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What is Normal After Your Child Dies
I lost my fantastic son Taylor a few years ago. The grief is as raw as ever. Holidays make it worse of course, and seeing kids who resemble him make me cry. I'm a basketcase, and I just can't seem to move on. Long story. *sigh*
I hope the following helps explain to others who have not experienced the loss of a child to understand just how fundamentally our lives have changed.
What is Normal after your child dies?
Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realize someone important is missing from all the important events in your family's life.
Normal is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays, X-mas, Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, New Years, Valentine's Day, July 4th and Passover.
Normal is feeling like you can't sit another minute without getting up and screaming, because you just don't like to sit through anything anymore.
Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand what if's & why didn't I's go through your head constantly.
Normal is reliving the accident continuously through your eyes and mind, holding your head to make it go away.
Normal is having the TV on the minute you walk into the house to have noise, because the silence is deafening.
Normal is staring at every boy who looks like he is Taylor's age. And then thinking of the age he'd would be now. Then wondering why it is even important to imagine it, because it will never happen.
Normal is every happy event in your life always being backed up with sadness lurking close behind, because of the hole in your heart.
Normal is telling the story of your child's death as if it were an everyday, commonplace activity, and then seeing the horror in someone's eyes at how awful it sounds. And yet realizing it has become a part of your "normal."
Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor your childs's memory and their birthdays and survive these days. And trying to find the balloon or flag that fit's the occasion. Happy Birthday? Not really.
Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of something special Taylor loved. Thinking how he would love it, but how he is not here to enjoy it.
Normal is having some people afraid to mention my son, Taylor.
Normal is making sure that others remember him.
Normal is after the funeral is over everyone else goes on with their lives, but we continue to grieve our loss forever.
Normal is weeks, months, and years after the initial shock, the grieving gets worse, not better.
Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to this loss, unless they too have lost a child. Nothing compares.
NOTHING.
Even if your child is in the remotest part of the earth away from you - it doesn't compare.
Losing a parent is horrible, but having to bury your own child is unnatural.
Normal is taking pills, and trying not to cry all day, because you know your mental health depends on it.
Normal is realizing you do cry everyday.
Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone but someone stricken with grief over the loss of their child.
Normal is sitting at the computer crying, sharing how you feel with chat buddies who have also lost a child.
Normal is not listening to people make excuses for God.
"God may have done this because…"
I know Taylor is in "heaven," but hearing people trying to think up excuses as to why a fantastic young man was taken from this earth is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to this grieving mother.
Normal is being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned the house, did the laundry or if there is any food.
Normal is wondering this time whether you are going to say you have two children or one child, because you will never see this person again and it is not worth explaining that Taylor is dead.
And yet when you say you have one child to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as if you have betrayed the dead child.
Normal is asking G-d why he took your child's life instead of yours and asking if there even is a G-d.
Normal is knowing you will never get over this loss, not in a day nor a million years.
Normal is having therapists agree with you that you will never "really" get over the pain and that there is nothing they can do to help you because they know only bringing back your child back from the dead could possibly make it "better."
Normal is learning to lie to everyone you meet and telling them you are fine. You lie because it makes others uncomfortable if you cry. You've learned it's easier to lie to them then to tell them the truth that you still feel empty and it's probably never going to get any better -- ever.
And last of all...
Normal is hiding all the things that have become "normal" for you to
feel, so that everyone around you will think that you are "normal."
The above poem was originally written by Tara and Heath Carey after they lost their daughters Violet and Iris in 2002 when natural gas caused their apartment to explode.
I hope the following helps explain to others who have not experienced the loss of a child to understand just how fundamentally our lives have changed.
What is Normal after your child dies?
Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile when you realize someone important is missing from all the important events in your family's life.
Normal is trying to decide what to take to the cemetery for Birthdays, X-mas, Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, New Years, Valentine's Day, July 4th and Passover.
Normal is feeling like you can't sit another minute without getting up and screaming, because you just don't like to sit through anything anymore.
Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand what if's & why didn't I's go through your head constantly.
Normal is reliving the accident continuously through your eyes and mind, holding your head to make it go away.
Normal is having the TV on the minute you walk into the house to have noise, because the silence is deafening.
Normal is staring at every boy who looks like he is Taylor's age. And then thinking of the age he'd would be now. Then wondering why it is even important to imagine it, because it will never happen.
Normal is every happy event in your life always being backed up with sadness lurking close behind, because of the hole in your heart.
