It Begins, Life Without My Child
I see my life as two pieces — the life I had before my son died, and the life after. The life before me is now foreign to me.
Without doing anything consciously or intentional, my life keeps moving forward just because I wake up in the morning and get out of bed. This new life is not easy. I feel my feet; they are mounted in cement. Heart and chest are heavy. I feel nauseous like when you have to make a speech or do something that makes you nervous. These feelings never go away. They are part of this new life. I see my life as two pieces — the life I had before my son died, and the life after. The life before me is now foreign to me. Even though I remember my son like he was just here at the house visiting, I know I will never get that life back. I am watching it drift away, gone, over the horizon.
Now, what to do, how to move on without him in my present world?
Even though I have worked my whole adult life, have a master’s degree, and have been able to contribute materially to the financial support of my family, my world is and was about my children. Every dream for the future was with them, being together with them as adults as they grew into their lives. My two children were four years and nine months apart; he was her older brother. We had him with us for almost twenty-four years. He was so gentle, patient, and caring with his sister. They fought, of course, because she teased and egged him on. As they got older, they become closer. He would brag about her to his friends and proudly hang her artwork in his apartment. He was so proud of her. In one instant, our world and dreams changed forever. His father and I lost one of the main purposes of our lives: to watch the boy we raised develop his own life. His sister lost her only sibling, someone who was, she supposed, to be with her to share new life experiences.
Many trips and adventures we had yet to take. Holidays to share. Weddings, births, life celebrations to share. All gone.
People who have not lost a child try to relate themselves to my experience. Some share what they would do and how they would feel, but really can’t and should not try. My therapist told me that most parents could not put themselves into that place to envision how they would feel because it would be too unbearable. I have been told by my therapist and several others that losing a child is the worst tragedy anyone should have to face. Only those who have lost a child can provide an opinion on this statement.
Now, what to do, how to move on without him in my present world? I spent the first three months going through all his things, his phone, computer, notebook, meticulously writing everything down. I talked with his friends and employees at his place of work, trying to find answers and understand his suffering. These efforts offered some clarity, but they did not help. I have a feeling of guilt that compounds.
he family that is left behind could have secondary tragic effects because of the shame, guilt, anger, and blame survivors feel. I feel all these things in addition to denial and longing for him.
With the recent release by the Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) of an alarming increase in suicide statistics and celebrity deaths from suicide, there has been an increase in media coverage on suicide prevention. An ABC News chief medical correspondent, Doctor Jennifer Ashton, shared on “Good Morning America” her personal experience when her ex-husband took his life. She said the family that is left behind could have secondary tragic effects because of the shame, guilt, anger, and blame survivors feel. I feel all these things. I am right there with her. These are my daily struggles in addition to denial and longing for him.
I will miss seeing him teach his sister things he was good at like dancing, driving the boat, and cooking. I will miss the two of them together in the kitchen talking about the latest Marvel movie, playing croquet, darts, and ping pong.
I miss him. I miss his hugs and his saying, “I love you too.” I miss his smile and humor. I miss talking with him about the current events and his views. His sharing the latest podcast he listened to, a forever scholar. I miss family dinners. I miss his sharing with me about a new musical artist he liked, a new playlist he created, or comedian he liked. Laughing together when we would watch the highlights from a “Saturday Night Live” that aired the week before. I will miss seeing him teach his sister things he was good at like dancing, driving the boat, and cooking. I will miss the two of them together in the kitchen talking about the latest Marvel movie, playing croquet, darts, and ping pong. I will miss seeing him dance; he loved to dance and was good at it. I will miss seeing him elegantly glide down the ski slope. I miss seeing how great he always looked. He had the most beautiful hair and such a sense of style. I miss the simple things he would let me do for him, like go grocery shopping with him. The list goes on and on.
I encourage seeking mental health services but it takes an effort to find the right fit.
So, I get out of bed every day for my daughter. I want to do the things that help her through this. I encourage seeking mental health services. It was an effort to find the right fit, but I think we are there now. Mental Health directories are vast, and they default by the distance from your location. You cannot sort on the category “bereavement of a child due to suicide.” The professional bios are too generic, and it is too time-consuming to research.
My first encounters with a mental health professional were them listening and hugging me at the end of 45 minutes. These sessions were helpful at first but not ultimately what I needed. I finally ended that relationship after several debacles on their end for things they said to me, did not do, and their inability to work with the short-term disability agency. I then saw a therapist referred from a support group. This therapist spent the first 25 minutes talking about her billing practices, so she did not have to deal with insurance.
I would ask these providers for medical materials on specific subjects. They would never follow through. Finally, I found someone who would. It was a stressful and lengthy process. Because my daughter is over eighteen, it was hard to help her through the medical treatment access process and insurance due to privacy laws. It is so burdensome and foreign to someone of her age. I could see where at some point she would be tempted to give up.
I wish there were a way to leap forward in time to when I am near the end of my life and able to stay in that future time. I would have lived my life; that future place would be easier.
Everything seems so hard to do, and it feels like a constant fight. I wish there were a way to leap forward in time to when I am near the end of my life and able to stay in that future time. I would have lived my life; that future place would be easier. I have to fight to receive short-term disability benefits. The outsourcing agency had little understanding of the debilitating effects of grief. The mental health professionals determining my short- term disability extensions seemed to think the outcome would significantly change from week to week, so they held out to get the latest doctor notes, missing the payroll cut-offs; a month would go by without pay. It was not until I started documenting “on the record” the unfair treatment by the agency and the Human Resource (HR) department, that I did get someone to listen. In the meantime, all of that fighting to be treated correctly takes a toll on my mental state. At the time to curate my son’s grave marker, the cemetery had little understanding of how to work with a family grieving for a young person. We worked with the cemetery at first as we did not know where else to go. It was the most frustrating month. Thank goodness for a friend who had also lost her son, who went through a similar experience; she connected us with a monument company that was more capable. These were things I just never thought I would have to fight for, let alone deal with, at this time in my life.
My therapist said I should let friends and family do things for us. Sometimes it is just hard to talk or be with people. It requires so much energy. I am so appreciative of those who keep asking.
I am so thankful for our brave friends who walk into our house and continue to be with us while we are grieving. I am so grateful for the friend who pulled off to the side road to find a survivor’s support group and was steadfast in getting me there. I am so appreciative of the friends who take us out to eat, invite us into their home, and want to know how we are doing and will let us talk about our son, who allowed us to laugh and cry. I am thankful for the extended family who calls me on the hard holidays, listen to me cry, rant and rave, and pass no judgment, and ask the deep questions to get me to open up to relieve emotions. I am so thankful for those who just text they are thinking of me, for those who keep asking can they clean my house, go grocery shopping, weed my garden, go on walks with me. My therapist said I should let them do these things. Sometimes it is just hard to talk or be with people. It requires so much energy. I am so appreciative of those who keep asking.
NAMI has published a version of this story on their website as part of the 2018 Suicide Prevention Awareness Month
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Mary Beth | 30th Aug 19
Thank you for this. Your words resonate.
Tara | 25th Apr 24
Exactly how I feel in the morning when I wake up after losing my fourteen year old son.
Sue W | 6th Sep 24
I just lost my son unexpectedly due to seizures. Your words are true