Today’s prompt: Tell us about a guiding star inside your grief. Are there people – whether real, mythological, or fictional – who live their own grief in a way that gives you encouragement, inspiration, or direction?
I’m fortunate to have supportive friends and family, and for that I am grateful every day. When my son Cooper took his own life in August, the support and love were immediate and haven’t stopped. These people shared in my loss. They knew Cooper. They loved Cooper. They, too, lost Cooper.
They care. I know that. But for all their love and caring, patience and support, encouragement and calm, they don’t know the loss of a child. This is a dark, dark place. I know people are here with me and will do anything they can to help me, but it is just so dark. Still, some light shines through. Other moms who lost children. Adult children. One to cancer, one to an accident, and one to suicide. I’ve known these women most of my life, although we’ve not always been in touch. One is a family friend who moved across the country decades ago, one is a high school friend, and one has truly known me all my life. She has known my mom all her life. Within hours of Cooper’s death, they and other bereaved parents began reaching out.
These three women, each in her own way, have been helping me through this darkness. I watch them living, one for eleven years, one for three years, and one for twenty-five years, without their sons. They have talked to me on horribly unimaginable days, spent hours messaging back and forth, shared articles they thought would be helpful, and continue to make me feel less crazy by assuring me the bizarre things I feel and do are typical in this situation. Because of them, I’m not so lonely in this darkness.
I see their love, but also their grief. Their honesty in living their lives after such loss gives me hope that I, too, will find my way, but warns me that grief will be my companion. Thrown in with their lurking sadness, though, is laughter. Maybe even some joy in the right moments. Their faith remains strong.
To outsiders, these women probably seem very ordinary. To me, they are anything but ordinary. I recognize something in their eyes; I see a raw version of it when I look in the mirror. They inhabit this same darkness, but they’ve found a way to give off some light. Yes, they know darkness. But they survived. Their pain was and is real, but they continue to survive. They give me hope.
Woods Writes 