This photo was not taken days, weeks or months after my son died. It wasn’t taken within the first year after his death.

It was taken today. Over 2.5 years later.

This is grief.

It doesn’t expire or come with an end date. It cuts through your heart and seeps to the deepest spaces where it will reside for a lifetime.

Holding your child’s lifeless body one last time . . . your brain trying to process the unimaginable while your heart is trying to memorize every detail of their face, their hands, their scent. This moment will never be erased from the memory. This is an image carried forever. It shows up unexpectedly and unannounced. Year, after year, after year.

We all have what we call “our season”. For those who have never experienced losing a child, their season is a favorite time of year because it’s their choice weather, carries their interest of activities, they enjoy the smell in the air, or look forward to a special holiday.

When a child loss parent mentions their “season” it is much different.

Our season does not make us excited. It is something we dread instead of look forward to. It is a time period we want to skip. Put us in a coma and wake us when it’s over. Our season comes with onset anxiety and PTSD. The smells and temperature of our season remind us of birthdays that will never happen, the memories of our sweet angels when they were with us on earth and the worst day of our lives.

During our season it takes everything out of us to keep going. We are emotionally exhausted. We are distant to everyone in our lives. We do not always respond to texts, emails or answer calls because it’s too much right now. We stay in more, declining invites we would normally say yes to. We don’t have the energy to fake the smile and pretend life is great. We are forgetful and unreliable.

Our season is full of broken dreams and questions we will never have the answers to. The what ifs, what would they look like, what would they be doing now.

Each year we have hope the next one will be easier. But it isn’t. It’s always the same, it’s always hard.

When our season passes a weight is lifted and we catch our breath thankful it is over. Shocked we survived once again.

If you know someone going through this be patient and kind. Expect nothing from them. If they cancel plans at the last minute do not be angry with them. Don’t take their actions (or lack of actions) personally. It‘s not you. They are using every ounce of strength they have to find their way through the darkness and back to the light. This is exhausting and they don’t have the energy for anything else.

My season begins very soon. You could say I am in the pre-season phase . . . I feel it coming. Almost a month away from what would have been a third birthday. Thinking about it knocked me to my knees today, the anxiety suffocating.

But there is a difference between this year and last year, and the one before. This time I know it’s not going to be easier. This year I am accepting it and not fighting it. I know what’s coming. I know what it does to me. I have learned and understand what my limitations are during this timeframe of my life.

I am going to stand still allowing it to hit with full force, a tidal wave crashing into me. As I lose my balance I will fall. I‘ll let the wave of grief wash over every inch of my body and hold my breath until it’s over.

When it has passed I will rise.

I‘ll stare at the sun setting in the horizon and remind myself it hurts this much because you love him so much. I wouldn’t trade that love for anything. Not even to take away this pain.

This post originally appeared on Spaces Between You

 

You may also like:

This is Grief

You Cannot Control Seasons of Grief; You Can Only Move Through Them

To the Moms and Dads Who Suffer Loss: You Are Not Alone

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Elisha Palmer

Elisha Palmer is the mother of four; 3 children on earth, 1 in Heaven. Her third child, Knox Owen, a perfectly healthy and happy baby took a nap at daycare and never woke up at just 3.5 months old. His death ruled as SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome). As her and her husband entered their new reality as child loss parents they were broken but also knew there was something they needed to do to help other families. They began the foundation, Knox Blocks Foundation, to provide families with Owlet Smart Socks, a device that tracks infants heart rate and oxygen levels while they sleep, alerting parents if something is abnormal. Elisha, a former freelance writer began her blog, Spaces Between You, as an outlet and way to process her grief. Many loss parents have found comfort in her words and relate to the raw truth she tells of what living through child loss is like. She continues to stumble through this journey, finding the light through the cracks, with her husband Mark, son Hunter, daughter Gracen and rainbow baby Maverick by her side.

My Daddy Is In the Arms of Jesus

In: Grief, Loss
Grown daughter walking with older father

My daddy went home to the arms of Jesus just a few short days before Christmas. My family was given the greatest gift of time with him individually to speak the words they needed him to hear and to listen to the words he wanted to say. It was a gift we are beyond grateful for because we know not everyone has that time with their loved ones before they go, especially now. So, yes, I am grateful, but I miss him. I awoke this morning with a dance happening in my heart. The dance of grief and joy. I...

Keep Reading

Even Though You Left Too Soon, You Gave Me Hope

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Early sonogram image

This was the fifth time I’d seen those two pink lines letting me know that a baby was on the way, but I only had one child to show for it, so I’d learned to damper my happiness and excitement. Each miscarriage brought its own unique flavor—one was marked by anxiety, another anger, deep sadness, and then apathy. I’d learned not to get too close to a pregnancy, but this time I leaned into it in a way I hadn’t before. There was a tender and growing elation, and I felt immediate love and gratitude. Sure, there was no telling...

