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The day my son died, my world shattered. I felt like I had been hit by a train and my body and soul were in pieces on the ground. I couldn’t believe Joey was gone. He was only 10 years old.
I went through the usual motions of life – at work by 8 a.m., home by 6, a quick dinner – a sandwich or box pizza – then off to bed. I slept a lot during those awful days. In my dreams I was with Joey. And dreaming of Joey was a whole lot better than living. I longed for my own death.
Pain had become my friend, a constant companion. I couldn’t think or see beyond it. Happiness was a thing of the past. I didn’t want to be happy. How could I be happy without my son?
One day, I was lying in bed feeling sorry for myself – can’t tell you what day that was – all of my days were pretty much the same. After Joey died, I didn’t get much company – my friends and family all seemed to have disappeared from my life – only a phone call here and there. So the knock at the door came as a surprise. It was my neighbor, Mary.
“Hi, Jane. I just stopped by to see how you were doing. I haven’t seen you outside in your garden in quite some time,” she said. “I was getting worried about you. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. Would you like to come in?” I asked, trying to be polite, and hoping she’d say no.
“I’d love to, Jane. Thank you,” she replied.
Mary and I sat at the kitchen table and talked. It actually felt good talking to her about Joey. And she listened so intently. When she asked me how I was feeling, at that point, I felt comfortable enough to talk about my emotional pain. Talking about it was cathartic. After getting it all out, and a few tears, she said, “I understand the pain you’re feeling. I lost my daughter ten years ago. It was the worst pain I ever felt.in my life.”
“I’m so sorry, Mary. I didn’t know you lost a child. How did you cope?”
“Thank you, dear. You weren’t living here at the time. I sure could have used a friend like you back then. Someone to sit with and talk to. It sure wasn’t easy,” she said. “I was feeling so many different emotions all at the same time. It was difficult to sort them all out and work through them. People didn’t know what to say or do to help me. I felt very alone for a long time. But eventually, I started to come out of my funk. I volunteered at a grief support group I found downtown. It helped me to talk about my feelings and to connect with other people who had lost one of their loved ones. If you’re interested, I’ll send you some information about it. And if you’d like, I’ll take you to one of our meetings.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I’m ready to do that, Mary. But I’d be interested in reading more about the group.” I said.
“That’s okay,” she said. “The offer stands whenever you’re ready. I’ll send you the information about it when I get home. Going there really was one of the best things I ever did.”
As I lay in bed that night, I thought about what Mary had said. I knew that I needed to do something to help myself. Joey had been gone nearly six months, and I couldn’t just sit around and feel sorry for myself for the rest of my life.
It took a number of weeks to muster up the nerve, but finally I did go with Mary to the grief support group. And I’m glad I did. At first, I was so nervous, I just sat and listened to the others talk about their loved ones. They were all supportive of one another, and friendly. Many people had developed friendships outside the group. No one pressured me or expected me to talk. They gave me all the space and time I needed. And when I was ready, I did talk. I told them about Joey’s short but wonderful life, and the joy he gave me during those tender years. They laughed and cried with me. And I felt supported by them. They helped me heal.
Through them, I learned that grief is a process, and it takes as long as it takes to get through it and get on with living life. I learned that it was okay to grieve my way, on my own terms, and to ask for help whenever I needed it. I no longer felt alone. I met and became friends with several women who had lived through what I was going through. My circle of friends changed. And I felt closer to these women than any other before them. We were there for one another, and we supported each other. I had a new purpose in life.
It’s been a six years since my son died. I still miss him every day. But I’m not in the same pain I was in then. I found hope again. And I found a new love. Last year I remarried, and we’re now expecting our first child together. Joy has returned to my life. And I feel good about that – Joey would want me to be happy and go on without him.
While some days are still hard, I strive to live every day of my life to the fullest. Through volunteering, I’m helping other people who are going through what I went through. Sometimes I just sit and listen. Other times, I do their grocery shopping or cook a meal or two. And sometimes, I pull weeds out of a forgotten garden.
Going through the grieving process is not easy. But I’m living proof that it is possible to find hope and be happy again after losing a child. It takes time and some effort, but it is so worth it.
By Jane Evans
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