Grief is Eternal

Recently I find myself attending a memorial service for a young man who’s life was cut too short. Music plays serenely in the background as those who knew and loved him gather to honor and celebrate his life. Beautiful poetry is read and speeches are given, a slide show of memories plays in the background and songs of remembrance lift spirits. 

Typically I cope with death well. Being raised Catholic I have always believed that what awaits us in heaven is so much better than life on earth and everything that happens is a part of God’s plan. But as I listen to the elegant words spoken and see the grief stricken family, a wave of nausea pummels me. I feel light headed, sweaty, as though I could vomit at any minute. But I keep it together. 

During the reception I continually fan myself and hope I don’t keel over. The tear streaked faces of people I care about tug at my heart strings. My emotions and those surrounding me are suffocating. My flight response is kicking in and I need to leave.

The minute my car door closes I descend into heaving sobs. My body shakes. I rest my head on the steering wheel and look down as to not make eye contact with any passersby. I cannot reign in my emotions; I feel out of control.

Eventually I pull myself together to make the drive home. Yearning to hear my husband’s voice, as he is the only person who can comprehend the emotion swallowing me up in this moment, I call him on his way to work. The smooth sound of his voice on the other end is reassuring and a calm sensation washes over me.

Up until I reach home and he’s not there. The sense of emptiness in a quiet house is unbearable and I find myself sobbing in my closet. Grief for the young man. Grief for his parents. Grief for his family and friends. My grief. Personal grief that I have put at bay for so long is raw and exposed.

You see, I was once the parent celebrating my child’s life. A mother should never have to bury her child. Never. I know all too well the sense of loss and hopelessness that consumes oneself after the death of your child. Searching for a sense of meaning where there seems to be none. The gut wrenching phone calls to family and friends telling them of our loss. Robotically making funeral arrangements. Pausing to think “this can’t be real”. Returning to robot mode because it’s easier than thinking and feeling mode. Feeling mode led me to drink a bottle of wine, but that might have been the first real night’s sleep I got in days.

Waking up each morning to the nightmare that is life: our son died. One minute he was sleeping in my arms and the next he was gone. The paramedics trying to revive him on our living room floor, the emergency staff at the hospital continuing the effort. Holding his lifeless body one last time in a sterile hospital room. These are scenes I can still see in my mind 9 1/2 years later.

See the thing is, grief is eternal. While it may lessen over time, it never truly goes away. There are moments in life that are unpredictable and catch you emotionally off guard. These are the times when grief is exposed. 

Each person deals with grief in his or her own way. There is no one correct way to cope. Just as there is no one way to give comfort to a grieving parent. If anyone in your life has experienced the loss of a child, just understand that grief knows not space or time. Even years later, we still need support.  We still need to know that someone is looking out for us and that our child is in the hearts of others. A grieving parent’s worst fear may be that the life of their child will be forgotten.

As I observed a beautiful celebration of life, I was simultaneously transported back to the day when my husband and I stood in front of our family, friends, and colleagues sharing memories of Braden with them. Giving attendees a glimpse of the passion we had for our baby boy and the despair over the loss of his life. It was an emotional service with so much love surrounding us. His life was short but changed us in ways we’re still trying to understand.