After my father died this past May, I found many beautiful portraits of Jason that I had lost. I am grateful for those pictures.

I remember that there were times when my grief was so overwhelming that I gave up hope of ever feeling better. I thought I had given up hope, but instead hope waited for me in the wings.

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I want to use a metaphor to describe my grief and healing. It is one of a roaring wildfire that destroyed everything in its path. After my child died, the fire that burned through my soul was a horror beyond anything imaginable. I wished I had been consumed, but instead the fire gleefully tortured me with severe burns. I awoke blistered and everything familiar was gone.

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The fire left a blackened and ugly forest. The possibility of that devastated forest ever recovering its former beauty seemed impossible. But eventually, a tiny sapling broke through the ashes. A few plants sprouted because the heat from the fire allowed certain seed pods to germinate. I missed the forest that I remembered and barely noticed those changes.

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I knew fires were a part of this world; that they randomly happened. But I was very angry. I never expected to personally witness the horror or experience the suffering.

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But the fire that tortured me did not destroy everything – it did not destroy my love.

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My life was as gray as ashes for almost two decades. I coped by simply going through the motions for many years. I was alive but not really living, but my love kept my spirit going.

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The most amazing part of my story was when I reached a point of exhaustion and acceptance of my fate, something appeared in the ashes of my forest. One day, hope fluttered down from above.

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It turned out that when I least expected it my ashen forest began to grow again. Like magic, colors and sounds reappeared. I looked around and noticed the forest was completely different from what I had remembered.

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Because it had been so long since I’d heard beautiful sounds and seen gorgeous colors, I found my new surroundings breathtaking. It was not the same forest, but that didn’t matter. My appreciation was limitless because my drab life was over.

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The hope that waited in the wings kissed me and took flight. I thanked her for waiting.

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Jason drew this while in preschool. For me, I see an angel with a beautiful heart. Jason died from his congenital heart defect.

A painting of mine that was part of a memorial for Jason.

This story was inspired by a particularly heartbreaking poem that was written by another bereaved mother.

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Brenda Lewis lost her 15-year-old son Andrew, when he tragically collapsed on a baseball field and died from an undiagnosed heart ailment.

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She writes and shares her poetry and stories at a blog named https://beebeesworld.wordpress.com. Below is her poem and clicking on the title is a link to it on Brenda’s blog:

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TILL NOTHING WAS LEFT

This poem is not for my precious son

Whose death
 took everything from me

that I hung onto, believed in

It is for those who can’t see that I am still here

But I have been forced to live in a world

Where there 
is not glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

I’m so tired of it all, so tired of the lies

The further I fall, the higher you rise

It takes all I have, each moment I try

I give and I give, till I think I will die

I’m sorry that I was never enough

My heart is long dead; the road’s been so rough

All that I have, I have given to you.

And what have I left?  No joy and no you

Just leave me here in my prison, my home

Cause when you are here, I still feel alone.

Not a thing I’ve endured, suffered, survived

Has helped you to notice, that I’m still alive

I still feel, I still hope, I still love, I still try

Somehow through the darkness, I still survive

Take just one heartbeat, one touch, one breath

And remember I will love you

till nothing is left 

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After reading Brenda’s poem, I wrote to her:–

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Dear Brenda,

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I have no idea how long it has been since your son died. Your words have taken my breath away. My eyes are filled with tears. You think you have nothing left and there is no light in your tunnel.

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But you have so much inside that is pouring out of you. It is your love for your son. My son died many years ago. I died inside to be with him for such a long time, but now I’m alive because my suffering has given me clarity about life. My time here is unknown. Each moment is precious and grief stole many years from me.

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I wish you could celebrate your beautiful son’s life by finding joy again. I never believed it would happen to me – but it did. I held out hope and waited. Don’t give up!

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Brenda replied:

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Dear Judy,

It has been 6 years since he died. I have my moments when I feel strong; I fake my way through dinners, activities, but I just lost so much when I lost him, my health, faith, and the closeness with my family. I became angry and when I didn’t get the kind of support I felt I needed and it just got worse and worse. My poem is a way to try to let go of some of that. I have moments of hope and moments of complete despair. Thanks for your encouragement. I had serious doubts about putting this blog on here. I almost feel like I shouldn’t have; I have gotten so many comments that make me feel like I have saddened others…beebee

Dear Beebee,

Six years is a long time and the horror is still there. Your soul has been amputated. Like an arm missing, you’ve adjusted and carry scars that no one can visibly see. And that adjustment will continue. Even with family support, no one bears your personal sorrow but you.