Keep Reading

We Picked up Our Daughter’s Ashes Yesterday

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Mother holding decorative urn in baby's room, color photo

We picked up her ashes yesterday . . . our daughter’s ashes. Though the funeral home was only about an hour away, the trip felt like an eternity. I stared blankly out the window for most of the drive, somewhat calmed by the cocktail of medications I had been placed on and was brought back to reality only by the occasional pain searing through my abdomen. When we arrived, the parking lot was completely empty. Snow lined the edges of the lot, and the sun shone all too brightly. We had assumed the funeral director would be there to greet...

Keep Reading

The Hardest Prayer I Ever Prayed

In: Cancer, Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Bald-headed little girl in hospital bed with her mama, color photo

Trigger warning: Child loss I had a plan for summertime fun with my children. We had just returned from a week-long road trip to the Grand Canyon. I intentionally planned to fill the rest of the summer with activities that would chase away boredom. Craft supplies had been purchased, day trips had been planned, and we were just beginning a week of Vacation Bible School. Excitement was in the air! Yet a tiny nagging fear kept resurfacing: Was there something wrong with my 2-year-old? Ever since she turned two back in the fall, she had become fussy. Our healthy, happy...

Keep Reading

My Mom Passed away and I Don’t Know Who I Am Anymore

In: Grief, Loss
Mother and daughter on a carousel ride, older color photo

For the last sixteen months of her life, I was one of my mother’s primary caregivers, and now that she’s gone, I feel lost. My beautiful, strong, hilarious, and fun-loving mom not only survived but thrived after a heart attack and open-heart surgery at age 67. So 10 years later, we were all surprised to learn that the aortic aneurysm with which she had lived for over a decade had expanded to dangerous territory. We were told she would soon die without another risky open-heart surgery. The one thing my mother feared more than going into surgery was death. Her...

Keep Reading

Dear Dad, I Pray for Our Healing

In: Faith, Grief, Grown Children
Back shot of woman on bench alone

You are on my mind today. But that’s not unusual. It’s crazy how after 13 years, it doesn’t feel that long since I last saw you. It’s also crazy that I spend far less time thinking about that final day and how awful it was and spend the majority of the time replaying the good memories from all the years before it. But even in the comfort of remembering, I know I made the right decision. Even now, 13 years later, the mix of happy times with the most confusing and painful moments leaves me grasping for answers I have...

Keep Reading

It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye

In: Grief, Living, Loss
Small dog with head hanging out car window, color photo

Our dog Carlos has slowed down considerably within the last few months. He’s always been outspoken and opinionated–a typical firstborn trait–and to hear him snoring most of the day and tolerating things he normally wouldn’t tolerate (i.e. being carried from place to place by my son, forklift-style) put me on notice that he’s in the fourth quarter. Carlos looks and acts like an Ewok from the Star Wars franchise. According to Wikipedia, Ewoks are clever, inquisitive, and inventive. Carlos checks all three boxes. As a puppy, we tried crate training, but it never took. It wasn’t for lack of trying....

Keep Reading

You’ve been Gone a Year, So Why Does It Feel Like Yesterday?

In: Grief, Loss
Old photo of mother hugging her young daughter, color photo

In February, you will have been gone a year. How is that right? It was just yesterday. I still remember the day we got the diagnosis. One I knew was coming but still prayed wasn’t true. I still remember promising you that everything was going to be okay, and knowing that it wasn’t. I still remember the first time I saw you and thought to myself, “The dementia is moving too fast.” It was just yesterday. I still feel your hand in mine as I sat next to you in the hospital bed. You were talking and humming along while...

Keep Reading

God Redeemed the Broken Parts of My Infertility Story

In: Faith, Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Two young children walking on a path near a pond, color photo

It was a Wednesday morning when I sat around a table with a group of mamas I had just recently met. My youngest daughter slept her morning nap in a carrier across my chest. Those of us in the group who held floppy babies swayed back and forth. The others had children in childcare or enrolled in preschool down the road. We were there to chat, learn, grow, and laugh. We were all mamas. But we were not all the same. I didn’t know one of the mom’s names, but I knew I wanted to get to know her because she...

Keep Reading

Growing Slowly around the Grief of Losing Your Mom

In: Grief, Loss
Sad woman sitting on couch with folded arms

Everyone has heard about the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Society often assumes the stages of grief happen in order, but those who encounter grief know that’s not true. Undergoing grief can feel like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded—disorienting and chaotic. There are numerous ups, downs, and twists you wouldn’t anticipate. Grief is like an ocean. When waves come crashing, it feels like you’re being swept away. Regardless of their size, waves are always rough. Despite everything, you also get pushed forward to the shore after every wave. Sometimes, you may feel like you are drowning...

Keep Reading