As I read this blog (reposted below), several things the writer said really clicked with me. Although each loss is unique, I believe there are similarities in the journey of parents who have lost a child. One, as mentioned in the post, is that we initially wait for a day when the pain will go away. Pretty soon we realize, as the calendar turns from months to years, that it never goes away. No matter how many days or years pass, we will always feel the deep loss of having our child die.
Another similarity is that, at some point, we come to the realization that this IS our life now. It’s not an easy journey to reach that point, and I believe that it arrives for bereaved parents at different points in the journey. But, at some point, there is a deep realization and acknowledgment that this loss is permanent. That may sound odd to say, but there is a huge denial that sets in when a child dies. No, this can’t be real. My child can’t be gone. This can’t be my life now. How do I continue without my child? How can I live with this pain? We have to figure out how to make our lives “work” and how to make them worthwhile and meaningful while living with a huge hole in our hearts. The pain of losing a child never goes away. We just have to figure out how to weave the loss into the fabric of our lives. It is not an easy or short process, this learning to live without our child. But, our ONLY choice is to figure out how to do it.
Another similarity, I think, is knowing that, in spite of the horrendous pain of losing a child, we will always be grateful for the time we had with our precious child. I miss Jason more than words can ever say. That will never go away. Neither will the pain of losing him. I’m just so thankful he was born into our family. I’m so glad he is our boy, our precious Mr Jay.
Ten years ago, I spent my day in complete denial.
I spent the day posted at the bedside of someone who never made it on national TV. I spent the day cuddled up beside a small person the world knew nothing about. A person who didn’t change the hearts of thousands, or stir up emotions in millions. She was what most would call just another number, another drop in the bucket, another one of the seemingly endless statistics.
But she meant the world and more to me.
I don’t know why ten seems like such a monumental number. Like I have reached the top of the summit I have been scaling and can finally breath. As if ten is the magic number that will somehow make everything ok again. As if ten, the number, in and of itself -has something to offer.
When in truth, it doesn’t. Ten doesn’t mean…
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