Me and Jaren ... being goofy as he often was ... on a happy day.
I have been inducted into a club no one should have to join, Mothers of Dead Children. The only advantage of membership is that, unlikely as it may seem, it does provide a level of understanding that evades anyone not eligible.
The initiation process is a horror, and there is no recruiting committee; in fact joining the ranks happens before one realizes such a club exists. No secret handshake sparks recognition of other members, and any meeting requires nothing to connect.
Since my son died on the 2nd of June, many, many people have reached out to me. Support has come in many forms, some practical and covering bases I wasn’t able to attend, others clumsy attempts at consoling, a few downright agonizing in their neediness.
Although all have come from the heart, many drain from the little energy there is to slog one day to the next. The consistent exception? The instant comprehension from those who have had their own children die.
It doesn’t matter if the dead were big or small at the time, as to parents our children will forever be our babies. There is no need to do more than nod and absorb the fact that this person truly, truly understands. There are no words striking the “time will heal” chord, as members of the Mothers of Dead Children Club know too well that while time does allow some adjustment, we will probe the hole we live with for the rest of our days.
With no expectation of wholeness, we can comfortably exchange tales, cry without shame, laugh without worries of appearing to be calloused, and describe in minute detail our children and our pain.
To those who say, “I can’t imagine what it must be like,” we can unite in verses of “Don’t even go there … do not imagine this even in the darkest nights”.
When we are told we are strong, we can appear to be exactly that, as without the slightest effort we feel the member-wide slump of shoulders, the exhausted sagging toward floors, the lump in the throat, the razor-like sting of tears held again on the inside … and we know it’s okay, normal, the way it is.
There is comfort in this familiarity, or at least a version of comfort, and we cling to it as we do to the shreds of ourselves that bring our children close for those instants we can, however briefly, ignore the loss of them and celebrate what went before.
To my fellow club members I say: I am so, so sorry … and I wish I didn’t know you.
A collection of my short stories:
I'm in this one, too ...
And I'm in here, as well ...
Paradise Preoccupied 
Tears and hugs.
xoxoxo
Lisa
Oh Sandra,
I wish you didn’t know them either.
Thank you for sharing. I love you. I think the biggest fear a mother has is not of dying herself, but of losing her children. My greatest wish of all time, is that Jaren was still here. Pleae forgive our clumsy attempts at consoling you. I know in my heart there is no consolation.
I’m glad you found the ‘Mother’s of Dead Children Club’…even though ii is a ‘horror’ to be associated with. Only people who have lost their children can truly understand.
I wish, I wish, I could mend your broken heart. Damn it, now you’ve got me crying.
There’s nothing I can say……..
I am sorry for the brevity of the condolences I have given to you…clumsy or otherwise….but I just want so much not to hurt you more in the pain you already feel. I imagine, perhaps I’m wrong, that you won’t miss my condolences but will be glad to not have your wounds touched and touched again.
Just know that you are loved and that there are so many of us who would take your pain onto ourselves to give you respite while not actually committing to being members ourselves…such a delicate dance between aching to help and clutching our own to our hearts……
Life sucks and people hurt…….
I in no way meant to convey any message that the love and support didn’t mean the world to me. My dear friends are my rock … my anchor … a justification, and in some cloud of comfort.
At some point I’ll be able to write about it …
“I in no way meant to convey any message that the love and support didn’t mean the world to me”
You didn’t convey that message….at least I didn’t read it that way. It was just something that has been heavy on my heart as I try to think of ways to bring a smile to your heart…..for a little while anyway.
You bring me many smiles, Tish … and I thank you for every one of them, and for being in my life.
Dear Sandra,
As a fellow member of this Club, you have helped me with your words, and your ability to share them. Everything is a little less bumpy if we can share our burdens! But, like you, I would never, ever solicit new members. I found the words below to be comforting, as well.
With great empathy.
Hope Rice
Enfield, Connecticut
by Canon Henry Scott-Holland, 1847-1918, Canon of St Paul’s Cathedral
Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still ……
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you for an interval.
Somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well.
Hope,
I am so, so sorry.
And I thank you for those words …
On Jaren’s funeral program I included a quote from David Searles: Seeing death as the end of life is like seeing the horizon as the end of the ocean.
No words can help. All I can offer is this – when my father died the only thing that comforted me even a teeny tiny bit was this quote, a Chinese proverb: “The cure for dirt is soap and water. The cure for death is life.”
I believe your son will always be with you, until the end of your life. Death is simply a doorway.
There is a terrific book which I love, The Eagle and the Rose, by Rosemary Altea. I would be glad to send you a copy of it. She’s a British psychic.
Hang in there, my friend!!
Hugs,
Dee
Thank you, Dee … and I would love the book. I find that I am needing help through this …
hugs to you Sandra. that is an awesome picture of you and your child. clumsy attempts to comfort can truly be draining, especially when it requires the most injured party to comfort others less affected. but the absolute worst thing that can happen when tragedy strikes, is for people to say nothing at all.
Hope – really, really awesome poem quote!
Thank you for sharing this with us, Sandra. This is new information and I’m sorry that you have to relive the pain over and over again. Your words inspire us to cherish the time we have here and to appreciate those who are on this journey with us.
My son has been gone 5 yrs this month. 6/11/09., killed in a car accident. his birthday is 5/28/93…….. This is a hard yr. he would be 21 and a 5 yr memorial. My daughter age 24 won’t get out of bed and I try to have meaningful life but the only time I seem happy is I have atleast 3 drinks and then I end up sad and crying. I’m sure this is the norm for most………………….but life stinks and it seems like I try to find happy in all the wrong places!
.
I am heart broken for you and your family 😥