GRIEF – I compare it to a tsunami hitting the shoreline and destroying everything around it that once was there. When I heard of my son’s death I was hit by that tsunami and pulled under the churning water. Total destruction in my heart and mind. Day by day the waves would pummel me and then soften. This is not a shoreline I can leave. The waves come in gently on some days and then on other days may knock me off my feet. Grief never leaves. But it becomes a part of my life now that I can count on reminding me of the loss of my son and the wonderful memories I have of him.
No one wants to be in the position of needing to grieve, yet we all do, and will continue to do so. Whether it is the loss of a dream, a friendship, a marriage, a financial loss, or … the death of a loved one – grief is a part of life.
At this stage of the game – two years after the death of my youngest son, Chris, I have found grief to be a constant companion who will nudge me with memories of the times we shared.
In the beginning, I was flooded with questions and wondering if I could have somehow prevented his death. All the what ifs and the imaginings of his pain both inside and out tormented me and left me in a constant state of hopeless helplessness and despair.
I knew that I was spiralling down because doing simple things, like eating, or even breathing, was something I had to consciously tell myself to do. In fact, it was the voice of my son echoing in my ears to remind me to BREATHE. BREATHE Mom … as he had told me several times (because he noticed I had a tendency to breathe from a shallow place) that began to help me heal from the loss of him on this Earth.
The nights were the worse because I wasn’t able to have taken away his pain. I tried, but he refused. He didn’t think he was that sick. I didn’t force it or “take charge”. Never mind that he was a 33 year old man. “I’ll be fine Mom. I just need to sleep.” … And sleep he did. Chris died of sepsis from pneumonia. He had a high pain tolerance and didn’t want to bother anyone.
Those tormenting memories were blurring out the memory of my son. All the talks we shared, the laughs, the times we spent at lunch together. Everything was fading into oblivion along with his presence of love and kindness. I had to make it stop!
Like the waves of the Tsunami eventually fading and the massive waters moving out to sea, I began to see how much damage was done, and what I needed to do to pick up the pieces of my soul and heart that lay shattered in every direction.
The painful memories did not go away all at once. It’s been a continual work to challenge them. I challenge them with gratitude. I give thanks to God for giving me Chris as a son, and for all the times we shared. I thank God for the hilarious conversations and marvelous insights Chris shared with me.
Slowly, I have become aware that the waves that use to knock me down with each hit, have become less and less forceful. Instead, as I walk along this beach of life, with its ebbs and flows, I’m reminded with each rolling wave, to give thanks for each memory that surfaces. It’s as though the waves of grief now say, “Remember this? Chris would laugh at that … I can hear him now … I can see him now … I can feel him now …” And I do feel him. I feel him walking beside me, telling me that he is surrounded by love, joy and peace. That all his questions have been answered and he is in a wonderful place …. and that he will share this with me someday. But for now … BREATHE Mom … Just breathe.