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A blog post on the loss of a child and grieving loss in general

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  • Donna Thomson
    Thank you, Rose. Your words are like a salve. I will share with my friend. Thank you. xo

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  • Earth Mother 2 Angels

    I'm so sorry for your friend's loss of her young son. Your friend must be experiencing utter disbelief and overwhelming grief. While the loss of a child is unquestionably the worst loss anyone can endure, I often feel that a sudden, unexpected death must be more difficult to comprehend than the death of a child, who is medically fragile. But many grieving parents, who I've met on internet forums, say that they can't imagine knowing that your child is going to die for a period of years or a life time.

    As you have with Nicholas, we've had far too many "dry runs," where the heavy reality of not surviving hovers. Of course, we now know that reality with Michael. He always bounced back, and for awhile I believed he still would. Same with Jon. Each time, we wonder, "How much more can he withstand?"

    Those miraculous recoveries do tend to lull me into thinking "all will continue to be well." But, I know that is wishful thinking. And so I "pre-grieve." It's not exactly preparing, because nothing can prepare you for your child's passing. But I think about that time, when I'll have to let go, and I weep and grieve. I don't do this to any great extent, or such that it interferes with enjoying him now and appreciating our time together. But I pre-grieved for Michael, and now I pre-grieve for Jon.

    Your friend didn't pre-grieve, as she had no idea that her son would pass. I'm not sure that either way is more difficult or any easier than the other.

    "How can the loss of a child ever be borne?" you asked in your blog.

    The answer is: second by second, then minute by minute, then day by day, then week by week, then month by month, then year after year after year. With great effort, a grieving parent discovers coping tools, as they accept, adjust and adapt to their child's physical absence.

    In the play, Rabbit Hole, by David Lindsay-Abaire, a mother explains parental grief to her daughter, who has just lost her very young son.

    She tells her daughter: "It changes though."

    When her daughter asks how grief changes, the mother replies, "I don't know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it becomes bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under. And carry around like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every once in awhile, but then you reach in for whatever reason, and there it is. 'Oh, right. That.' Which can be awful. But not all the time. Sometimes it's kinda not that you like it, exactly, but it's what you have instead of your son, so you don't wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn't go away, which is fine, actually."

    To carry that analogy further, the first time you put that brick in your pocket, it is so heavy, you are bent over by its weight. The weight is mammoth, and you can barely crawl. Gradually, you become accustomed to it, and while it still weighs the same, it doesn't feel as heavy as it did initially. You are able to stand upright and walk.

    My prayers are on their way to your dear friend that she may find strength, be surrounded by the comfort and support of her loved ones, and feel peace in her son's spiritual presence.

    Comfort and peace to you, Donna, as I know you are sharing your friend's pain.

    Love & Light,


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  • A blog post on the loss of a child and grieving loss in general

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