I believe that the whole point of writing is HONESTY. What else is there? You are expressing feelings that are true for you. No one else can feel what you are going through and it is your gift to find the words to express yourself. People who don’t like sadness can read something else.

Please don’t ever stop yourself because of concern about what others think of your writing. Believe it or not, the more you express your sorrow, the lighter you will feel. Keeping your sadness inside is a heavy cross to bear. Release your pain and share. You will find there are many other people who will appreciate your words. I did.

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Your message mentions how you have been very angry with your family. Their lack of understanding and support has certainly added to your anguish. It sounded like your family’s love was not unconditional – that you’d have their support if you followed their religious beliefs. I am very sorry about that.

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When someone commented with a suggestion that implied finding God and another person mentioned an excellent grief counselor, I’m not surprised that those comments triggered your anger. They don’t even have a clue how to ease your anguish.

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Their intentions were good and they only wanted to help. I think that sometimes when a person finds something that helps him or her, they wish to bestow it upon someone else. I am that way with my music. It helps me and I love to share it.

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I remember that I was very angry after my child died. For years and years, it was difficult for me to contain. I was livid because grief had wrecked my life and I was certain my torment would last until my last breath.

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I had more children after my loss, and when someone implied that it was a “replacement” for my dead child it made me furious. I couldn’t handle anyone telling me that time would heal and I let them know it.

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Healing is a word I use often for myself. It implies a wound. After my son died, my soul was amputated and my heart continued to bleed for years unseen. The scars left me tormented and numb for almost two decades. I did not believe I would ever feel joy again in my life.

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Brenda, in your poem, you want your son to know how much you loved him and how that will continue until your last breath. But you are dying inside every single day because of your grief.

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Your poem’s title is “Till Nothing Was Left.” But if you died tomorrow, here’s what was left:

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ache and emptiness

anger and fury

isolation and loneliness

torment and torture

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I experienced those things, but eventually they eased away. When joy returned to my life, I decided I had healed.

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Love replaced my ache, emptiness and isolation. Love soothed my anger and fury about my fate. Love allowed me to accept other people’s good intentions to help me. Love lifted me up.

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My love for my son is pure and far preferable to the wreckage I had before. My son loved me. I remind myself of his love every time I take a breath and he has never left me.

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With my last breath, what will be left is love.

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That is the legacy I want to have left after the loss of my child.

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After I wrote those words to Brenda, another bereaved mother sent me a message:

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Judy, I like what you wrote, but I would like to know how to get from feeling angry to feeling love. I feel love all the time, but with my son gone – there is no place for all that love to go. I also want to feel his love for me, not just mine for him. I need him back. I don’t know how to transform all of this to something less raw and painful.

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Thank you for your thoughtful comment. I’m sorry if I sounded simplistic. My perspective about grief has come after many years of suffering. Unfortunately, I don’t believe there are shortcuts when working through grief.

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I could not transform myself when my soul was being amputated! My life-blood was pouring from me and nothing could stop it. There aren’t enough ways that I could describe what you clearly are suffering through – the absolute horror of having to accept that you will never again see your precious son that you had hopes and dreams for.

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After my son died, I curled up into a ball. Eventually, I crawled slowly. As you know only too well, the journey is horrible as the shock becomes reality. What gave me a reason to keep going, were the other people I loved in my life.

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I was angry for many years and I wasn’t able to put a “bandage of love” over it. I was furious at God. I was disgusted by people who made thoughtless remarks. I believe that the angry stage of grief is particularly devastating. People who cannot let go of their anger are lonely and isolated. I did not want bitterness to be my legacy.

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Eventually, I let go of anger and what was left was quiet sorrow and numbness.

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I didn’t really look forward to anything and felt like the best part of my life was over. I felt doomed to live that way for the rest of my life.

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I cannot know where your grief journey will lead or how long it will take you. Right now, there are destinations that you might never imagine reaching. The irony was that I thought my road ended with my scars, but I was wrong.

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I found out that I could be happy again! And when I reached that place, I really did discover that my child had never left me. Throughout my journey, he was holding my hand. I do believe I’ll see him when I die. It gives me comfort when I face my own death someday.

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I just know my child is celebrating that I am happy again. Now I understand, that with every tear I cried, he cried too.

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