CHAPTER 2, PART 1

When considering how to format this book, I could not decide whether to divide it into chapters with the different emotions covered or to blend them together. However, what resonated with most women is what I’ve written about the feelings we experience. So I decided to begin the book by listing them just as I did for a friend who had lost a son shortly after I had.

This chapter is what I wrote two months after my son Logan’s death due to a drug overdose. I tried not to change much because the feelings written at that time were directly from my soul. This is not me looking back and trying to remember my emotions, as memory might be skewed. These WERE my emotions. The next section of the book, the major portion, is from a standpoint of how life has changed over the past eight years and what has not changed. I interviewed mothers who lost children and combined their thoughts with my personal observations.

Although the stories might make you cry, the harsh reality is the death of your child will cause tears, so the acknowledgment by others of feelings that you have might help to quell that most awful of feelings—the aloneness you feel in the midst of the world as you watch other people living as though life hasn’t been altered. It might also offer hope that you can withstand this pain even though you feel as fragile as a tiny figurine of blown glass, ready to be shattered by even the slightest of blows.

I wrote this for my friend approximately six to eight weeks after the death of my son. I did not know what else to do for her.

CHAPTER 2, PART 2

I know words can do nothing for you and life is a nightmarish blur for you right now, but this is actually meant for you to read a few weeks down the road. Having gone through the loss of my son less than two months ago, I wanted to give you some advance notice of what you might experience because life becomes bewildering after a shock of this magnitude. Obviously, I am still going through it, but this is what I’ve experienced so far. You may experience some of these emotions, none at all, or different ones since circumstances are different.

The First Week

Life went on, but I didn’t participate. I ate when someone put food in front of me, drank when someone fixed me a drink, went to bed after the initial 40 hours of no sleep, but all in all, I let everything slide.

Obsessive, Repetitive Thoughts

During the first week or two, I kept replaying the scene of the chaplain telling me Logie was dead. Finally, these gave way to more positive outlooks because I saw the beauty in the hearts of people who cared; plus, I wanted to think of my best times with Logan. The funeral helped because it attached a ritual and ceremony to his passing.

Sleep

Other than the first night, I have had no trouble sleeping because of a muscular disorder I have that exhausts me; however, a few of the nights I didn’t want to go to sleep because I kept thinking that I’d wake up in the morning and have to face the realization again, so sleep was a double-edged sword—a time to rest, but then I had to awake to the shock of the death each morning.

CHAPTER 2, PART 3

The Numbness Wears Off

At some point, the shock wears off and raw hurt begins, where you cry and cry, especially when you think about the future. For example, I attended a wedding this weekend, and it was hard not to think about never seeing Logan wedded to his girlfriend. The best advice I was given in a grief book was to think about the moment, not the past or future. I now have to remind myself of this.

First Day(s) of Work

The first few days are the hardest because you have to see people who offer their condolences, which brings your loss to the foreground. Work seems trivial and insignificant, but at the same time, it gives you a reason to keep moving in your life, a paradox of sorts. It’s as one woman who lost a child answered when asked how she could go back to work, “It gives me a reason to get out of bed in the morning.”

Chapter 2, part 4

Talking About Him

I seemed to want to talk about Logan a lot at first. (Of course, I am a talker.) Now, sometimes I can bring him up in conversation more matter-of-factly, almost as if he were still alive.

The Dream

Lucid dreaming seems to happen to people frequently and at various times in the grief process. My son appeared to me one night in a dream as if he were alive to tell me he didn’t suffer. I woke up in total despair that he was dead, shaking. It was a rough day at school that day. The next night he appeared again to tell me he was okay. That time, though, it was more soothing.

More Shocks

Although the intensity of the initial shock faded, I felt a series of minor shocks. I saw my husband changing the channels for the remote the other night to avoid commercials and it brought to mind Logie’s incessant channel changing, which at the time annoyed me, but now I would trade my life to see him do it again. I would be reading a book, and when I came out of the book, the realization of his death would be another shock.

