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After my father died this past May, I found many beautiful portraits of Jason that I had lost. I am grateful for these pictures.
Lately, I have found myself writing many pages while I cope with my newfound separation after a long marriage.
When I am not writing, I take walks to clear my mind. And I am reading. On the Internet I have discovered beautiful words from people who are also writing about their pain as I have. Yesterday, I read a particularly sad and honest poem. It pummeled my heart with words that honestly expressed the devastation resulting from intense grief.
I know that commenting to share what I’ve experienced with my grief journey probably makes little difference to someone who is in unbearable pain.
I hesitate to write anything that would upset someone in grief. My optimism must be terribly irritating and annoying; many of my statements sound impossibly simple and childlike.
And I certainly remember when nothing helped me at all.
There was a time when I gave up hope of ever feeling better. That is why I am so insistent upon sharing my message. I thought I had given up hope, but instead . . .
Hope waited for me in the wings.
A few days ago, I mentioned to a widow that grief was like a roaring wildfire that destroyed everything in its path. I love metaphors and that was a perfect one to help me describe my own healing.
After my child died, the fire that burned through my soul was a horror beyond anything imaginable. I wished I had been consumed, but instead the fire gleefully tortured me with severe burns. I awoke blistered and everything familiar was gone.
A fire leaves a forest blackened and ugly. The possibility of a devastated forest ever recovering its former beauty seems remote.
But with time, a tiny sapling can break through the ashes. Sometimes, wildflowers bloom, and their existence is only possible because of the heat that allows them to germinate. There are things that can only grow as a result of the devastation a fire brings.
I suffered from that horrific fire. I knew that fires were a part of this world; they happen and were random. But I was very angry. I never expected to personally witness the horror or experience it.
But the fire that tortured me did not destroy everything – it did not destroy my love.
My life was as gray as ashes for almost two decades. I devoted myself to my children and my parents. I coped by simply going through the motions for many years. I was alive but not really living, but my love kept my spirit going.
The most amazing part of my story was when I reached a point of exhaustion and acceptance of my fate, something appeared in the ashes of my forest. One day, hope fluttered down from above.
It turned out that when I least expected it my ashen forest began to grow again. Like magic, colors and sounds reappeared. I looked around and noticed the forest was completely different from what I had remembered.
Because it had been so long since I’d heard beautiful sounds and seen gorgeous colors, I found my new surroundings breathtaking. It was not the same forest, but that didn’t matter. My appreciation was limitless because my drab life was over.
The hope that waited in the wings kissed me and took flight.
I thanked her for waiting.
Jason drew this while in preschool. For me, I see an angel with a beautiful heart. Jason died from his congenital heart defect.
A painting of mine that was part of a memorial for Jason.
Below is the powerful poem I read that inspired me to write about whether joy can be found again after suffering with intense grief. The author’s name is Beebee and I’ve provided a link to her website with the title of her poem below.
This poem is not for my precious son
Whose death took everything from me
that I hung onto, believed in
It is for those who can’t see that I am still here
But I have been forced to live in a world
Where there is not glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.
I’m so tired of it all, so tired of the lies
The further I fall, the higher you rise
It takes all I have, each moment I try
I give and I give, till I think I will die
I’m sorry that I was never enough
My heart is long dead; the road’s been so rough
All that I have, I have given to you.
And what have I left? No joy and no you
Just leave me here in my prison, my home
Cause when you are here, I still feel alone.
Not a thing I’ve endured, suffered, survived
Has helped you to notice, that I’m still alive
I still feel, I still hope, I still love, I still try
Somehow through the darkness, I still survive
Take just one heartbeat, one touch, one breath
And remember I will love you till nothing is left
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Dear Beebee,
I have no idea how long it has been since your son died. But your words have taken my breath away. My eyes are filled with tears. Your sorrow is endless. You think you have nothing left and there is no light in your tunnel. Well you are wrong. You have so much inside that is pouring out of you. It is your love for your son. Your expression will keep him alive in a way that will someday inspire you and the pain will ease into something else. It will happen.
My son died 20 years ago. I’ll never forget him. I died inside to be with him for such a long time, but now I’m alive because I understand that my suffering has given me clarity about life. Our time here is unknown. Each moment is precious and grief robs us of our own life.
Celebrate your beautiful son’s life by finding joy again. It is possible. I never would have believed it would ever have been for me. I held out hope and waited. Don’t give up.
