You Are

YOU ARE.  On becoming a Parent of a Deceased Child (PDC), being swallowed by the abyss, and eventually understanding that the end isn’t really the end.
 
At First…
YOU ARE an un-whole, incomplete person.  Aching and unwell.  You will never be the same because you’ve experienced every parent’s worst nightmare:
Your child has died. 
I am so terribly sorry for your loss. 
YOU ARE  alone and lost in the dark.   When the child you love disappears, it’s like the sun is obliterated behind a cloud leaving you shivering in deep, desolate shadow.  In your darkness, you try to do what people tell you: put one foot in front of the other; keep busy; pray, sleep. But the simplest tasks seem surreal and take far more energy than you have to give to them.
YOU ARE wishing you could trade places with your child so that your life is the one cut short. You’d surrender to death so that the pain stops and you can follow your chlld into the bright forever. 
YOU ARE going to need a gatekeeper for those well-intentioned visitors you’d rather not see.
YOU ARE standing on the edge of a giant abyss looking down into the black, bottomless depths.   Teetering on the edge, you could easily step forward and allow the darkness to swallow you. People would understand.  Heads would nod as even the most optimistic of your friends would acknowledge that losing a child could be enough to make anyone stop their own journey not able to go on. 
YOU ARE wondering WHY THIS HAPPENED TO ‘YOU?   What bad things could you possibly have done to deserve this? You lean over the abyss and long to be swallowed whole.   You know that if you allow yourself to fall, you will never get up again.   For a long time you stand statue-like, cold as marble, looking into the pit, feeling nothing.
YOU ARE aware of a faint light – a glimmer really – of what life was like before.  It brightens then disappears like a boat’s light bobbing on a roiling night sea.  There, then gone again.  A shimmer of light shining just out of reach. 
YOU ARE remembering the life you had with your child and thinking it’s not far.  You hope at any moment you can reach out and grab it. Feel safe again. Hold on and never let go.  But as the weeks pass, you know that life  - that you – is gone forever.  All the more scary because you don’t know what lies ahead.  And you don’t much care.
 
As time passes…
YOU ARE obliquely aware that life is going on around you whether you like it or not.  You stand your ground feeling frozen to that spot.  And then one day, the call of the abyss is less strong. You take a step away from the gaping, black hole.  Then another.  And stand never knowing for what you are waiting.  Still having many bad days.  In color. 
YOU ARE not alone.  You may feel it but you’re not.
YOU ARE reading about the ‘stages” of grief and feel off-track. There is no set calendar for the grieving process.  Your journey through the emotional sludge of grief is yours alone.  Don’t judge yourself if after months and months tears still take you by surprise.  Take deep breaths; try to forgive as much as you would like to be forgiven. 
YOU ARE feeling you can’t bear another day. Just get through an hour.  If that’s too long, make it through a minute.  Time will pass.  Just hold on until it does.   And don’t bypass the desperate feelings you’re experiencing.  Move through them.  The only way forward is by being open to life just as it is.
YOU ARE going to have people around you who want to console.  They have no idea what to say to you or how to help.  If you’re lucky enough to know what you need – tell them.
YOU ARE experiencing grief like a part you have to play without knowing your lines or rehearsing.  You’ll meet others who play their part while sympathizing.  But being real about what you feel might just be the bravest thing you ever do, even if it raises eyebrows.  You might just find you’re someone inspirational.
YOU ARE lucky if you own a dog so you can tell her everything and let her lick away your tears.  Dogs know.  If you don’t own a dog, borrow a friend’s.
YOU ARE going to laugh at the strangest moments.  I hope you have a sister or close friend with whom you laugh.  The giddy bubbles can feel a bit too close to madness but they help heal, purge, purify and remind you that life is still life – silly, unfair, messy, funny.
YOU ARE beginning to know what might help you feel a little better. Ask for it, even if it is a glass of wine, having someone’s company or being left alone.  There are people who are desperate to be there for you with no clue what to do.  Make it easier for them so that it can be easier for you.
YOU ARE always the parent of your child.  “How many children do you have?”  Don’t hesitate.  The fact that your child no longer has a physical presence on this planet makes no difference.
 
As more time passes…
YOU ARE a good person to whom something terrible happened.  Please remember this.  Accidents happen.  Illnesses overtake.    But you have a chance to become the person you are meant to be not in spite of, but because of what has happened to you.
 
My Little Songs out of Great Sorrow
I hope I’ve learned to listen more now.  To lean in as the other person is speaking with a willingness to be changed by what I hear.  I'd share my thoughts only if asked. Recollect what it was like as I first stood on the edge of the abyss so alone and sad and wondering what it would be like if I let myself fall.
 
If asked, here is what I’d say to someone who’s loved and lost a child:
 
•         I wish I could spare you.
 
•         Feel what you will and be damned with anyone who tells you otherwise.
 
•         It.  Just.  Hurts.    
 
•         Be gentle with yourself: snivel when you need to, sleep when it takes you, eat so you still have strength left to scream and throw things if that’s what you want.
 
•         You may feel a little nuts at times. Other people around you may also be going quietly (or not so quietly) crazy. You may even be doing it all out sync with one another and making each other even crazier.
 
•         Take happiness when it comes. Accept the little joys like windfalls in the tempest and enjoy the breeze.
 
•         The dead don’t need to be perfect. Remember the child you loved for whom he/she was.
 
•         There is no compliment in mourning forever. Repeat that and keep going. Keep moving on.
 
•         You won’t believe me (I wouldn’t have believed you), but there are gifts that can come to you out of your loss.   Try and be open to receive them.
 
•         Understand that this is both an end and a beginning.  It will be what it needs to be.
 
When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate — the genetic and neural fate — of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death.  How blessed I am that I had my unique son in my life.  How blessed I am that he continues to help me learn about myself and the world in which I live.