Welcome to the club you never wanted to join.
You have been chosen, through no fault of your own, to become one of us. One of those who have lost a child.
Every single one of us wishes we were not one of the chosen ones, but here we are. This is not something we can control. One day we wake up, just like everyone else and before we fall asleep that night, we are permanently changed. We have joined the club.
I wish I didn't have to greet you. I wish I could spare you what is to come. I wish it could look different for you.
I do not know what happened to bring you to us and I can not tell you what your membership will look like. I can only give you some guidelines.
The world will keep turning, without your child, and it will drag you along with it. The sun will rise. There will be new births. There will be birthday parties and graduations and weddings and your child will not be there. You are allowed to honour them in any way you see fit at all these events. You may hate the world for moving on. You may feel like the world has forgotten them. You will not forget them, not for an instant.
If you need to clean out their bedroom right away, that's okay. If you need to leave it untouched, as a shrine, that's okay too. If you need to leave their boots sitting by their door, do that. If you need to keep their favourite cereal in the cupboard and eat it when you are feeling especially sad, do that. If you need to sleep with their ashes, wear their favourite sweater, keep their hairbrush in your car or take their pictures off the wall, do that. Do whatever you need to, so that you can make it through today.
I'm sorry to tell you that people may say stupid things. They may tell you they know how you feel, because their cat died last year. No one, at all, knows how you feel. There are plenty of people in the club whose child died in a similar fashion and not one of them can presume to know how you feel. You are the only one who baked and birthed, loved and raised that child in the way you did. All kinds of dreadful things may trickle out of people's mouths. It's okay to burn bridges. It's okay to tell them to fuck off. Someday you may forgive them, or not. The people who love you will forgive you.
Your brain may forget how to work. You are carrying something so huge and so heavy that normal mundane things get lost. You may forget where you are supposed to be or what you were doing or the words you need. All of it is okay. Make lists, use a calendar, ask for help. It's okay to drop balls, to show up late, to cancel events, to not show up at all. It's okay to go to bed early. It's really, extra okay, to let the phone ring. Don't take the call, don't answer the text.
Eventually, people will stop saying your child's name. They will stop talking about him or her. It will feel like everyone has forgotten. I don't know why they do this. Perhaps they think they are protecting you from grief. But you will always be thinking of your child. In fact it may feel like no one cares, because no one is talking. Find your safe people and talk about you child. Share favourite memories or jokes. Tell your people that you miss your baby and wish they were here.
One day, it may surprise you when you laugh again. You may feel guilt for feeling joy when your child is dead. It's okay to be okay. It's okay to have fun, to love, to be grateful. The world lost something wondrous when your child died, but there are so many really wonderful things still here. You won't always be able to see them, but when you can, it's okay to enjoy them. Create a collection of tiny beautiful things that make life worth living, even though your heart is broken wide open.
I am sorry to tell you that it doesn't get easier, not really. Your life will grow around the grief. You will create a new normal. It will seem like you have healed. But then there will be days when you will hear a voice, or see a picture. There will be days when you will reach for them and you will remember all over again that they are gone from you. You will meet people, make friends with people, who have no idea that your child once existed. You will not ever love them less. You will not ever stop counting the days, months, years that pass. You will find your own way to survive the worst pain imaginable.
I am sorry you are here in this club with me. I cannot make it better for you. But I can sit in the dark with you. I can cry with you. I can eat cake with you on your child's birthday. I can say their name. I can lend you my strength. And I can believe in you.