Normal is telling the story of your child's death as if it were an everyday, commonplace activity, and then seeing the horror in someone's eyes at how awful it sounds. And yet realizing it has become a part of your "normal."
Normal is each year coming up with the difficult task of how to honor your childs's memory and their birthdays and survive these days. And trying to find the balloon or flag that fit's the occasion. Happy Birthday? Not really.
Normal is my heart warming and yet sinking at the sight of something special Taylor loved. Thinking how he would love it, but how he is not here to enjoy it.
Normal is having some people afraid to mention my son, Taylor.
Normal is making sure that others remember him.
Normal is after the funeral is over everyone else goes on with their lives, but we continue to grieve our loss forever.
Normal is weeks, months, and years after the initial shock, the grieving gets worse, not better.
Normal is not listening to people compare anything in their life to this loss, unless they too have lost a child. Nothing compares.
NOTHING.
Even if your child is in the remotest part of the earth away from you - it doesn't compare.
Losing a parent is horrible, but having to bury your own child is unnatural.
Normal is taking pills, and trying not to cry all day, because you know your mental health depends on it.
Normal is realizing you do cry everyday.
Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone but someone stricken with grief over the loss of their child.
Normal is sitting at the computer crying, sharing how you feel with chat buddies who have also lost a child.
Normal is not listening to people make excuses for God.
"God may have done this because…"
I know Taylor is in "heaven," but hearing people trying to think up excuses as to why a fantastic young man was taken from this earth is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to this grieving mother.
Normal is being too tired to care if you paid the bills, cleaned the house, did the laundry or if there is any food.
Normal is wondering this time whether you are going to say you have two children or one child, because you will never see this person again and it is not worth explaining that Taylor is dead.
And yet when you say you have one child to avoid that problem, you feel horrible as if you have betrayed the dead child.
Normal is asking G-d why he took your child's life instead of yours and asking if there even is a G-d.
Normal is knowing you will never get over this loss, not in a day nor a million years.
Normal is having therapists agree with you that you will never "really" get over the pain and that there is nothing they can do to help you because they know only bringing back your child back from the dead could possibly make it "better."
Normal is learning to lie to everyone you meet and telling them you are fine. You lie because it makes others uncomfortable if you cry. You've learned it's easier to lie to them then to tell them the truth that you still feel empty and it's probably never going to get any better -- ever.
And last of all...
Normal is hiding all the things that have become "normal" for you to
feel, so that everyone around you will think that you are "normal."
The above poem was originally written by Tara and Heath Carey after they lost their daughters Violet and Iris in 2002 when natural gas caused their apartment to explode.
I lost my baby boy, well... he was 21 he will always be my baby, he died in a motorcycle accident on the 19th at 10:00am today is Easter and I feel like I am a walking zombie if I am not crying I am feeling guilt. I didnt talk to him the day he died. He spoke to my mom, but he was home the day before he was always on that bike. He stayed the nights with a girl he met for the last couple of weeks and then would pop in and out he was always on the go. But the day before he gave me a hug and a kiss and at least I got to tell him I loved him, I just wish I would have talked to him on the day of his accident. I was asleep the morning of, the phone woke me up I answered and a lady asked me if I knew who this phone number belonged to I said no what number are you calling from I cant see the caller ID she said the phone number I suddenly got a cold feeling my heart was racing I said THATS MY SONS PHONE WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME FROM HIS PHONE? she said that she was calling from the hospital and I needed to get there as soon as possible I rushed to St Ed's Hospital called my mom she was there before I was I knew it was bad they gave me no information when I got there and they led us to the family room where the director of nursing was there and chaplen a few others not sure its all so hazy except when they said they were trying to resesitate him for fourty five min I knew he wasnt comming back. I wont go on with the rest except to say I dont know... how to live without him. He was IS my best friend I miss him so much words can never express my loss. I just felt like shairing I miss him so much. I can relate to whats normal some I havent experianced yet but I know I will but it is what I FEEL I can relate.
