Jeannie, I think you know a lot about grief from your writing as well as love and healing and giving. Losing something one hopes for is powerful and that includes the loss of feeling in control of your life. Seeing a child suffer through procedures is crushing!
I lost my 35 year old son to stage 4, gastric cancer. He was loved by everyone he met and worked with. I gave up my job and retired to move to Florida to be with him through surgeries and chemo.
The grief was unbearable- to lose him, my career, my friends, my everyday life. It was a hard 14 mos but the right place and time to be as time was short.
I t would have been easy to just stop living and experiencing joy but I have two other sons and two grandkids. I have read that when walking through hellfire just keep on walking to get through it. After two years of putting one foot in front of the other and continuing to live I now feel joy and peace along with the grief and pain. His loss is a wound that will never heal but I am glad for each day. He lives now through my heart and memory and that is precious.
Oh, Janet, I cannot tell you how honored I feel that you shared such a painful loss in my Substack space today. I want you to know that I find your story to be a sacred telling of love and loss.
May I ask what your son’s name was?
The fact that you left your job to move to Florida to be with him in his last days is a huge testament of a mother’s love. And what a gift you gave him. I imagine you have many stories of that time shared with him.
Are there ways that you and your family still remember him or honor his life?
I think, especially from what you wrote here, that grief is really about learning how to love. Maybe we don’t really know what love means until we have lost someone so dear to us, someone who is a part of us like your son is—and forever will be.
His name was Jason. His identical twin lives with me in North Carolina. He also left work to move to FL and help his brother.
We talk about him often and of course birthdays and holidays are hard.
I have an Aura for digital photos so I have his whole life that goes by in my living room.
One of his dear friends made a wooden box with a carving of a guy fishing from a kayak. They enjoyed that so much. I have Jason keepsakes including a small vial of his ashes in that box. The hat he wore to chemo, photos, cards, etc.
So he is still alive in our daily life. Ben has his collection of vinyl records and stereo so he plays them daily, over 1100 albums.
Thanks for caring about our story as I have cared for yours. Stories are a powerful way to connect🤟
I truly believe it is our grief that allows for our greatest growth, so it is no surprise to me that your childhood dream was realized through grief. It is such an original emotion, but when it breaks us open, what pours forth can't be recontained. I love that. For myself, its been the only way for me to reach those parts of myself, so in my grief, I am grateful.
Wow, Jess, your comments are always so deep and textured. Here I am absorbing your phrase "Grief is an original emotion," meaning its origins go back to when we were young. There's so much to unpack in that. Thanks, friend. ❤️
I read your essay on Sarah’s birth. It moved me to tears. I had two traumatic births in a row. The first one resulted in my first born son’s death after 36 hours. The second one sent my second son to the NICU for 11 days due to under developed lungs. He came home and is a healthy 46 year old now. Reading about Sarah reminded me of my feelings immediately after the births of both of my sons. Your feelings were my feelings. You certainly have an uncanny ability to describe raw emotion, hurt, and love all at once. What a gift! Don’t stop writing and sharing. I may not comment often but I read every word you write here. And I’m so entranced by Sarah!
Oh, Kathy, thanks so much for stopping by and taking the time to write this very vulnerable comment. I receive it as a sharing of your heart, and there’s so much I wish I could say. Mainly this: thank you. What was your first son’s name? I am so heartbroken that you lost him. There is no greater pain than a mother’s love when she loses a child.
When I was a grief writer, I learned at a conference where I was speaking that most people are able to construct a different way of living when they lose a spouse or parent or sibling or friend—after about two years or so. (This isn’t the same as “moving on” or “getting over” it. It’s about navigating through it to find out how to live without the person they lost.)
But when a parent loses a child, it’s TEN YEARS OR MORE.
My personal belief is that it likely takes a lifetime.
So I am holding your heart with mine today and want to simply tell you how much it means that you have opened up in this little corner of Substack to share such a painful reality.
His name was Sean Patrick. He was such a big boy, 9.2 lbs, hence the difficult delivery. I will never forget any of the moments in those 2-3 days but the heartache has lessened quite a bit over time. I visit his grave every year on his birthday, January 29. It is almost always cold and sometimes snowy but never quite like the snow we had that year. I will hold him in my heart forever. His birth and subsequent death taught me how strong I am. It was a big guilt trip at the time thinking somehow I had done something wrong. But God led me out of the darkness to a service of speaking and sharing with other moms who lose babies at birth or shortly thereafter. I’ve been able to comfort several moms over the years, including my own daughter in law, whose second child, my grandchild, died of an undiagnosed brain tumor 31 days after birth. Somehow God always helps you see the light.
Jeannie, Grief is the great transformational force in my life, and it sounds like in yours. I love your emotionally honest writing. And I love what your daughter, Sarah, teaches me. Those little videos never fail to touch my heart where it needs to be touched. May you continue to write on and share your stories and your voice (and Sarah's too.) With love and appreciation, stephanie
That means so much to hear, Stephanie. Truly. It keeps me going. And I know how much Sarah loves spreading her heart to those across the globe. We genuinely love all of our Substack friends!
Jeannie, I think you know a lot about grief from your writing as well as love and healing and giving. Losing something one hopes for is powerful and that includes the loss of feeling in control of your life. Seeing a child suffer through procedures is crushing!
