Conversations on Loss: Anne
Despite specializing in grief work for over a decade, it always presents itself a little differently. The loss of a parent, a child, a sibling, a friend - each loss catapults the bereaved onto their own unique path of coping. While everyone’s paths are slightly different, grief and loss are universal truths that eventually will impact each of us.
One of the most painful truths a newly bereaved person faces is that their life is forever changed. In those early days of grief, it’s hard to believe they will ever feel any relief. Lately, I’ve been pondering the question - does it ever get easier?
This concept of how grief changes overtime is exactly what led me to Anne. 21 years ago, Anne experienced the devastating loss of her 17-year old son. He unexpectedly died of an asthma attack while spending the day with his friends at the lake. He felt sick and made his way to the restroom. While locked inside, Robert collapsed and died. Shortly after, his friends grew concerned and went to check on him. CPR was preformed and 911 was called, but he was already gone.
I was lucky enough to interview Anne and learn more about how grief has impacted her. With the help of her community, family, and religious faith, Anne has been able to cope with the loss of her son. She describes her own journey with grief and how it has changed her into the person she is today.
(Names have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals)
What was Robert like?
Robert was a funny, shy, 17-year old boy that we loved with all our heart. He loved to travel, play basketball, and hang out with his friends. He took after his father in that he loved mathematics. My daughter and I laughed on many vacations as they discussed algebraic equations.
Could you share a good memory of Robert?
Oh, I have so many. When he got his driver’s license we said he needed to be home by 10:00 on weeknights, midnight on weekends. He fought me on that. All his friends had much later curfews. The first night he was out with girlfriend on a weekend I was worried he would push it and I ’d have to punish him. He pulled into the driveway at about 11:45. He sat in his car in the cold and listened to music until about 12:30. When he strolled in, he looked at me like “go ahead, yell at me.” I smiled and asked him if he wanted hot chocolate. The look on his face was priceless. It might seem like a silly story but it meant so much to me that he followed our rules and respected us.
His last words to me as he left the house on the day he died were, “love you, mom.”
I treasure these two memories.
Can you describe what grief felt like right after Robert died?
Numbness. The first week after he died is really a blur. I remember lots and lots of people, food, and hugs. I remember thinking what an awesome community we lived in. But above all, I was just thinking I want my old life back. My husband was traveling when Robert died and it was about ten hours before he got home. I had to go to the hospital, talk to the doctor and hear that he had died, and go into the room to see him. I also had to sign papers for the autopsy, and approve the harvesting of his organs to help others. I asked my cousin/best friend to meet me at the hospital to go in with me. I didn’t cry. I was so stunned.
I barely ate the first few days. I lost 15 pounds the first week after Robert’s death. The night after the funeral I woke up at 2:00 in the morning, starving. I remember kneeling in front of the refrigerator tearing off hunks of roast and stuffing it in my mouth. I was too hungry to slice and cut pieces off. As I stood up, I realized it was ok to take care of myself. I’d taken care of my son. I think that’s what the funeral and other rituals are all about. You’ve done all you can. There is nothing more I could do for him. I also realized that my life would never be the same.
What did people do that felt supportive and helpful?
They let me talk about him. They brought him up and we laughed about things he did. They called and asked us to do things with them. It’s been 21 years this July since he died. His friends always tell me how much they miss him.
I was a special education teacher for 30 years. My kids gathered around me and helped me live through the first year. Some of these kids came from horrible circumstances - many of them came to school hungry and traumatized. But they supported me. One boy who had autism collected jokes and would come in everyday, give me a hug, and tell me a joke. The one I remember was, “If you’re a US citizen when you go into a bathroom, What are you when you're in the bathroom? Yer a Pee Yun. Do you get it, Mrs. T? European!”
That’s what helped me. People who taught me to laugh and smile again. At first it was a forced smile or laugh. But after a while it came easier.
How has your loss changed you?
Oh my, how has it changed me? It’s changed us all. I was a worrier for as long as I can remember. I used to break out in hives over a spelling test in school. It was horrible. I couldn’t control it. My eyes would swell shut, my stomach would be covered with one big hive. It was awful. But when you lose a child all control is lost. There was nothing I could do but bury him. So for me, a lot of the stressing over silly things has gone away. I still pray to not worry about things but I don’t get hives any more.
My husband is now much more compassionate. Before Robert’s death he was wrapped up in his work. Now family comes first. He sits and reads more. He’s the first one to bleed when he hears someone has lost a loved one. He listens better.
My daughter is stronger. She is not as willing to follow people as she once was. All of us have changed.
Do you have any advice to person who recently experienced a loss?
That’s a hard one. Because everyone’s grief is different. But I’ll try to tell you what helped me. The first day after Robert died, I sat down and wrote down every single good memory I could remember. Over the next year whenever I became sad or frustrated or overwhelmed, I’d sit and read them and say a prayer of thanks for every one of them. 21 years have gone by and I still use it.
My job was in a town about 40 minutes from where we lived. I gave myself permission to cry all the way to school but I wasn’t allowed to cry at school. So I’d dry my eyes and get down to business the minute I opened my car door.
I met a man in another car at the same stop sign every morning. He took to nodding at me. He must of thought I was a crazy lady. Tears were allowed to and from school. Not at school. Oh, I teared up at times when kids were sweet to me but no huge crying jags. I adhered to the same rules at home. No big crying jags when my daughter was around. She was dealing with a lot of grief and reestablishing her place in our family. She didn’t need to carry my grief too. I heard her say to her cousin shortly after Robert’s death, “my brother is dead. I’m the only one to make my parents proud now.” That caused a crying jag, she was only 15. So yeah. I was really aware of the fact I needed to be happy when she was happy.
I read somewhere that many divorces happened after a child’s death. One partner might have had a fairly good day and the other partner had a really bad day. The person who was happy felt mad because their partner brought them down emotionally. The depressed partner is mad because the happy person wasn’t as supportive. Complicated but good advice to heed. My husband and I worked hard to support each other no matter how we felt.
I also read that when you lose your child, it’s like someone has thrown you into a deep, dark, cold sea of water. For awhile you struggle and go under, struggle some more trying to get a breath of air, until you are so tired you sink to the bottom of the ocean. You learn to breathe underwater, and slowly build your castle and learn to live there. I identified with that. It felt like that. It’s a whole different life.
Do you have any advice on how to handle “firsts”?
Face the firsts head on. Don’t hide in your house and skip holidays or ballgames or church events. Get out there and face them. At first you are so numb - they are easier. As time passes it wears off, but because you have done it before it’s easier to face people and events.
I never had trouble with holidays or birthdays as much as the surprise attacks. Finding a sock mixed up in the laundry, setting three plates instead of four for dinner, not fixing his favorite food. What hurts the most are the little unimportant details of life we forget are happening. They blind side you and cut your breath off.
How as your grief changed, 21 years in?
I still recognize the stabs of pain that come. It is less sharp but still there. You don’t forget but you learn to breathe without your chest and stomach hurting. Life goes on. It’s easier but it never goes away. By never - I mean there are stretches that are painless but then it comes back. But you learn to live with it because really they deserve it. The pain should not be forgotten.
Does it really get easier?
It does get easier. Maybe you get used to the pain, maybe you don’t feel it so deeply, maybe the good memories soften into places in your heart that allow you to go on living. Whatever the cause it does get better. At the start, you count the hours since you’ve seen your loved one. Then it goes to days, weeks, months, then years. It’s been 21 years since I’ve hugged my son. I occasionally have a sad day but it doesn’t come as often. Time does heal but it never heals completely.