Dear Judy,
It has been 6 years since he died. I have my moments when I feel strong; I fake my way through dinners, activities, but I just lost so much when I lost him, my health, faith, and the closeness with my family. I became angry and when I didn’t get the kind of support I felt I needed and it just got worse and worse. My poem is a way to try to let go of some of that. I have moments of hope and moments of complete despair. Thanks for your encouragement. I had serious doubts about putting this blog on here. I almost feel like I shouldn’t have; I have gotten so many comments that make me feel like I have saddened others…beebee
Dear Beebee,
Six years is a long time and the horror is still there. Your soul has been amputated. Like an arm missing, you’ve adjusted and carry scars that no one can visibly see. And that adjustment will continue. Even with family support, no one bears your personal sorrow but you.
I believe that the whole point of writing is HONESTY. What else is there? You are expressing feelings that are true for you. No one else can feel what you are going through and it is your gift to find the words to express yourself. People who don’t like sadness can read something else.
Please don’t ever stop yourself because of concern about what others think of your writing. Believe it or not, the more you express your sorrow, the lighter you will feel. Keeping your sadness inside is a heavy cross to bear. Release your pain and share. You will find there are many other people who will appreciate your words. I did.
Your poem is amazing. It succinctly says what every bereaved parent has felt.
The only part that is missing is the ending where you discover that there is hope. You will always remember your son. But it won’t be because nothing is left. It will be because you fill up the empty space again with something else. It will happen. He is with you inside – never imagine that he has left you.
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Dear Beebee,
I feel compelled to write to you again. First off, thank you for allowing me to share your poem and exchanges on my blog. I think it will touch and help many other bereaved people.
When I first read your poem, I knew little about your situation. I left a hasty comment not knowing how long it had been since your son died. But I felt I had to comment right away, because I was blown away by your poem and heartbreaking words.
I have read more now on your blog. I read your responses to certain comments left by well-intentioned people. Your words yielded great insight for me.
I want to write to you about it.
You mentioned how you were very angry with your family. Their lack of understanding and support has certainly added to your anguish. It sounded like your family’s love was not unconditional – that you’d have their support if you followed their religious beliefs. I am very sorry about that.
For myself, I am not religious, but definitely consider myself spiritual. I do believe religion is personal and would never tell another human how to pray. I only pray with my own heart. Therefore, when someone commented with a suggestion that implied finding God and another person mentioned an excellent grief counselor, I’m not surprised that those comments triggered your anger.
You already knew that their intentions were good and they only wanted to help you. When a person finds something that helps him or her, they wish to bestow it upon someone else. I am that way with my music. It helps me and I love sharing it.
Sadly, they don’t even have a clue how to ease your anguish.
My grief ripped a huge hole from my heart. I was blessed to find something that filled my aching abyss; it was my writing and music. Writing was extremely helpful for me to heal from my grief. That was why I encouraged you not to worry about making others sad. Your writing is going to help you heal and that is far more important!
I want you to know something about me, too. I never tell anyone “I know how you feel.” I don’t believe that it is possible for any human to know what another person is feeling!
However, I can say that I’ve been in your position. My anger over the loss of my child was impossible for me to contain for years and years. I was livid because the torture of grief had wrecked my life and I was certain my torment would last until my last breath. That belief isolated me and kept me sad.
I had more children after my loss, which helped to ease the ache. When people implied that it was a “replacement” for my dead child it made me furious. I couldn’t handle anyone telling me for the millionth time how time would heal and I let them know it.
Healing is a word I use often for myself. It implies a wound and I consider my wound from my son’s death to be an amputation of my soul. Grief was not something I recovered from – I had to adjust to it. I was tortured and then my scars left me numb for eighteen years. I did not believe I would ever feel joy again in my life.
Now I want to address your poem and what I saw in your words.
Obviously, you loved your son so deeply. You would have died for him if you could have. You wish you were dead sometimes so you could be with him.
You are dying inside every single day because of your grief.
With your poem, you are speaking to your son. With your last breath, you want him to know how much you loved him and how that will continue until the day you die.
Your poem’s title is “Till Nothing Was Left.” But if you died tomorrow, here would be what was left after your son died:
ache and emptiness
anger and fury
isolation and loneliness
torment and torture
I could go on and on finding words. I’ve used as many as I could find in a dictionary to describe the amputation of my soul. Since you wrote that you have hope, I am going to speak to you with honesty and risk your becoming angry.
If your son could speak to you right now, you know he would want you to heal. You must try to let go of the anger. It is poison in your soul. It is time for you to move forward.
Healing left me with only one thing . . .
I was left with love.
Sometimes my scars still throb and I have the memory of pain.
But love fills my ache, emptiness and isolation. Love soothes my anger and fury about my fate. Love allows me to accept other people’s good intentions to help me.
When I remember love, it lifts me up. My love for my son is pure and far preferable to the wreckage I had before. Love transcends everything and anything.
It has allowed me to help other grieving people. It heals and it lives on beyond physical death. Now my son never has left. I love him every moment of my life.
I always remember how much my son loved me. He would want me to remember that. I remind myself of his love every time I take a breath.
