thank you for writing this article. It meant a lot to me and truly helped.
I too am a long haul grieves, lost my 37 yr old son BUDDAH (Christopher) 3/3/13. 6 month later had open heart surgery, ya think my heart needed fixing? I have had so many illnesses since he passed, almost didn’t make it last November & still experiencing a slow recovery. Thank u for this article, made so much sense to me. How do we get it posted on FB to share w/other Angel Moms? Bless you
Hi Joan, I am also a Joan. I wouldn’t say that I’m a long hauler, I consider myself a lifetime hauler. My first child died in a car accident at 5 years old , I was 24 starting a new family, a new marriage, a new house ,Oh the dreams I had…not knowing what this new life was going to give me and my daughter died. I looked at my son, how could I possibly go on ? Eric was 3 years old at the time and thought to myself God please don’t do this again. Eric grew up to be a man and married with two children . Not the future that I dreamed about but the future I accepted. Then Eric died I distinctly remember standing in my bedroom when my daughter died looking down at my beautiful son and wondering if it would ever happen again . My life is totally been out of order you could say I’m a lifetime grief hauler.