There are just some maxims the Universe or God or Providence or whatever you happen to believe in should follow. At the top of that list should be “No Child Should Die Before Its Parent.” I doubt you’d find much argument on that one.
Today is the five-year anniversary of losing our son, Brody, to SIDS. He was born on Christmas Day (2007), we were blessed with his wonderful presence for almost two months (and as any parent knows, those first few months are like dog years: they are multiplied by at least two hundred with twenty-four by seven, acute, team-coordinated care).
This year, rather than blogging about the actuality of it all on my own blog, as I do each year to honor our son’s memory, I agreed to a dear friend’s gracious offer to host this year’s blog on her site so that another subset of readers out there might gain something positive through a tragedy. As the years have rolled along, and the open wound has turned more to a painful scar, my wife and I have done our best to honor his memory by donating when we can, living life in a way that would make him pleased to see, and by always maintaining compassion for those who have lost their own loved ones and realize that every situation is unique, but the pain is always there and it is always deep.
So forgive my short blog today—please, if you are so inclined, click over to my friend Rachel Thompson’s site for my guest blog and leave a comment there. Rachel is a wonderful person and I just complimented her the other day as being one of the good-hearted souls in this journey of life. Please do me a favor and check out her newest book, Broken Pieces. where she similarly opens herself up so that others may heal, so that one person’s pain might resonate with another, and most importantly that we all stop and realize we are not alone on this planet.
We all have each other.
(And here’s the best part of reading this far: Rachel’s book is FREE for Kindle downloads Friday through Sunday, so there really just isn’t an excuse not to grab a copy. And trust me, free or not, you will be glad you did.)
Finally, from C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed:
Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery’s shadow or reflection: the fact that you don’t merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. We not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief.
He is beautiful. 🙂
Thank you, Elyse. We will never forget a moment with those eyes looking up at us. 🙂
a beautiful boy I’m so sorry for your loss
Thank you, Shellagh. 🙂
What a sweet little one. You are right, there is no way to completely heal from the loss. Your choice to live a life worthwhile for him and to give as much is possible is a precious gift. I am praying for you and your wife.
Thank you for your offer of Broken Pieces by Rachel Thompson.
Thank you for your heartfelt response, Heather. I read somewhere that there’s a reason mirrors in a car are small but the windshield is huge. It is necessary r look back from time to time, but the most crucial view is ahead. I really appreciate the read and taking time out to comment. TGIF! 😀
My name is Carolynn. I am writing on my husband’s id. He shared your blog with me. I am sorry for your loss. I lost my first child in 1985. He was born two weeks late, but died the same day. Losing Noah is the hardest thing I have ever gone through. For a while I thought I would never recover. But we do heal and move forward; which is good and healthy. I hated when people told me “time heals all wounds”. Over time grief changes. At first it totally envelopes the whole mind and body; like a killer migraine that incapacitates. Over time the pain dulls until it is barely noticeable, far from debilitating. It’s a memory that is integrated into our lives and continually reminds us how precious every life is. Over 28 years have passed and I still miss my little one. But my life is full and I am proud of the things I have accomplished and the way I have lived my life. I had another son two years later and he is the joy of my life. My marriage to Noah’s father did not survive, but then I was blessed with finding my true love, my soul-mate. He blessed me with two additional sons who lived with us when we blended our families. The memory of Noah is still always there, but I believe he shares our lives. Brody will always be in your heart and mind. May his memory be a blessing.
Hi, Carolynn (and Richard). Thank you so much for your heartfelt response to our story. Something I didn’t mention in this year’s blog but have before is that I was amazed at how the sharing helps. Of course I have always known there are “group” meetings for everything from PTSD to alcoholism, and you hear how much it helps, but until you experience it, you don’t realize its power. Just reading your story gave me strength, and I am five years out from the tragedy.
And you’re right: time changes grief, but I think in doing that it heals our ability to go on. At first it simply allows us to breathe. Then to take a step. And each at our own pace. We are so unique, each of us, and our tragedies are just as unique.
Never stop sharing your story. You helped me more than you can know.
And thank your husband for letting you share his computer / login. That’s a big deal for a guy. 😉
Seriously, thank you both. The story of your blended family has made my day!