It’s been three months

There is no time limit on grief. And, when it involves the death of your child, whether he was 5 or 50 makes no difference. The cycle of life has been disrupted in a way like no other.

When a parent dies, we feel sad, we miss that person with their counsel and advice, the hugs and the memories. But, we accept it because it is part of the cycle of life.

When a spouse, partner or even a sibling dies, again we feel sorrow deep in ourselves. We desperately miss that person. We mourn the shattered dreams of the future. We long for the companionship and the comfort that they brought to our lives. Eventually, we accept that, at some point, one of us had to die first and it happened to be the other one. It is sad but again, it is part of the cycle of life.

When a child dies there are no rules. It is awful when an infant or young child dies – either from illness or accident. We all feel awful that a young life was cut far too short before that child had a chance to live a full life – or much of any life at all.

Fathers feel grief deeply. Many don’t show it or say much, but the sorrow is there. Sometimes they are wrapped up in all of the “to do’s”, the practical matters that require attention, but they feel it deep within themselves even as they “do” and provide comfort to others.

If you are the mother of that child, grief takes on a whole other dimension. You carried that child for nine months. You endured the birth process and you were astounded that you ‘grew a person’.

The bond existed even before the first labour pang hit. You nurtured the infant and guided the toddler. You wept on that first day of school, graduation day and when the child left home. You wept again at the wedding and after the birth of your first (or tenth) grandchild. Mothers weep. We weep because time passes too quickly. We weep with joy at the milestones of our child’s life. We weep with sorrow as each milestone in their lives marks the passage of our own lives too.

When your adult child dies before you, especially when they chose to die because, in their mind at least, life was too unbearable to live, a piece of your heart is irrevocably shattered.

One day, when you walk down the aisle at the grocery store, you spot a display of what used to be your young child’s favourite lunch. So you weep, sometimes so uncontrollably that you have to leave the store rather than collapsing on the floor in a puddle of tears, wailing.

Another day, you open a cupboard and you see a silly sample bottle of booze that your adult son gave to you because he knew you liked rum. You can’t drink it now – it’s a link to him.

Family and friends try so hard to comfort you. There are hugs, gifts, cards and phone calls – all precious but none can bring him back. You are forever changed. Maybe, someday, the spark will return but it won’t be soon. This isn’t the person you thought you’d be as you “enjoy” your so-called ‘golden years’.

You watch out the window, and you hope you’ll wake and find it was all some horrid nightmare, not a fact. But it isn’t. And you have to learn to live again.

While the storm rages within you, winter descends outside as well and you hibernate – hoping for spring, sunshine, warmth and for life to return to the world and your soul. I never wanted to be defined as a grieving mother. I’m now a member of a club I did not wish to join.