I lost my 35 year old son to stage 4, gastric cancer. He was loved by everyone he met and worked with. I gave up my job and retired to move to Florida to be with him through surgeries and chemo.
The grief was unbearable- to lose him, my career, my friends, my everyday life. It was a hard 14 mos but the right place and time to be as time was short.
I t would have been easy to just stop living and experiencing joy but I have two other sons and two grandkids. I have read that when walking through hellfire just keep on walking to get through it. After two years of putting one foot in front of the other and continuing to live I now feel joy and peace along with the grief and pain. His loss is a wound that will never heal but I am glad for each day. He lives now through my heart and memory and that is precious.
Oh, Janet, I cannot tell you how honored I feel that you shared such a painful loss in my Substack space today. I want you to know that I find your story to be a sacred telling of love and loss.
May I ask what your son’s name was?
The fact that you left your job to move to Florida to be with him in his last days is a huge testament of a mother’s love. And what a gift you gave him. I imagine you have many stories of that time shared with him.
Are there ways that you and your family still remember him or honor his life?
I think, especially from what you wrote here, that grief is really about learning how to love. Maybe we don’t really know what love means until we have lost someone so dear to us, someone who is a part of us like your son is—and forever will be.
His name was Jason. His identical twin lives with me in North Carolina. He also left work to move to FL and help his brother.
We talk about him often and of course birthdays and holidays are hard.
I have an Aura for digital photos so I have his whole life that goes by in my living room.
One of his dear friends made a wooden box with a carving of a guy fishing from a kayak. They enjoyed that so much. I have Jason keepsakes including a small vial of his ashes in that box. The hat he wore to chemo, photos, cards, etc.
So he is still alive in our daily life. Ben has his collection of vinyl records and stereo so he plays them daily, over 1100 albums.
Thanks for caring about our story as I have cared for yours. Stories are a powerful way to connect🤟
I truly believe it is our grief that allows for our greatest growth, so it is no surprise to me that your childhood dream was realized through grief. It is such an original emotion, but when it breaks us open, what pours forth can't be recontained. I love that. For myself, its been the only way for me to reach those parts of myself, so in my grief, I am grateful.
Wow, Jess, your comments are always so deep and textured. Here I am absorbing your phrase "Grief is an original emotion," meaning its origins go back to when we were young. There's so much to unpack in that. Thanks, friend. ❤️
I’ve only just started digging in myself. There’s so much here to explore.
Agree, Jess. I think you and I could have a whole conversation about this. Hopefully someday.
Well written. Your honesty is impressive. ✨️
Thank you so much, Lisa. I appreciate that.
I read your essay on Sarah’s birth. It moved me to tears. I had two traumatic births in a row. The first one resulted in my first born son’s death after 36 hours. The second one sent my second son to the NICU for 11 days due to under developed lungs. He came home and is a healthy 46 year old now. Reading about Sarah reminded me of my feelings immediately after the births of both of my sons. Your feelings were my feelings. You certainly have an uncanny ability to describe raw emotion, hurt, and love all at once. What a gift! Don’t stop writing and sharing. I may not comment often but I read every word you write here. And I’m so entranced by Sarah!
Oh, Kathy, thanks so much for stopping by and taking the time to write this very vulnerable comment. I receive it as a sharing of your heart, and there’s so much I wish I could say. Mainly this: thank you. What was your first son’s name? I am so heartbroken that you lost him. There is no greater pain than a mother’s love when she loses a child.
When I was a grief writer, I learned at a conference where I was speaking that most people are able to construct a different way of living when they lose a spouse or parent or sibling or friend—after about two years or so. (This isn’t the same as “moving on” or “getting over” it. It’s about navigating through it to find out how to live without the person they lost.)
But when a parent loses a child, it’s TEN YEARS OR MORE.
My personal belief is that it likely takes a lifetime.
So I am holding your heart with mine today and want to simply tell you how much it means that you have opened up in this little corner of Substack to share such a painful reality.
His name was Sean Patrick. He was such a big boy, 9.2 lbs, hence the difficult delivery. I will never forget any of the moments in those 2-3 days but the heartache has lessened quite a bit over time. I visit his grave every year on his birthday, January 29. It is almost always cold and sometimes snowy but never quite like the snow we had that year. I will hold him in my heart forever. His birth and subsequent death taught me how strong I am. It was a big guilt trip at the time thinking somehow I had done something wrong. But God led me out of the darkness to a service of speaking and sharing with other moms who lose babies at birth or shortly thereafter. I’ve been able to comfort several moms over the years, including my own daughter in law, whose second child, my grandchild, died of an undiagnosed brain tumor 31 days after birth. Somehow God always helps you see the light.
Jeannie, Grief is the great transformational force in my life, and it sounds like in yours. I love your emotionally honest writing. And I love what your daughter, Sarah, teaches me. Those little videos never fail to touch my heart where it needs to be touched. May you continue to write on and share your stories and your voice (and Sarah's too.) With love and appreciation, stephanie
That means so much to hear, Stephanie. Truly. It keeps me going. And I know how much Sarah loves spreading her heart to those across the globe. We genuinely love all of our Substack friends!
Congrats!! And so cool. 'Berta
Thanks, ‘Berta! :)
Grief comes in all shapes and sizes doesn't it?
Absolutely, Suzanne!