“Well maybe we can start on the beginner wall.”
“Mom, I’m not like 4 ya know! Just get me on the tallest wall!”
Oh boy. So, he climbed. He climbed and climbed until he rang the loud old, bell. As I glared up, he smiled ear to ear. No fear. No care in the world. Climbing down, he’s shouting, “See Mom! Parents don’t know everything right?!”
I sometimes wish I had his courage. I wish I could revert back to childhood, where I only cared about hopping on my red Big Wheel, racing down the sidewalk with my pig-tails in the breeze. A simple life, like T, who wants a playdate all hours of the day, even if it’s 9:00 p.m. on a school night. His strength, a child’s strength, is just surreal to me. I want to fall to pieces sometimes because of the heavy grief, yet looking at him, I wonder, “How does he do it?” I believe it is because children simply live “in the now” and enjoy every bit of it. As adults, however, we know more of fear, worry and consequences.
I worry what will happen as he ages; will he remember B more, or less? I worry about making the family feel “complete,” as it once felt. Now, the holidays are approaching. Not an easy time for anyone in the grieving process. Heck, getting out of bed can be a tedious task at times, let alone sitting with large groups of people at holiday dinners. However, one learns to put worries aside. Faith teaches us B will be waiting to see us once again. Until that time, we will try to be more like T: Live loud in every moment and be courageous.
Where do you find courage?
I don’t know. People say to those of us who have lost a child, “How do you do it. You are so strong. I could never do it.” We put one foot in front of another, we stay here and try to be strong for our other children, if we are blessed to have others. I wish we didn’t have to be “strong”. I’d rather be “weak” and have my son here with me. Hang in there. Take Care.
Couldn’t agree more. Take care too 🙂
I don’t know. People ask those of us who have lost children, “How do you do it? You are so strong. I could never do it.” We put one foot in front of the other. We stay here for our other children, if we are blessed to have others. But I would rather be “weak” and still have my son here with me. Hang in there. Take Care.
I find courage in the world around me, in the eyes of others who are suffering loss. You are very close to the time your little one left this life, your grief is fresh and you wear it like a pair of new shoes that pinch and hurt. A few years after my son left this world, my eyes began to open to the living going on around me, and without my consent I was drawn back into the dance, and I liked it. It was good to feel alive again. I stopped thinking I was betraying my little boy when I felt like laughing. Now, when I see others who are hurting I can quietly hold their hand and know I’m not – I never was – alone. The price for loving another is the hurt we feel when we lose them. But it’s worth it.
You are awesome Jenrad.
Awesome words. Thanks.
My precious daughter died on the 18th of January 2013. I don’t know how I manage to get out of bed, eat, sleep or function when all I want to do is die. Maybe we don’t find courage – maybe courage finds us.
I am so sorry for the loss of your sweet daughter barely 5 months ago. I hope you have someone in your life who can lend you some of their courage, especially if they have lost a child too. Recently my very good friend’s daughter died, and having lost my son nine years ago, I am able to loan her some of the courage I have gained along the way. I still miss my son deeply every day, but like Susan B, I have learned to enjoy life again, and I imagine my son smiling down on me saying “Way to go Mom, keep trying to be happy and live a full life” until we meet again. Take care and God bless you during this most difficult journey.