I Am a Grieving Mom

I can clearly remember how I felt pre Noah dying. I had both my boys living at home, I had a husband that would laugh often, friends reaching out and wanting to spend time with me, family that would laugh and celebrate when together. I would do crazy snapchats with Matthew and we would belly laugh together. I volunteered, I engaged with people, and was really quite fulfilled. So much has changed. My husband doesn’t have that light air about him anymore, the friends lives have returned to normal, where mine is now a different normal, and the family still gathers, but it isn’t anywhere near the same.

To most, a grieving mom is someone that lost their child to death. This is a very simple way to explain what it is, but really a grieving mom is so much more than that. Their entire being, as they knew it, is no more. The weight that they carry is so heavy, yet not a burden, because it is the weight of their loved one. It is the weight of losing my son, and it is a reminder every day, of what use to be.

I am still a mom. I always will be, but it feels so different now. Never in my life have I felt awkward about talking about my boys, I talk about them all the time! The difference is that one is no longer here. For the first time, I felt uneasy in a conversation with a stranger about my children. The connection was Matthew, and they were asking about him, where he is, how is he doing. That was easy. Then they talked about their children, and when done, there was the pregnant pause like “it is your turn now to talk about your other child.” I felt a wave come over me, with a lightheadedness because this person didn’t know about Noah. It isn’t as easy as it seems telling someone that your child died. In that millisecond you are asking yourself whether you should tell them, and if so, then what? Maybe you then blow up the whole conversation because they sure as hell weren’t expecting that! Would you ever strike up a conversation with another parent, expecting to hear their child died? Probably not. If we had our way, we would talk about him to whoever would listen because he is US. But, not everyone wants to hear about it. That is the truth. It is not a bad truth, but rather an understandable one. We share the joys of having had him here on earth, but in that same moment, our face registers such sadness that it makes others uncomfortable. That is okay, because no one should feel comfortable with the fact that a parent lost a child. That just isn’t how life is suppose to happen.

An old high school friend posted this past week that they lost someone very close to their family, who was also a young adult. I must admit, that in the past, I would have felt horrible for the family, but I would carry on. Now, I hear about someone else losing a child, and I cry. I cry because I relive it, and I cry because I know exactly how the mom of that child is feeling. I can feel her heart ripping apart, and her exhaustion from not being able to sleep, and her rollercoaster of emotions. I can see her in my mind, going through the motions, planning a service, receiving flowers and cards and reading them, yet not seeing a word. I see all the people around her day and night, trying their very best to support her, and hold her up and love her. I see her not remembering things a minute after the fact, and I can feel her heart. She will manage to do the things she needs to and then once the service is done, she may do like I did and say to herself “well, that’s it. Now what do we do?” I couldn’t get this mom off my mind, so I sent her a private message. I told her “I GET IT!” I am in the same hell as you, and I am here for you whenever you need someone to talk to that ‘understands.’ She may reply, she may not, but I had to make sure she knew she was not alone.

You know what you do when you ask yourself “now what”, you grieve. You will grieve everyday for the rest of your life, while you are on this earth without your child. The child loss grief is a different demon from the other forms of grief. It is so very personal because you grew this human inside of you, was connected to you, so it makes it understandable why it is always there like a nagging headache. I can be having a day that feels normal, then I get in my car and I am driving along, and it jumps up and sucker punches me, right in the gut. I get the “butterfly” feeling you may get in your stomach when you are nervous or excited, but this butterfly feeling is cold. My entire system of organs goes ice cold. It washes over you, and brings tears and fear and anger and resentment and that fresh heartache all over again. It is like living in hell, but on earth among the living. I am not trying to be dramatic when I say these things, but rather I am wanting people to hopefully feel and understand what it is like to be a grieving mom every single day. I would not dare anyone to try to imagine, because I think if they did, they would feel scared to death from the emotions and trauma it brings with it.

Life is moving forward, as it would, but not as I had imagined it should. I have changed. I know this. I am more emotional now than I ever was. I am acutely aware of who is still in the “deep” with us, but I also understand those that can’t be in it with us. There is no blame, but rather loneliness. Regardless of the fact that my child died, I still own 50% of the responsibility for allowing some relationships to quiet down, and hibernate. I still love those that have chosen that path, and I ask you to understand that just getting up some days is difficult, so to try to keep relationships alive is tiring. However, my door is always open for you.

Perhaps the one thing that I have gained by going through this hell, is more compassion and understanding. We don’t know what each individual is dealing with on a daily basis. Maybe it is a death, or a relationship breaking up, or job stresses, or just life as it is today for them. It is true that we are all responsible for our own happiness and we cannot put the expectation to fill that need on to someone else. It is not fair to rely on others for that. Each day, I try to find a positive in it for myself, because that is on me. It isn’t my husband’s responsibility, or my son’s or my colleagues. I just wish that some days it was easier to find it. On those days that I can’t seem to find much of anything, I remember that I have an amazing son, that although he isn’t physically walking this earth with me, I can still hope that he is beside me.