Chapter 16, PART 1

We may have an extended support network of our own parents, brothers, cousins, friends, and co-workers. We might even join groups of people who have suffered the loss of a child, but in the end, I have found the loneliness hardest to bear. Even those who have experienced a similar loss can’t change this because at some point in time, you remain alone with your thoughts. You cannot always call a friend or family member. As hard as it might be, part of the process is dealing with this sense of separation from everyone. Although we feel isolated, as with all feelings, this loneliness is transient.

For many, driving in the car alone brings out the sense of loss. I can only surmise that while driving we are insulated from the rest of the world, cut-off and alone in grief. Unless someone calls you on your cell phone, you remain alone. It’s dangerous enough driving through blinding tears. I would not advise answering the phone unless you can pull off the road.

Chapter 16, PART 2

I know I would not answer the phone, not as much because of the danger, but because I did not want to make someone on the other line, perhaps hundreds of miles away feel uncomfortable about my emotional state as the caller might feel that he or she could be of no help. Why couldn’t they be of help? Because sometimes I needed to grieve the loneliness, to let the despair and the bleakness out. People who do not understand the grief fall into different groups: those who want to actively physically comfort you and hold you; those who seem content to let you talk; those who shift uncomfortably and look away; those who offer good or bad advice; those who ignore you.

When lonely, maybe nothing anyone can offer will be of help. When I see another person looking discomfited at my sadness, I immediately wall up the visible expression of grief, but this doesn’t make me feel better—it simply postpones the grief until I can express it naturally. My students, most of them young college students, have no idea how to react. Once in a while, one might hug me, but often they stare at me helplessly as my students expect me to be a form of strength for them. I do not cry in class; I try not to let my tears well up, even when talking one-on-one, but at times it happens.

Chapter 16, PART 3

One student, Michelle, an older woman with children, helped me a lot as she and I stayed after class one night to work on her writing. She didn’t try to hug me, not being that familiar with me. On the other hand, she did not seem uncomfortable speaking to me about it. Michelle simply stated she couldn’t imagine how awful it would feel to lose a child, but she did not seem uncomfortable as I spoke with anguish because she knew it had to come out. She listened that night and it was enough. I felt a twinge of guilt later that I had perhaps wasted her time, but never once did she make me feel as though that time was an imposition.

Perhaps that’s why people go to counselors—it gives a good outlet to let the loneliness out, but this doesn’t prevent the feeling of despair from gaining a hold at strange times. I allowed my students to hold Student Government meetings at my house once or twice a term, as they liked to karaoke afterwards. Once in the midst of jovial youthful students, joking and singing, I felt the sadness descend. I kept singing, too, and eventually it passed, but most of the evening I felt very removed from everyone and the proceedings. I conversed with my students, but I felt like an outsider with my outside actions disconnected from my inner emotions.

Chapter 16, part 4

Last night I saw Logan’s picture on my desk, and for some reason, perhaps because the household was being noisy and fractious, I missed him with a sharp pain. I told myself, you can’t think of him, but that’s akin to telling myself that I may no longer breathe. We don’t consciously think: breathe in, breathe out. Our bodies do it without our consent or conscious thought, unless you’re a Yoga practitioner doing a breathing exercise. The same happens with thinking about our lost child; we can tell ourselves, do not think about it now and put it off, but at some point, we have to acknowledge that feeling and let it out.

Chapter 16, part 5

The release of these feelings comes in many forms from crying to journaling to wanting to smash the first available object. You might want to talk it out, call the counselor, or go through your child’s effects. Even after two and a half years, although the intensity of release has subsided on a day-to-day basis, once in a while I feel that racking pain. I want to control it, to make it go away, but in some ways the pain is what I have which reminds me of how much I love my son. It almost seems sacrilegious to let that pain go because it shows me the depth of my love.

I do not want an intellectual knowledge of the strength of my feelings and less pain. At least the pain keeps me close to my son because, although illogical, if I am hurting because of my loss, his life still matters. My thinking mind fully realizes that he was important, regardless of my emotions, but my heart does not care. It cries in loneliness.

Chapter 16, part 6

Lately, I have started to move beyond the pain being the primary memory and the happiness he brought to me and others replaces the constant pain. Although in this book, I have chronicled many of the sad feelings after his death, I now think, Logan would laugh at this, without tears, just acknowledgment.

As a college teacher, I have the option to take the summers off, but last year I continued to work because of the worry that should I be alone or not busy, the depression might set in. This summer I opted for the time off and I did not spiral into despair as I feared, but quickly immersed myself in home improvements. Still, something jogs a memory of him, and once again, I suffer the immediacy of Logan’s loss of life.

Chapter 16, part 7

ACTIVITY

Write in your journal “I realize that feeling loneliness in a crowd is part of the process.” List another person who might feel loneliness, whether or not they have lost a child. Then, write down something you could do to help alleviate that person’s loneliness. Often in helping others, we help ourselves.