When A Child Dies--A Real Life Account
Without Prejudice
I am looking backwards down the tunnel of Twenty Five Years. On the anniversaries as It is today, the weeks, days leading up to it are tense. The day is never as bad as you anticipate for some reason, the lead up is the pits. A female doctor said once was it not just us anticipating to feel bad, sad, mad ?
I asked her if she had ever lost a child ?
She said no.
There was total silence for a while. I just stared at her for a moment and exited stage left without another word spoken.
I have had the expensive grief counselling, the tapes that tell me to smash plates instead of going through the pain. I tried that it was good therapy for rage. I went to meetings of other parents who had lost children, crying, most of the way, feeling futile and empty but needing to go.
They were fantastic people at Compassionate Friends, telling me I would not even begin to live a normal life until six years had passed. It was the anniversary of Year One.
I don't remember the details of the first few months. I went to Qld and remember not a thing about the trip. It was four months since my child died aged 12 and that oh so important half. She drowned in a tragic accident, a dare, an adventure that went horribly wrong.
If the gate hadn't been easy for kids to get through, the week had not been a hot one, so many what if's it nearly drove me mad. The first winter was terrible, iron clad greyness that even now I can't remember details of save for stripping wallpaper from a wall in a corner. Ennui so bad I barely survived it.
People were so careful to not mention her name, Lauren Jade, in fear of upsetting me, when all I wanted to do was hear that she had mattered, hear anecdotes of her love, her friendship, her natural kindliness. Nothing stops a conversation like dropping in the fact that you have lost a child. People literally shuffle away from you, leaving you feeling like a leper.
The first time you laugh out loud, you feel guilty. As if every moment should be spent in quiet solace, worship, guilt, and although you want to be alone it's the worst thing you can do. Others can do nothing except understand. Glib cliches do not work. Sometimes if they just sit and hold your hand while you say nothing it means everything to you.
You need to hear the funny, the problems in others lives that get you living again.
Some of the best advice was given to me by my grief counsellors, a man and a woman.
They went out of their way to visit and swim in a darkened pool and told me how without light on the water how easy it was to become disorientated. How frightening and soothing, peaceful warm water was. How dangerous water can be without feeling terror. My Doctor said he heard how peaceful a death drowning was. I wonder how he knew.
All I could feel was rage and hatred and blind terror that her last few seconds on earth were of her struggling to breathe. I felt like I too was drowning with her, going under to a world I had never knew existed. A living hell.
Worse than the feelings were the no feelings, the auto bot voice of nothingness. I ate, I bathed, I arose
and went about the day like a robot. I wanted everyone to leave me alone. I wanted to retreat to my inner cave and lick my wounds like an animal, hurt, bewildered, rage against fates, others, her, cry, scream and yet nothing helped. For a few blissful seconds as I climbed up from a fitful sleep I would believe everything was Ø.K.
And then I would think. Your child is dead. Lauren was dead and that it could not be true. I knew it to be true but another part of my mind would say God was playing a trick. She was still alive, somewhere. It was a mistake and she would pop her head around the corner of my damaged mind and say, " it's a very sick joke, I am still here "
She came to me once. A visit to assure me she was fine, she was happy, ecstatic almost with a smile that was literally the best thing I had ever seen. It for ever after reminded me of a movie sequence. She spoke but not aloud. I spoke back but not aloud. She told me I would be fine, better than fine. I knew she was right. Although I would never again laugh as easily as I had while she was alive, never feel as normal as when she was here, I knew I would continue living.
She wanted me to. She wants me here, to care about, nurture, teach, live, help, inspire three other girls, 14 grandkids, almost four great grandkids. By being brave, having courage, welcoming challenges, and just loving unconditionally. Like she did. She judged no one, liked everyone and gave her time, her spirit, her Joy of life to others.
Always and forever remembered, xxx
I am looking backwards down the tunnel of Twenty Five Years. On the anniversaries as It is today, the weeks, days leading up to it are tense. The day is never as bad as you anticipate for some reason, the lead up is the pits. A female doctor said once was it not just us anticipating to feel bad, sad, mad ?
I asked her if she had ever lost a child ?
She said no.
There was total silence for a while. I just stared at her for a moment and exited stage left without another word spoken.
I have had the expensive grief counselling, the tapes that tell me to smash plates instead of going through the pain. I tried that it was good therapy for rage. I went to meetings of other parents who had lost children, crying, most of the way, feeling futile and empty but needing to go.
They were fantastic people at Compassionate Friends, telling me I would not even begin to live a normal life until six years had passed. It was the anniversary of Year One.
I don't remember the details of the first few months. I went to Qld and remember not a thing about the trip. It was four months since my child died aged 12 and that oh so important half. She drowned in a tragic accident, a dare, an adventure that went horribly wrong.
If the gate hadn't been easy for kids to get through, the week had not been a hot one, so many what if's it nearly drove me mad. The first winter was terrible, iron clad greyness that even now I can't remember details of save for stripping wallpaper from a wall in a corner. Ennui so bad I barely survived it.
People were so careful to not mention her name, Lauren Jade, in fear of upsetting me, when all I wanted to do was hear that she had mattered, hear anecdotes of her love, her friendship, her natural kindliness. Nothing stops a conversation like dropping in the fact that you have lost a child. People literally shuffle away from you, leaving you feeling like a leper.
The first time you laugh out loud, you feel guilty. As if every moment should be spent in quiet solace, worship, guilt, and although you want to be alone it's the worst thing you can do. Others can do nothing except understand. Glib cliches do not work. Sometimes if they just sit and hold your hand while you say nothing it means everything to you.
You need to hear the funny, the problems in others lives that get you living again.
Some of the best advice was given to me by my grief counsellors, a man and a woman.
They went out of their way to visit and swim in a darkened pool and told me how without light on the water how easy it was to become disorientated. How frightening and soothing, peaceful warm water was. How dangerous water can be without feeling terror. My Doctor said he heard how peaceful a death drowning was. I wonder how he knew.
All I could feel was rage and hatred and blind terror that her last few seconds on earth were of her struggling to breathe. I felt like I too was drowning with her, going under to a world I had never knew existed. A living hell.
Worse than the feelings were the no feelings, the auto bot voice of nothingness. I ate, I bathed, I arose
and went about the day like a robot. I wanted everyone to leave me alone. I wanted to retreat to my inner cave and lick my wounds like an animal, hurt, bewildered, rage against fates, others, her, cry, scream and yet nothing helped. For a few blissful seconds as I climbed up from a fitful sleep I would believe everything was Ø.K.
And then I would think. Your child is dead. Lauren was dead and that it could not be true. I knew it to be true but another part of my mind would say God was playing a trick. She was still alive, somewhere. It was a mistake and she would pop her head around the corner of my damaged mind and say, " it's a very sick joke, I am still here "
She came to me once. A visit to assure me she was fine, she was happy, ecstatic almost with a smile that was literally the best thing I had ever seen. It for ever after reminded me of a movie sequence. She spoke but not aloud. I spoke back but not aloud. She told me I would be fine, better than fine. I knew she was right. Although I would never again laugh as easily as I had while she was alive, never feel as normal as when she was here, I knew I would continue living.
She wanted me to. She wants me here, to care about, nurture, teach, live, help, inspire three other girls, 14 grandkids, almost four great grandkids. By being brave, having courage, welcoming challenges, and just loving unconditionally. Like she did. She judged no one, liked everyone and gave her time, her spirit, her Joy of life to others.
Always and forever remembered, xxx