With my last breath, what will be left is love.
That is the legacy I wnat to have after the loss of my child.
Excerpts of a comment in response to what I wrote on Beebee’s blog:
Hello Judy
I’ve read your comment here. I really have a problem with love. You say love is healing: whom and why? When will it happen? Maybe I am stupid; I just have questions. Surprise me! Please don’t tell me that love will find its way. Think of a bit more original answer.
Frank
Hi Frank,
I welcome your response. Perhaps love doesn’t sound original. It was an emotional response that I wrote to Beebee, because her poem indicated total despair. But because I have also experienced the death of a child, I wrote what I did from my own personal experience. My remark was about feeling love on two levels: 1. Self-love to continue living, and feeling love from what my child would have wanted for me, his legacy.
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To find a purpose after such a horrific loss as one’s child is beyond imaginable. I have written a lot about this on my blog; perhaps you might read that and then comment some more. I actually elaborated on my comment because I didn’t want it to sound simplistic.
I really don’t see a “love bandage” that adequately eliminates all pain during an amputation of the soul, which I believe deep grief causes. Anger was definitely something I experienced and is one of the many stages of grieving. Unfortunately, many grieving people stay stuck in this stage. It has been six years for Beebee. I wanted her to try to move beyond her anger. She didn’t seem to realize that there was hopefulness for her to heal. I believe it gives hope knowing that another bereaved parent who suffered deeply could heal. I am that parent!
There are many things that I did to help myself heal and I also share that with my message of hopefulness. Sorry if you find my answer unoriginal. I don’t write to be trendy. I write from my heart and holding onto love honestly was the way that I achieved peace. For people who are suffering, I wish they could find that also. I represent someone who never believed it was possible, and I truly feel that the love from and for my child inspired me to go on.
Just because someone has died and is not physically there, doesn’t mean that you can’t project love to and from them.
The concept I’m suggesting could also apply to other things besides bereavement, when you consider self-love brings a more complete human into a relationship. For me, I decided that my own happiness was not tied to other people anymore and I made significant changes to my life as a result!
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Comment in response to what I’ve written on Beebee’s blog from another grieving parent:
Judy, I like what you write, but I would also like to know how to get from feeling ache and emptiness, anger and fury, isolation and loneliness and torment and torture to feeling love. I feel love all the time, but with my son gone – there is no place for all that love to go. I also want to feel his love for me, not just mine for him. I need him back. I don’t know how to transform all of this to something less raw and painful.
I’m glad you wrote your thoughtful comment, because it allows me to explain further what I’ve written. I did not want to sound simplistic. My perspective about grief has come after many years of suffering. Unfortunately, I don’t believe there are shortcuts when working through grief.
I could not transform myself when my soul was being amputated!
My life-blood was pouring from me and nothing could stop it. There aren’t enough ways that I could describe what you clearly are suffering through – the absolute horror of having to accept that you will never again see the child you so deeply loved. I use the word amputated because a piece is missing and will never regenerate. Perhaps that is why some people are unsympathetic; they cannot see your soul has been eviscerated!
In order for me to function again, I had to compensate by searching for a reason to go on living.
For a long time, I crawled slowly. As you know only too well, it was raw and painful. What gave me a reason to continue living, were the other people I loved in my life. Also, I reached out to find fellow grieving people, which helped me greatly during my grief journey.
My anger was part of the process, and I wasn’t able to put a “bandage of love” over it. I am not telling bereaved parents not to be angry. I was furious at God and at the circumstances I was dealt. I believe that anger is a stage of grief that is necessary to come to grips with the horror.
But it is possible for anger to diminish as grief is worked through. I didn’t want Beebee to give up hope and remain stuck with her anger!
Throughout my grief journey, it was my child’s love and my love for him that kept me moving forward.
I have met many people who could not let go of their anger. The result was that they ended up becoming bitter. I did not want that to be my legacy. My child loved me and I reminded myself that he wouldn’t have wanted me to become that way.
Eventually, I let go of anger and what was left was quiet sorrow and sadness. After that, I was simply numb. I didn’t really look forward to anything and felt like the best part of my life was over. My soul was scarred and I felt doomed to live that way for the rest of my life. Many people fall into this category.
I cannot know where your grief journey will lead or how long it will take you. Right now, there are destinations that you might never imagine reaching.
The irony was that I thought my road ended with my scars, but I was wrong. My message is to give you hope.
I found out that I could be happy again!
More than that, I was not suffering over my child’s death any longer. What was amazing was that when I reached that place, I really did discover that my child never left me. Throughout my journey, he was holding onto me.
I do believe I’ll see him when I die. It gives me comfort when I face my own death someday.
Now I understand, that with every tear I cried, he cried too.
I just know my child is celebrating that I am able to smile again.
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