CHAPTER 11, PART 1

My family and friends like to karaoke, and one day a friend was singing the song Who You’d Be Today by Kenny Chesney about what might have been had someone lived. The lyrics included a line, “What would you name your babies?” I had to turn my head to the side so that no one would see my tears, at which I was only partially successful. My friend apologized because it had not occurred to him when he chose the song what effect it might have on me. The lyrics express exactly the types of thoughts that sometimes overcome us in grief as we think of our lost children. I usually try not to go down that road, but sometimes the road seems to rise up and meet me.

CHAPTER 11, PART 2

While an advisor on an educational trip to Europe, I climbed the Eiffel Tower. Looking over the edge, the view astounded me and then the thought occurred: Logan will never see this. He will never see Europe, or have children, or experience any of the adventures life can bring. Even as I write this now, I am crying. I feel as though he were robbed and I do not know an effective way of dealing with this other than to think that I cannot allow my thoughts to go here, but for the purpose of this book, I must.

CHAPTER 11, PART 3

Instead of the elevator at the Eiffel Tower, I took the steps down so that my students would not see me, hiding the flowing tears from the people I’d see going up the stairs as I made my way back down. Instead of marveling at the view, I was now raging with sorrow inside. Moments such as these sabotage you when you do not expect them, even in a place that I have the utmost gratitude to have experienced. Today, however, I can look at the pictures I had taken from the top before being seized with grief and enjoy them without the stab to my psyche that ripped me apart that afternoon in Paris.

Although these stabs occur, my mind takes over and tells me that I do not know if I’ll be alive tomorrow, or if you will, or if anyone I know will. The future remains outside our knowledge. A student and friend, hurt severely in an automobile accident, told me, “It’s funny how your life can just change in an instant.”

Her statement is true of anyone, as you well know if you have lost a child, but we cannot dwell upon what the future might have been. It’s as futile as dwelling upon what the past might have been. You cannot know the infinite variables involved and the repercussions of any act, no matter how small, so logic tells me to pull these thoughts out by the roots. Then again, logic can say whatever it chooses, but emotions can bring these thoughts to the fore.

CHAPTER 11, part 4

There’s no guarantee my son would ever have had children, seen the Eiffel Tower, gone through college or lived through any one of thousands of circumstances. But, it’s the finality of cutting off all those possibilities that brings the sense of loss. This is when acceptance has to step in, and even though this idea is very easy to write, it becomes quite difficult to live. Several nights ago, for example, my late son’s girlfriend joined us for dinner. She joined the Coast Guard a few months ago and was home on holiday leave after completing boot camp, so she came to the house to spend a few hours with us before returning to her station. I enjoyed seeing her and talking to her about her future as a possible officer candidate.

As much enjoyment as her visit brought me, the next day I felt disturbed and very sad and lonely. It finally dawned on me while talking to a friend that the feeling of “what might have been” (because I believe she would have been my daughter-in-law and perhaps mother to grandchildren) still exists. My emotions reacted on a more basic level than my rational mind.

CHAPTER 11, part 5

The probable future that we can foresee seems bleak for the parent, also. We look into the distance and see days and months stretching into years, void of our child’s presence. Even when someone leaves you that you love, whether due to a break-up, war, moving or other circumstance, you at least know that talking to that person again remains in the realm of possibility. Death shuts down possibility and denies us the chance of ever being in their physical presence again.

I have found it best to not think in terms of the future, of Logan’s or my own, other than in plans that I can control. I can control my eating habits, perhaps, I can control my level of fitness, and I can control my activities. A death allows no control and creates panic in the mind because our minds are desperate for a solution: we want our child back and this problem cannot be solved.

CHAPTER 11, part 6

We can only work on the issue of how does one deal with a situation with no solution. I find that by making small plans I then have something I need to accomplish. For example, most writers know you can think of any excuse not to write: laundry always remains waiting to be cleaned, dust doesn’t magically fly away, work does not always go smoothly and you feel exhausted when you get home, etc. To overcome this and actually be able to write, I tell myself I have to write 100 words a day (a truly insignificant amount for a writer) or 10 minutes a day if revising. Even this small task gives a feeling of accomplishment. I also do the same small goals with exercise and stress relief.

I am not a superwoman and this did not happen at first, but I wished I had set these small goals six months after Logan’s death instead of two years. I cannot know that they would have helped that early in the stage as I was still getting through day to day, but they might have. If your loss is more recent than mine, you might try setting one small goal a day or even a week and see if it helps to accomplish this goal.

CHAPTER 11, part 7

ACTIVITY

Write down one small goal for the present and do it, even if it is paying the electric bill, or sweeping the porch, or brushing the dogs. You can only control the present and the future has no guarantees for anyone.