It seems that often people feel like they are floundering when it comes to talking to a person who has lost a child. Many have reluctant words and troubled minds concerning the most taboo death existing in societies worldwide. Still, I find it very silly to treat us like china dolls. My experience thus far with the many loss parents I have now met or have learned about is that bereaved moms and dads are just like typical moms and dads. Some are kind and some are cruel. Some are happy and some are sad. I have come to love a great number of them, and not enjoyed the company of others whatsoever. Just like ordinary people. Obviously.
I add that last word with a touch of satire because while the words seem so indisputable, grief parents are commonly first and foremost met with discomfort from others, rather than normalcy. I understand. The death of my son does not feel comfortable to me either. But that is the only part of his life and mine that makes me uncomfortable. There are so many things about him to know that are interesting and relevant. Things that his family loves about him and things that were gained because of him. It is unfortunate that our society lets one part of bereaved parents get in the way of discovering so many other things about our journey and our children. What about everything else that has ever happened to me?
Long before Beckett came in to my life, I was an established dreamer. I imagined the absurd and the captivating as possible conclusions for my life all of the time. Artistry was never wasted on me, and now I apply my most beautiful imagery to the heartache I work the hardest to lighten. It’s a complicated internal piece. Because where Beckett is concerned, I have no room for lies within myself. I do not turn away from the ugly. But it doesn’t have to be downright depressing either. Heartbreak paints some of the prettiest pictures.
I want others to know I am not in a box. That seems to be where so many people imagine loss parents being as they do their best to be fair to us but also ignore us. Trapped, suffocating, incapable of a broad existence in the face of what has happened to us. But in fact, I have been pushed out of the box, and I am floating in the dark and mysterious now. Sometimes I hate it here. Sometimes I cling to the handle and bang on the door. I would scoop Beckett from the cosmos and force my way back in with him if I could. But most of the time there is a gentle breeze in this place that keeps me from doing that, an undercurrent I would call “possibility.” Sometimes-rarely, briefly-my soul dances in this weightless infinity. And in my most fantastical and optimistic moments, I believe that Beckett’s soul dances with mine. Sometimes I think that when my earthly veils one day fall away and my human journeys end, I will see him clearly in this space with me. It is the biggest dream I have ever dreamed.
As a loss mom, I do want you to know that my child left this world before I did and that it is the most horrible thing that has ever happened to me. But I also want you to know that more than that, I loved him. That my heart should be handled with care, but my soul still craves reckless abandon. That I was a dreamer before, and maybe am even more so now. While I am fragmented, I remain mostly intact. Please know me, not only my bereavement. The cracks that loss has created made room for feeling to run loose throughout me until I want to laugh, scream, and cry with the fullness of it. With the world, at the world, and for the world. Let me share it with you. I do not wish for anyone else to feel the pain of child loss. But I do want others to know what it feels like to sway in another dimension. The dancing may look lonely, but it doesn’t always feel that way.
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