5 Years of Grief

Grief (5 + years out)

It has been a while since I last blogged. I felt it was a good time to post something that I can review later in life and hopefully see my growth. Also, maybe I can help guide others fighting their own grief.

Mary Elizabeth would soon be 18 years old (This Friday Feb. 5) and I honestly can’t believe it. I don’t know how time has moved on like it has without her. I always miss her but this will be an extra hard year. I would love to see her as an 18 year old ready to take on the world.

Grief is a touchy topic. I am no expert and I can only speak from my own experience. I get asked often how one can comfort those they love who are grieving. Maybe this will be a helpful guide for them.

First, I want to say the grief of losing a child is unlike any other type of grief. It has no rhyme or reason and there is no guidebook. At least none I have found. Everyone is different and I never had a personal interest in reading anyone else’s guidebook. I wanted to find my own way. That’s just me though, I am different than some I know going down this similar path. Many like group therapies and get a lot out of it. I, on the other hand, do not. I am too empathetic and tend to carry other’s burdens as well as my own. I honestly only trust and open up to those whom I know I can 100% completely rely on. Group therapy and support groups just seemed to deepen my wounds and kept me in a dark hole. I also didn’t want to seek advice from those who hadn’t walked in my same shoes. I do appreciate those who are further down the grief road who can assure me there is more light than darkness as I move forward on this journey. It has given me something to look forward to.

Year one for me was a legit sh*t show both mentally and physically. It was a wasted year of self-loathing and feeling very lonely and lost.

Lets talk about denial. It’s a powerful coping mechanism. I function mainly in a semi-state of denial on the daily. The actual truth is just too much to handle. I think it’s the only way I am able to move forward when my heart and mind still can’t make sense of this kind of loss. I’m not sure if this is a good or a bad thing, it just is what it is.

I remember after losing Mary I would look in the mirror and see an old, haggard lady staring back at me. I had no idea who this person was. It is a very strange feeling to not even recognize yourself. I wanted to lay in bed all day curled in a ball. I didn’t want to talk to anyone or see anyone. I wasn’t able to do this though. I put a fake smile on my face and got my kids off to school. Then I might return to bed only to get up and fake smile again when they came back home. 

My advice to someone who has recently lost a child is to do what you need to do. There should be no judgements. Stay in bed or don’t. Cry or don’t cry. Sleep or don’t sleep. Eat or don’t eat. No judgements here. Take your time getting back to life. Just eventually get back! 

I would often show up to events that honored Mary with zero desire to attend. Honestly I probably shouldn’t have even been there. I really wanted to wallow in self-pity and be left alone. Instead I pretended to be strong when I was literally dying inside.

Slowly, I did start to feel human again. I put on make-up, got new clothes and dyed my hair. I tried to exercise and lose a few pounds. I did some things for me. I felt zero joy but tried to find it where I could. Only then to feel guilty for cracking a smile. 

Birthdays were the most confusing and sad times for me. Holidays sucked too. I didn’t want to celebrate a milestone or a special occasion without my child. It felt wrong on so many levels. I also didn’t want to disappoint those around me. Honestly, I wanted to just die. I wanted someone to understand me and feel sorry for me and to also not judge me.

I eventually discovered a few very important things as I was going down a very destructive path.

First, I was only hurting myself. I was pushing people away and they were leaving me. No one was going to save me from my despair. No one wanted to be around a miserable and negative human-being for very long. I felt ugly on the inside and I hated myself. I decided that I could either live more years in this emotional hell or figure out a way to slowly heal and become a better person. I hated the person I saw staring back at me.

I found a therapist that I love and I took some meds for my new found depression and anxiety.

What is so very difficult about losing a child is that it affects everyone inside your immediate circle. Your whole support system is also dealing with their own grief. They aren’t necessarily readily available to help you like you might need or how they have been in the past. It affects siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins etc. Your spouse most likely is handling grief in their own individual way and is incapable of being the support you need. Men and women handle grief differently and that is just a fact. This was new to me because with most things in life one of us could be strong while the other was weak. In this situation we were both weak.

 

I wanted to be strong. I wanted to find my way. It has been a long, hard journey and a very changing one. I did not want to be alone but I also did not want anyone else to feel this pain. I am forever changed and different. I do not think in a good or bad way necessarily, just different. I am more honest (probably too honest), I am more vocal and absolutely a more powerful human being. I can never go back to before. There is the me before Mary died and the me after. This is who I am. I do not care what anyone thinks of me. I only care if I can live with the person I am today. 

I can.

 

Lessons I’ve learned:

Grieving parents do not want to be called strong. We feel like the weakest of the weak. We are only surviving because we don’t have another choice. We know people depend on us. But we often secretly wish we could escape this cruel world and just be with the child we lost. That is a dark secret we all carry. We also want to make our children proud so we press on.

