David died, I heard the hymn; “Be Still and Know that I am God” This statement
appears as a verse in Psalm 46:10.
How can I be still
when my flesh and blood is in the grave? How can I be still when I lost my most
precious gift? How can I be still when part of me died? How can I be still when
nothing makes sense? How can I be still when my will is broken? How can I be
still when I feel the way I do? How can I be still when I am tormented? How can
I be still when my whole being is shook? How can I be still when everything
around me has changed? I am in a state of flux. I am in a state of change.
Everything changed when my son died. The whole world is no longer the same. I
am not the same. I will never be the same. The way I think is different. The
way I respond to people is different. I just pray that the good that is
promised from this entire calamity will surface soon as I cannot take it
anymore. The suffering due to this loss is unimaginable and even indescribable.
The pain that grips my soul is mixed with fear and despair.
As time rolls by, I continue to experience sorrow and
despair at times. I continue to cry over my son. It is a daily ritual. However, I
admit that intervals of pain are much shorter and less frequent. I learned to
live again rather than just to exist. I learned to appreciate every breath that
I take. I learned to see beauty in everything. I learned to care for others. I
learned to live in the present and not the past or the future.
After the recent school shooting, I began to feel for the
parents who lost their children in this senseless act. I know that they are
going to experience severe pain. When I lost my son I began and still
experience pain like no other pain that I have experienced before. I cannot
describe the pain. It cannot be expressed in the language that we speak. This
is an attempt to try to describe it.
The pain is like thrusting a dagger in my heart over and
over again. Every impulse in me shrieks with outrage at the loss. My spirit is broken.
The sensation of pain is perpetual. It smarts, pierces and does not go away.
My heart pleads for one more glance at his face and one more
of his unforgettable hugs. The load of inward affliction does not disappear with
prayer. I even wrestle with God all the time. The pain is sharp and lasting. It
is a ceaseless strenuous struggle of pain. I am struck down and knocked down by
the pain. There is a heavy veil of darkness around me. I am worn out with
mental conflict and feel stifled and oppressed at times. There is such a hurt
in me. The wound is too wide and deep and keeps opening up. The pain is beyond
all thought and leaves me tired and exhausted.
It is difficult to bear this heavy crushing pain. Time
taunts me with my loss. My soul is desolate. The torment stops every now and
then, then it begins again with fiercer and more excruciating pain. Tears have
burned out my eyes.
Those who have not been there have no concept. We who have
been there cannot fully tell of our experiences as the pain and sorrow is
unspeakable. We cannot avoid the pain if we love, even if we love a little.
The Christmas season brings memories of joy and pain at the same time. I remember
the happy day when my son David was born in December and when we placed him in a
stocking under the tree as he was our Christmas gift. I remember how we decorated
the Christmas tree just in time for his birthday. I remember the joys of his childhood as he
opened presents. I remember the excitement and anticipation and the smiles and
laughter that we shared. I remember the
joys of the past and wish that things were different. Now my home is quiet and
sad. My son is not with us and the emptiness is so clear that it sends a dagger
into my heart and soul each time we gather together. Our family is no longer
complete. Instead of memories however, my eyes want to see him again. My hands
want to touch him again. My lips want to tell him how much I love him. My ears
want to hear his voice.
Every Christmas I continue to sorrow. “I will be home
for Christmas” brings tears to my eyes. My son will never ever be home again. I
am tired of saying that he lives within my heart. I want him physically so
badly. Knowing that this will never happen in this lifetime makes my soul rebel
even more against death and its horror. My soul says “I do not want to
celebrate another Christmas without him”.
After my son died, I began to read and read about grief. I found many books about grief. Many of these books are
written by professionals in the field. They talk about grief as being work.
They describe the stages of grief with no feeling or emotion and what should
one do or not do. The information is cold and boring as they could not point to
the pain and despair that I was experiencing and still experience. They could
not because they did not lose a child and have no clue about these feelings. The books that helped me the most were written by parents who lost children. I began to write articles for the Compassionate Friends. These were published monthly. Finally I put them in a book titled "Topics in Grief" by Leila Koepp. It is on Amazon.
I am often
desperately sad. The sorrow remains my companion. I imagined the world would
have been different. I have lost dreams, emotional aches, and have a constant vague
sense of annoyance that something is wrong. I often wonder if my sorrow and sadness annoy
others. I try to be careful. I try to hide it, however tears can tell.