Two bereaved parents share the impact of long-term loss in their lives.
Philippa: Grief years after- a personal reflection
I was walking through a cemetery today, a peaceful place that rang with bird song and sloped downhill to distant views of the sea.
I find old graveyards comforting places to wander and reflect on life. In them I find so much more than death and sorrow. For me, they also bring to mind a sense of continuing love, deep affection, and a kind of comfort. There may be a grave dating from more than a hundred years and just over the way, a much more recent one, but they both carry similar messages of love for the ones who have died, though separated in history. There again, often the modern way is to inscribe a bench in a significant place with memories of your loved one. I read these inscriptions and sometimes sit for a while and imagine the person described in a few carefully chosen words, as well as the love, and sadness of those left behind.
It’s many years now since we lost our Jim when he was twenty-one, on the brink of his adult life. I honestly felt I’d never recover from that awful loss and pain and, like many of us, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to, as I felt that might mean I hadn’t loved him enough or else maybe I was just forgetting. Even ten years after (and I know that might feel like forever, if you have recently lost your beloved child), the pain felt quite visceral. At that point we did a long-distance walk in his memory, and while we had come a fair old distance in our grief walk, there was still a way to go.
Now, more than fifteen years after he died, well… I’m still sad, I still miss him every day and especially at those special times of year, AND I can also say, the grief has changed to something gentler and less jagged. The old cliché, ‘in my heart’ appears to be true, as that is indeed where I carry him and feel him. I can say that love IS stronger than death, because his death has not robbed me of that love. The sense that Jim is part of my life, part of who I am, and part of my family’s life continues to be strong. He remains part of our story, part of our motivation to live life as well as we can, to give back and receive with gratitude.
Of course – of course – I’d much rather Jim was here, and I was witnessing his life and who he would have matured into. But I don’t have choice in that, so here I am, years later, reflecting on his memory with deep love, fondness, affection alongside feelings of sadness, and knowing, in my heart and body, he still matters, he’s still loved.
Soon after Jim died, I saw a desk plaque that read ‘Time doesn’t heal, Love does’. Just words? Maybe- but I’ve never forgotten them and pondered them often since. We can’t explain in words really, but we know it to be true. Grief for our children is a lifelong journey, but it changes, becomes softer edged as the sharp pain recedes and becomes wrapped in love and memories. We need not fear we will forget or that our loss will cease to matter for surely our loved ones will stay with us as long as we are here, and continue, each of us, to work it out in our own unique ways.
Di: Who am I now?
At that moment when I realised that our lovely, mischievous eight-year-old daughter was not coming home, and she was in fact dead, ‘long-term’ was not on my mind! I felt transfixed in the moment as my brain struggled to take in what had just happened.
Moments of that afternoon/evening and the following days are very clear, but much of it is now a blur – we were on auto-pilot. We had two younger children to consider, and parents too, each of us having lost a different relationship with Rebekah. That Sunday afternoon is now nearly 40 years ago and we’ve no way of knowing what life would have been like, or the young woman she would have grown to be, if she’d not had that fatal heart attack.
But… Who are We Now?
Her siblings, who are now in their 40’s, reflected the influence of the loss of their sister in their career choices. One is a doctor who tried to decide on specialising in cardiology or paediatrics, but ended up in anaesthetics which covers them both! The other is in HR so is also looking after the needs of others. As a family we spent over 20 years as foster carers. Our underlying conviction was that we couldn’t do any more for our daughter who’d gone but we could for other children, many of whom hadn’t had the privilege of stable family life. Our children benefited from this work too, with new friendships and a different focus from their loss.
Over the years different events have come around, including weddings and grandchildren that have enlarged our family. Our youngest grandchild is now older than Rebekah ever was… Of course these events are emotional but I’ve learnt to embrace these times rather than avoid them. That’s what we’ve done and loss has certainly influenced our choices, but… Who Am I Now?
I’m still a mum who lost her first born… but my world has now enlarged beyond the immediate. I enjoy talking to other bereaved mums, offering hope that life will get easier, with things to enjoy again. I volunteer with my local Home-Start branch and am able to listen to other’s pain because I can remember my own and appreciate those who listened and gave of themselves to me.
Another of the long-term impacts is that fewer and fewer of the people I interact with on a day to day basis ever knew my daughter. This makes those who did know her very special! Coupled with that is the fact that now we hear her name used so infrequently, but she remains at the heart of our family, definitely not forgotten.
I felt her death would make or break us but we chose to embrace what had happened and not to waste our sorrows, so to speak. God continues to care for us.
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