There are certain things we never expect, like things strangers and even “friends” say which can be big triggers. For me, I never really took anything anyone said too personal. I knew most people meant well and they just did not have the right words. Many people do take things very personal. This is because they are hurting. Period. Every emotion is mega amplified. My husband hated when someone would say “I can’t even imagine your pain or what you’re going through.” He wanted to say “No sh*t, of course you can’t!” So please no one say that to Steve, ever. 😂 Kidding/not kidding.

“I’m sorry and I’m here” is usually sufficient enough. 

 

Most people hate when you don’t mention their child. They want their child talked about and remembered, always. Especially by close friends and family. I don’t take this too personal either. It’s just a hard and confusing situation for everyone. No one wants to talk about your dead child at the risk of making you upset or ruin an otherwise happy day/moment. But trust me, every day is a hard day without our children. Mention them. Acknowledge them. It’s best.

 

What I needed, and still need, are for those around me to keep my child’s memory alive. Send me pictures and stories, tell me how they changed your life and what they meant to you. Those anonymous small gifts and gestures that show Mary is remembered touches me the most. And these caring, small gestures usually show up when most needed. That’s God. 

 

Let your grieving friend vent and cry. Let them scream and yell. Let them forget when they need to forget. Don’t offer advice or try to fix their pain. Just be present. Those few friends who would show up unexpected at the hospital at 12 a.m. with a Starbucks, trashy magazine and a hug or come to Memphis to take me on a jeep ride and an ice cream break were what I needed the most. Those that would check in often and understood if I never responded or answered the phone still kept reaching out. This meant everything. I never had to worry that they would abandon me or that having a friend who lost a daughter would be too much for them to bear. The pastor who cried with us and admitted he was also questioning his faith told me just what I needed hear. Which was that we are all just humans doing the best we can. We just prayed and pleaded for God’s help and mercy. Sometimes there are just no good answers. I needed people to be honest and loving and accepting no matter what I was feeling. Just be there. Love unconditionally and stay. Don’t run or hide. Show your loyalty, love and support.

 

There are friends that I had all my life who disappeared when Mary got sick and died. It happens. I don’t hold a grudge. Cancer is hard. Death of a child is even harder. My true friends never left my side. I needed people in my life who let me be me and experience what I needed to experience. I needed to find new legs and have them to walk by my side-no matter what.

 

Here is my advice for the first year after losing a child: Stay in bed if you need to. Attend or don’t attend events. Don’t push yourself. Take a hiatus from work if you are able. Answer or don’t answer the phone. Do whatever you can to keep breathing and to survive. The one thing you are not allowed to do is to give up. Take it day by day and moment by moment. Reach out to others if you need help. Never feel ashamed. The clock will keep ticking and the world will keep spinning whether you like it or not. Start trying to forgive yourself and give yourself the space and grace you need to heal.

 

I did eventually accept that so much was and is still out of my control. I had to let go of the things that I wanted to change and couldn’t. I also know God is real and Mary had a big purpose. He never left me even when I felt very alone.

 

Recently a parent who just lost a child asked me if there was anything these children who died young and suffered had in common. There is one very important thing....Every child I personally knew who died at a young age (especially from cancer) had a special light inside of them. If you ever met one you would immediately see it and just know. Mary Elizabeth was always different. She touched everyone that she ever met. Her unconditional love and understanding of God and His love was well beyond her years. She talked with spirits and had zero fear. Deep in my heart I always knew she wasn’t meant for this world. I didn’t want to admit it but I always knew. I have peace knowing that she chose me to be her mom and to take this journey with her. I have a duty to keep her spirit alive. I was far from perfect but she chose me knowing this. I am a very blessed woman.

 

Steve recently told me a story that confirmed this. Before ME got sick the two of them went on a church retreat. On this trip the new youth minister was in attendance and told Steve that she sensed Mary was a “marked child”. Meaning a child touched by the Holy Spirit. This was so true and she had no idea what was to come a few short months later. I have grown and have a very open mind these days. The universe in massive and beyond our human comprehension. Love is all that matters.

 

I am an open book and my journey is just beginning. I am always here with open arms to help anyone unfortunate enough to be on their own grief path. Grief is fluid and ever changing. I am so sorry for anyone who unvoluntarily joins this club of child loss. But I promise you this, the members of this club are some of the most loving and understanding people you can ever know. No judgements ever, only love.

Please pray over our family as Mary’s birthday approaches. It’s an extra tough one. But I am forever thankful for the blessed years we had with her on this earth. I can’t wait to see my baby again. Every day is one day closer. ❤️