i lost my daughter almost 15 yrs ago,and after reading that poem as such what you posted there has never been a truer word spoken..your life changes forever when you lose a child and it will never ever be the same again...ever. its an emptiness that you carry round with you always.i feel like ive had two seperate lives.life before i lost my daughter and life afterwards. its so cliche but you have to be strong and its more of a survival. my heart broke in two and it can never be mended but i have to fight on,we all do.. god bless to all that have suffered this heartache.i feel alone,im sure everyone that loses a child does,but know your not.your truely not. please remember that and keep strong,all my sincerest regards and best wishes
Very beautiful and expresses what all of us as parents feel when we lose a most beloved child. I can relate to many things the poem says. I lost my oldest child Todd on Jan. 11, 2011. I am struggling with many firsts right now. Easter I was a mess, tomorrow is my 54th birthday...Todd would have been the first one to wish me a happy birthday and of course Mother's Day is a few days later. I have no profound advice to give. Hardest thing we ever endure is to lose a child. It is not the natural order of things. I am deeply sorry for all parents that are now grieving and for those yet to know the loss of a child. Todd was another long story as well. I am still trying to piece together what all went wrong. I know this much...the extreme love we feel for our child never ever dies. And there is no set time limit for the grief and pain. I think this is a grief we will carry around for the rest of our lives. We just learn to get through each day. That is what I am doing at the present. But, once again very beautiful poem that states what it is like to lose a child. God Bless
dearest lynnkay,im so,so sorry for your loss,although i know what your feeling right now,i lost my daughter almost 15 years ago and i still struggle. you say jan just gone,i truely know what your going through and its so hard,please know that people on here are so thoughtful and will do ther best to help you through such a time right now.please know i will always be here even just to listen.god bless and my thoughts are with you and your family x
Christmas, Easter, Mother's Day, your child's birthday; they all have that terrible ache. You do what you have to do to make it seem normal, but there's always the knowledge that you are breaking your neck for normal, but normal does not come. It's been almost five years since my 19 year old son died in a pedestrian accident. I have gotten to the point that I just work myself to death trying to be strong for everyone else in my family. His father and brother never say his name, because the pain is too much.
When I was a little girl, my uncle died in a house fire. I remember my Grandmother had a little replica house that this uncle had made. When she took it out to look at it, I could tell it was one of her most prized possessions.
Only now do I know the pain. I still cannot look at pictures of my son, after almost five years. This boy was so loved by his family, I cannot imagine why somebody so precious to us died so senselessly. All you can do is be strong because if you are not strong, you will wither away.
I have been told that you will become someone different after losing a child. And I believe it. I am not as friendly as before. I still like people just as much as I ever did, but I just see things differently now. And I don't discuss my son with anybody. Most folk don't want to talk about it, because somewhere inside they know it is the ultimate loss, even if they don't know the real hell and
pain involved.
Nobody has ever asked me if I want to talk about my son. Nobody. They just want me to get on with life and deal with this hand I've been dealt. I feel guilty just saying or thinking that, as my son is really the one who got a raw deal. Won't get to live his life. I will cry my tears and get up tomorrow and put on the strong face and do my duties. There are many others in the same boat as all of us. God help us all.
When I was a little girl, my uncle died in a house fire. I remember my Grandmother had a little replica house that this uncle had made. When she took it out to look at it, I could tell it was one of her most prized possessions.
Only now do I know the pain. I still cannot look at pictures of my son, after almost five years. This boy was so loved by his family, I cannot imagine why somebody so precious to us died so senselessly. All you can do is be strong because if you are not strong, you will wither away.
I have been told that you will become someone different after losing a child. And I believe it. I am not as friendly as before. I still like people just as much as I ever did, but I just see things differently now. And I don't discuss my son with anybody. Most folk don't want to talk about it, because somewhere inside they know it is the ultimate loss, even if they don't know the real hell and
pain involved.
Nobody has ever asked me if I want to talk about my son. Nobody. They just want me to get on with life and deal with this hand I've been dealt. I feel guilty just saying or thinking that, as my son is really the one who got a raw deal. Won't get to live his life. I will cry my tears and get up tomorrow and put on the strong face and do my duties. There are many others in the same boat as all of us. God help us all.
hi what you said is to many a true word spoken,and i dont think that anyone truely understands how people that have lost a child,no matter how old or why really understand the pain that lingers with you as a parent for the rest of your life..and your also right when you say..god help us all.. thats how i feel every day. but also,as much as my life will never be the same,and its took me so long and ive lost so many years before i realised this...it can never be the same,but it can be something else,something else that can make you happy again,keep strong and fight for that happiness and know you too still have a life to live,a life to finish and see to the end in the best way you know how..i wish you and everyone who suffers this pain the very best in the world.
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