Grieving a child is waking up, only to realize the nightmare isn’t over. Grieving a child is replaying moments of your child’s last week alive over and over in your mind. It’s second guessing every decision you ever made during that week. Grieving a child is feeling sick all of the time, even on your healthiest days. It’s kissing the box that holds what is left of your child after cremation, wishing you had something more of them to hold onto and kiss. It’s going through the motions of your day, with thoughts of your child clouding most of your tasks.
Some memories haunt you, others bring you joy. Thoughts of the future they never had push you to your emotional limit. Then comes the sobbing, unable to catch a breath, tremendous pain in your heart. Your phone rings and you snap back to reality, everyone else’s reality, not your own. Grieving a child is not washing the bath towel because it’s the last one he ever used. It’s pushing yourself to do what once came naturally, and not doing some of it at all. It’s secretly snubbing your nose at the friend who is sad her cat died, where that was never in your character before. Grieving a child is going to bed at night feeling lost and empty, squeezing the bear that says “I love you mom”, in your child’s voice that you had them do because you knew they would probably die. It hurts, but you do it anyways because you need to hear his voice. It’s lying down snuggling his koala bear stuffed animal, because it’s the last he ever slept with. It’s saying goodnight to an angel every night.
Payton Strong 