Forgetfulness

I can’t seem to remember things that happened a few days ago or even a few hours ago. Most details seem unimportant, so I am apt to disregard them. For instance, I can’t remember if I signed my contract at work for this year because it came about three weeks after Logan’s death. A friend told me not to worry about the details because if something is important enough, the organization will call.

Chapter 2, part 5

What Ifs

The “What ifs” are inevitable—as a writer, the “what ifs” are in my personality. In my case, what if I hadn’t divorced his father, what if I’d called him that morning, what if . . . The way that has helped me with these thoughts is to realize that perhaps if I had changed my actions, the alternative could be worse, although nothing seems as if it could be worse at the moment.

The Loneliness of Weeks Down the Road

It’s been almost two months since Logan’s death, and at times my grief is fresh and soul-shaking. Most of the time I am fine, but when I have the shocks I was telling you about, I find my heart rending in two again. However, I think it happens far more to most mothers than for anyone else. Sometimes I’m at school, and I want to cry, but don’t. I feel very lonely at this time because I prevent myself from breaking down to prevent other people’s uneasiness. Despite my stoicism, the hurt remains and I know that no person can remove it, no matter how close they are to me.

Understanding of Others

When my son died, my two cousins, who had both lost sons, came to me saying, “You need to have someone around you that knows without saying anything.” I didn’t realize what they meant at the time because of the shock. However, a few weeks after Logan died, I had dinner with another friend who had lost her son six months previously, and it helped me to know she had gone through the same process. A student came into my classroom. He had lost a son ten years previously, and I looked in his eyes and felt a recognition of the pain, and I didn’t feel so alone, even though he didn’t say a word.

Chapter 2, part 6

I’m Going Crazy

Apparently, this is common, to feel as though you are losing your mind. My emotions have been erratic. I have not experienced anger other than in a couple of dreams and possibly feeling more irritation at things that would normally not bother me. But sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be on an even keel again. However, each week becomes a little less hard—not easy—but not quite as bad. I think it takes time for the reality to ingrain itself in our psyches.

I Want the World to Change

My whole world is different, and I want the external world to change. I think this is why some people rearrange furniture or redo their whole house after the death of a loved one. It’s not because they want the person gone, but because their internal world has shifted dramatically, and they want to reflect it somehow. The familiar is somehow unfamiliar now. I haven’t decided what to change after Logan’s death, although I have planned a few personal days into my schedule, something I am normally loath to do.

My Child Will Be Forgotten

Fear of your child being forgotten is a horrible emotion, and although I know I will never forget Logan, after several months I realized that the world goes on. I don’t want to be the only one who remembers him. I have several nice memorials to Logie—a tree planted outside by my Communications department, and a website devoted to him. Those have helped a lot.

Chapter 2, part 7

Resentment

Although I consider resentment an ugly emotion, I know that I have felt twinges of it. At the wedding I attended this past weekend, I felt resentful that my husband’s cousin had all of his children going through life, getting married, attending college, being the All-American family. It’s probably a form of self-pity because I certainly want the best for everyone. My friend who lost her son said she felt resentment at her sister-in-law because her family was intact, although my friend is a kind person.

Anger

I, by nature, am not an angry person. Quite the contrary, so I monitor when I feel annoyed and angry because for me to snap at people is unusual. However, I can understand when people feel very angry, especially at the departed child for the way in which they went, or because of the feelings of abandonment.

Not Wanting to Go on Living

At times it feels as though, “What’s the point of living, as all of life leads up to death?” It’s natural to feel this way, but I have two children still with me, so it’s not as though I am given a choice. It just seems so hard to keep on going when what you want to do is die.

Loneliness

Chapter 2, part 8

ACTIVITY

Choose a journal or a notebook or even paper that you will use to record the activities. For Activity #1, list which of the above you think you have felt the most strongly so far, and write about those feelings.