Up There (at the Cemetery) Again????

     When visiting a cemetery, it isn't difficult to find the grave sites of children. They are among those with flowers, balloons, lights, seasonal decorations and even toys surrounding the stones. All of the sites pictured here have been in place for at least a couple of years, yet they are still visited regularly. It begs the question of "How can these families keep grieving so deeply?"
          The answer, however, is not rooted only in grief, but also by identity. Parents and grandparents do not stop being "mom or dad" or "grandma or grandpa" when a child is no longer living. They continue in those roles for years, probably until they themselves die.
           I once read a story about a young man who visited his mother's grave from time to time. Each time, a nearby grave was brightly decorated with flowers and balloons. It was the grave of a child. As time went by, he found himself at the cemetery once or twice a year, because members of his family had grown old and passed on. Always, the little stone was freshly decorated. Finally, when he himself was an old man, he found that the little stone at the cemetery was not decorated. Curious, he walked over the the plot and saw that the child's mother had died at the age of 97. It was obviously she who had tended to her child for all those years.
Decorating at the cemetery is not the only way we continue to be the child's family, however. I had an uncle who died around the age of forty. My father kept many pictures of his brother, and of him and his brother together. My aunts talked of him, and my grandmother, particularly, told of how he entertained children by giving them "horsie" rides, reciting rhymes, and singing songs. My memories of him were very clear. Only recently did I discover that he had died before I was two years old! There was no way I actually remembered him in as many settings as I believed, and yet I have a clear picture of who he was and the things he did within the family.
          When a child dies, parents do not stop being the child's parents, and grandparents do not stop being the child's grandparents. For most of us, we continue to be caregivers, not of the child, but of all that keeps the memories of the child going on. That child will live in memory as long as the last person who knew him or her lives. So, continuing the memory whenever appropriate means that, at least in spirit, the child lives on. We are being responsible parents.

What Is the Worst?

       I went to my first grief support meeting believing that I had suffered the worst tragedy one could face. I expected support, because I knew all of the people there had experienced the death of their child, and I was offered deep understanding as well as support.

       As I listened to each person tell his or her story, I started comparing the sadness in regard to how each loss had occurred. Accident, suicide, murder, infant death, illness – I hadn’t thought about the range of tragedies. It occurred to me that perhaps some experiences were more tragic than others.

       One person told about watching her own child ride his tricycle into the front of a moving car. She kept saying she should have kept a better eye on him.

        A man told about going up into the attic of his home several months after his son died and finding the bullet the teen had sent through his own head. It seemed like such a terrible ramification!

       A woman described how hard it was for her because her infant died before there was any interaction between she and her baby. She envied the rest of us because she had no wonderful memories to relive.

       My husband and I shared that one morning our son said “Bye!” and we never saw him again.

       Then came the clincher: The leader told about her baby that died of Sudden Death Syndrome, and then she described how her teenaged daughter had died in a car accident. That was worse than losing one child: She had lost two children!

       Several years ago, some friends of ours lost their child to brain cancer. After the funeral I said to the mother, "I can't imagine how hard it must be to know your child is dying." She looked at me and said, "Oh, but I got to say goodbye, and you didn't." I wasn't convinced, but I admired her grace.
       My cousin's daughter and baby granddaughter died in a freak drowning. I was speechless and not just a little angry that a simple sign might have prevented the accident. But when I got to the funeral, he took me to view the casket and said, "Isn't that just the saddest sight you've ever seen?" It was, for him and for me.

       The truth is, each situation is, at least to the parent, the worst. There is no comparison. The loss is so profound it cannot be measured in anyway. And yet, if we look hard enough, we can find some little sliver of relief.

       Now as I look back at the more than 20 years since our son’s death, I realize that not only is each situation of child loss unique and profound, so is every other grief experience. My mother died when I was 21 years old and that was devastating for me. My best friend died when we were in our 30’s, and that was such a lonely grief. My parents-in-law died, and I was very sad, as I was just when my father died. Each grief carried a different response, but they were all full of sadness.

        Grief can extend to other losses besides death: There is the loss of a relationship, a job, a beloved pet, or even certain activities.
       As I write this, I don't want to diminish the nightmare that is the death of a child. It leaves a scar for the remainder of a parent's life, and it calls upon all of the resources a person can find to just cope with what is left of life. The death of a child takes its toll for years (someone told me it takes seven years for the deep pain to subside, and I found that to be true for us). But as we cope during that long period, we need to understand the grief of others as well.

       We cannot compare grief. We might compare shock, loneliness, confusion, anger, but grief manifests itself as the worst thing to happen at a given time to one specific person. We must understand that expressing sympathy is a very personal way of comforting a relative, friend or acquaintance, and to express that sympathy without comparisons includes understanding that person is feeling that they are in the very deepest of sorrows.

Another Anniversary

        October 27 was the anniversary of our son’s death. Many of the words people said to me right after he died foreshadowed things I’ve learned in the 22 years that have passed.

       “You’ll see him again.” I’m quite sure most people were talking about my own death and some kind of glorious reunion in Heaven, but I have seen him again many times, in my thoughts, my dreams and my memories. I can see his face, at any age, with its expression of interest and curiosity. I have heard his voice, once in a while singing in his deep bass voice one the one or two occasions when he wanted me to play the piano while he sang through something.

         Often it was his calling my name. Many times I would be napping, only to hear him say loudly, “MOM!!!” Every time I would wake up startled. This happened both before and after he died.

        I also hear his voice when I think about how he would react to something, or a typical comment he might make. The first time this happened was at his funeral. The church balcony was filled to almost overflowing with his friends. After his best friend presented a eulogy, the entire balcony sniffed in unison, followed by 50 noses blowing into tissues. I heard our son’s voice and saw a frown on his face. “How disgusting!” I imagined him saying with humor.

          Most of the time I would “see him again” as he played or sat alone in his room, outside, or in some unidentified setting.

         “Life Goes On.” That phrase always made me feel a little angry. While it is true, I don’t know that people fully understood how complicated “life going on” would be. Yes, life did go on, but with an entirely different context. It is really no different than how life changes within a family after the birth of a child.

         Sometimes the phrase “life goes on” generates considerations about proving it untrue. There are parents who contemplate suicide after the death of a child. Usually and fortunately, the parent knows that the rest of the family would suffer greatly with another family death.

         “He’s in a Better Place.” I found that phrase hard to accept at first because, I suppose, I hadn’t yet accepted the reality and complexity of his death. It was a vague statement that seemed like empty words. I would think “He didn’t think anything was wrong with THIS place,” or more often I would consider the physical reality of the cemetery. It snowed the day after he was buried, and I was forced to understand that he really wasn’t there, that he was somewhere else, supposedly in that “better place.”  

        I’ve learned that the things people said were meant to be comforting. No one was intentionally hurtful. People do not like to see pain, so they try to offer comfort, and our friends and relatives really wanted to help.

        I’ve learned that a child’s death is something a parent doesn’t “get over,” that there is, thankfully, no closure. The death of one's child stops hurting after a few years, and the pain of grief is replaced by lovely memories and only slight regret that the child did not get to enjoy the benefits of adulthood.

       I have also learned that the death of a child may, or may not, affect a parent’s faith. There are parents who find a deeper faith because of their loss. There are also parents who lose their faith because they feel abandoned by God. There are parents who were atheists but become  religious because of the promises of eternity, and there are parents who are atheists who must find ways outside of religion to deal with their grief.