Connected by our pain

On Friday, another family lost their son.

Not yet 20, this young man's life tragically ended in a car crash. His parents now thrown into this nightmare of losing their child. I wish I didn't know what it felt like. I wish they didn't either.

I know nothing about this family, their boy or their lives yet I suddenly feel connected to them through pain. Just as I did when I thought of all the moms from Humboldt.

It takes only a second for me to start crying when I think of that poor mother. I cry for the both of us. I cry because I know the depth of heartache she has been thrust into. And I am still learning. Learning how to cope with a never ending longing to see, feel, touch, kiss, hug or talk to your child. I am still learning how to manage the ongoing phases of grief in this non-linear process.

My heart bleeds for this mother, who like me, will have moments of peace and understanding and then moments of deep despair. I don't want anyone to have to feel this way. It is beyond sad that so many parents face this reality.

It's not fair.

Yet, there are amazing opportunities for growth in an experience of this magnitude. I am trying to embrace them and hold on to them to make sense of or find purpose in my loss. And if anything, it has proven to me the interconnectedness of us as human beings. There is something greater beyond our physical existence that connects us all... just as I feel connected to this stranger, I can also still feel connected to my son.

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It feels like yesterday: Grief at one-year

The fog has returned
My focus and clarity gone
Grief has settled in again
I am tired; my body slumps and is too heavy to carry. I want to sleep.

We are now in the last days before Xavier died. He was alive this day last year. But on May 13 there is no living memory of him last year, aside from a couple hours of unconscious sleep before he took his last breath beside me. I held my breath with him waiting for the next and it didn’t come.

We had a great few days this week last year and he was full of laughs, full of life! We saw a glimpse of this again in ICU. Then he deteriorated.

The zipper that keeps us all inside Earth started to split. His connection to this plane was ripping apart. When the zipper fully detached he was opened to eternity.

This week has been challenging, constantly fighting back memories of this time last year. Painful memories of life and death decisions. Time is nothing. It hurts just as bad now as it did last year. My grief had been contained, but is now wide open.

But…

Grief and gratitude: What's the connection?

It has been a while since my last post.

I don't know how many times I and other bloggers have likely used this opening. But as boring and cliche as those words are, there is hope within this opening line.

Hope.

I haven't written because I haven't needed to like I have in the past to release the overwhelming whirlpool of emotions splashing out of me with nowhere to go but into words on a page. Journaling has always been a wonderful tool for me when I am experiencing intense feelings or untamed stress.

In fact my lack of posts is because I have been preoccupied with life. A life I want to live despite losing one of my greatest gifts in my life, my son Xavier.

But in the last month, I have experienced joy and the gifts my precious son left here for me. I would give anything and everything to have him here with me, but having accepted the reality that is just not possible, I now choose to focus on the positives this experience has brought to my life.

I have started a new job …

Don’t go 2017!

New Years A time of reflection. A time of celebration. A time of joy and a time of sorrow.
I approach 2018 with so many mixed emotions. This year has been hell on Earth. The pain and heartache of losing Xavier will forever be how we remember 2017. But leaving this year and starting anew fills me with an overwhelming sadness. To say goodbye to this awful year is to also say goodbye to the last year I will ever see Xavier alive. He lived in 2017. I have memories we made together in 2017. Next year I will have none. He will not lived a day in 2018. New Year’s is one more piercing stab of reality he is gone. 2017 was the worst year of my life, yet I want to hang onto it forever. Hidden within the brokenness of 2017 was also a year of immeasurable growth: growth in my faith, my spirituality and my awareness of who I really am. I lost my son and found insight. Things I had been searching for in my life and trying to make sense of suddenly became clear. I found strength I never knew existed…

The Book of Me

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