It’s been 5 years, 9 months, and a few days since my son Kevin died.
I now feel like I’m ready to move forward with my life.
This feels like nothing short of a miracle! Apparently, my position being eliminated, losing my insurance, and needing to move, were exactly what was required to give me the space and time for healing to arrive here.
I want to say a huge thank you to those who believed in me and respected me and my process. It means more than you know! I only have a few friends left. I apologize for not being there for you. While I was struggling to breathe, most gave up on me.
Maybe I’ll write about my process at some point just in case it can be helpful to someone else.
And I want to say from the onset. There is no moving on or getting over losing a child. Ever.
I realized this after only a couple of months had gone by that it could not get better. It got worse. Grief remains messy, selfish, and complicated. (At least mine is. Grief is different for each person) It’s Grief with a capital G. It’s capital G because whether I like it or not it permeates my every pore, distorts my thoughts, and hides itself in the back of my throat and the corners of my eyes, just waiting for the most inopportune moment to emerge as a painful lump I can’t swallow and blinding tears at the least provocation. Sometimes it keeps me in bed all day. I will feel the phantom pain of my lost firstborn son in my body with every step I take. This is not only emotional. It’s visceral and supported by science. [https://www.livescience.com/62930-why-mom-keeps-baby-cells.html]
But the subject of this writing is surprising, even to me! You see, I’m emerging from my chrysalis (cocoon) of grief only to discover I’m angry! Curled up in my fetal position and concentrating on surviving I was too weak to even know I was angry, but I was. I guess I turned it inward (as one does) and it added to my already paralyzing Depression. I want to clarify that my anger is not just for me but to advocate for all grieving mothers.
But I’m not weak anymore! And with each tremble and flutter of my newly formed wings, my confidence grows. Buckle up, here are my grievances:
It takes a special kind of arrogance to judge a grieving mother.
Oh yes. I have felt so much judgment. I feel like I’ve been kicked repeatedly while I’ve been down.
I’m not sure why anyone feels like they have the right to judge someone else anyway, let alone such a personal situation. Am I overly sensitive? Absolutely. Do you have any idea how hard it is to go through a metamorphosis?? I literally feel my loss and the change it demands of me in the nerves of my skin.
I feel like I have been judged for everything: how long it’s taking me to get it together, how I should be going to a therapist, how I should be taking antidepressants, any personal decisions I’m making, in short, how I’m doing Grief wrong.
I guess I should not be surprised by this. In our culture, when mothers give birth they usually do not have enough support, having to rush back to work before their hearts, minds, and bodies are ready. Why would mothers be extended consideration when their children have died when it was not even extended to them when they were born?
No one can see my heart, my mind, my memories, or feel my emotions. I have a hard enough time figuring them out for myself. Yet I have had those very close to me, even those who don’t have children or even own a vagina, who feel they know what’s better for me. Someone very close to me actually asked me when Kevin had been gone for only 3 months “Are you better yet?”
How Kevin died doesn’t mean my Grief is any less legitimate.
It’s really kind of sick that I have to say this. Why do I even have to justify the mere existence my Grief, especially to family members and those closest to me. I had Kevin right before I turned 19. I grew up with him. Kevin’s life and death was complicated and a tragedy for everyone. Kevin’s life was destroyed by schizophrenia. But because it was Schizophrenia that took his life this does not mean his life was less valuable than anyone else s. The lack of humanity extended to my firstborn hurts my soul. It remains very traumatic for me that my son starved and drank himself to death-the worst kind of suicide. I still wake up in the night hearing his last breath when they took the ventilator off. How dare anyone intrude their opinion on such heartbreak! I can’t help but wonder if he had lived a normal, productive life and had died from cancer or a car accident, for example, would I have been treated differently.
For me, one of the worst things anyone could say to me is “He’s in a better place.” I doubt if there is a mother anywhere who thinks there is any place better for her son than being alive near her (but again, each person is different, so it might be okay for someone else).
A month ago I was wondering if it was possible for me to ever find joy again. Now I can feel Joy just from opening my eyes in the morning. And the miracle is lost on those I disappointed long ago.
But why did it take so long to get here? Factors I believe affected my ability to Grieve and move forward include:
Not having compassionate support from many of those closest to me because they were too busy judging me and Kevin
Not having a funeral
Not having my own home, where I could bring his ashes and create a garden, or plant a tree, and have a place to visit him
His wife, Amanda, remarrying on his death date. I don’t know why she chose this date to remarry. You would need to ask her. This makes this day even more painful for me for the rest of my life.
My grandson was adopted. Of course the more people who love him the better. But this was done without even a word to me or any of us.
Not having contact with my sons’ children. I’ve reached out.
The judgment that Kevin received while he was alive (that his was a moral failing and not a medical condition that needed treatment) has been extended to me.
I won’t sit long with my anger. But I needed to acknowledge it. I’m going to leave it right here with the remains of all of my painful and difficult work I’ve done in the shadows – my chrysalis. I don’t need it anymore. And honestly, your judgment and lack of compassion say more about you than they do about me.
I’m just waiting for my wings to dry, for I have places to go.
I’ve emerged from the shadows, the dark, with a grateful heart, finally knowing my worth.
And if you want to know where to find me in between my inevitable faltering, stumbling, and fluttering, look up ya’ll! You’ll find me soaring!
My Life as a Tumbleweed 