I have been sinking in grief a little bit lately.
Because my baby turned two and he should have had one more sister helping him blow out his candles.
Because another mother spent my son’s birthday wishing her’s was here.
And because well, just because, life without one of your children is not the way life should be.
And as much as I love and need to write, I can never find the words to describe exactly what it is like to walk with loss each day.
This mother found them for me…
Alas, I now, finally, understand what it means to grieve. It is not something to take lightly. Not something you quickly move on from.
It is real, and heavy, like a wet wool blanket tossed over your soul. My best friend asked me what it felt like, having to shoulder this burden, this loss. She was not being naive. She wanted to help, to understand.
And the best way to describe this grief is to imagine you are alone in a dark room. In front of you is a candle. All you can see, all you can feel is the light from this candle. This is grief.
For many days, weeks and months, all you can see is the light from this candle. Until one day, the candle is a little farther from your face. The light is not so bright. You can still see the candle, but you can also see other things in this room. The candle is always present. And on good days, the candle is an arms length away. But some mornings, some moments, the candle comes right up to your face, blinding you with it’s light, leaving you unable to see or feel any other thing. Except the damn candle. That is grief.
It is always here, always present. And on good days you can see around the grief, but you never know when the grief is gonna get you. But it always sneaks back in. And you can’t blow out the candle. Ever.
-T. (a bereaved mother)
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oops….dont know what happened to my link
that is exactly grief….I just lost my 2nd child in 1 year dec 2010! One to cancer, one to drugs as a way of dealing with his grief. It doesn’t ever go away, grief.
I just found your blog thru pink and I’m ever so grateful.
Thanks
Sonya
Jessica, this is beautiful and so sad, too. But I love the words and I hope that putting them here meant something to you going forward. None of us who haven’t lost a child can even begin to understand and feel your pain, but I know we don’t envy you it.
And I wish I could hug you.
Jessica, this is so beautifully written. Consider yourself hugged, loved, supported, and heard. I know that your network is big and strong- but know that I’m here always. XO
Sending lots of hugs and kisses and chocolate your way. I know it doesn’t make it better, but maybe it’ll ease one of the tiny daily tugs on your heart xoxo
I really really love her words. God. I just wish no one would have to know them.
you put that so well MommaKiss. I am going to steal your thought because it’s perfect. this is heartbreak in its rawest form. The words are so beautiful that no one should ever have to say them.
What a beautiful analogy. I cannot even imagine this type of grief….but your telling of the story and the memories, and the feelings, makes this little life live on for ever. And that is a gift. sending you hugs!
Thank you so much, truly appreciate your kind words.
(((((Love you))))))) sister friend
Jessica – Thank you for sharing this. It gives so much insight into grief and how it affects one’s life.
How I wish there was no need for a candle for you, but I’m glad she will live on in your memory and words.
No child could be loved more.
We are always here to listen, when the need to write strikes.
You are so sweet Kelly, thank you for this.
Oh, this was perfectly written and so very heartbreaking. I’m so very sorry for your loss. We’re all here for you, hoping tomorrow your candle is a little further away.
Thank you so much, truly appreciate your support. xo
I loved this description and o find it interesting. I’m not like you at all as I tend to look on the positive side and put things behind me. They’re still part of me…like a constant…but they don’t occupy my mind.
That’s why this impressed me because I can feel your pain. Two years is still very recent. In time, you’ll live with this easier.
Have you experience the loss of a child too Lynn?
I felt exactly the same, as much as I wish we didn\’t have to carry that candle I will always want to because that means my daughter\’s memory is still shining bright.
Thank you for sharing this to really help us better understand. Hugging you today and always. xoxoxo
Beautifully written. For those of us who have experienced loss, the candle analogy is a perfect fit. ((huts))
That is the perfect way to describe the way I feel. Today has turned into a candle right next to the face kind of day. I hope your candle stays at bay…
So sorry Hannah, hope that tomorrow you can see around the candle a bit. Sending hugs.
I can’t think of the right words today, but I wanted to just say thank you for sharing these powerful words.
Hugs to the both of you. I can’t imagine how hard that was for her to write and to put it into words. I’m so very sorry each of you have had to experience this pain.
Thank you Elena, I was so glad to have found her words. Comforting to know someone is experiencing the same feelings.
Such beautiful words, from such a sad place.
But thinking about your candle, made me think that just one little flame can give some warmth. When it is up close like that, and you open your heart, let the warmth of the memory of her little face, her holding onto you for that moment … let that warmth in. When the flame flickers and dances, she is always with you, her light will live forever in your heart.
Tears for you today my friend. And hugs – always hugs xxx
Thank you Nicole, it’s funny, as I read this over and over, as much as I would rather not have to have a “candle” I wouldn’t have it any other way because if I didn’t have the light I wouldn’t be carrying her memory with me each day.
Breathtaking description of grief. I am so sorry the candle is always in the room with you when it really should be Hadley…
How wonderfully simple and true.
Wow, it is hard to really put into perspective and truly understand that kind of grief Jessica. I relate it to not really understanding motherhood until you become a mom. I am happy that you have this outlet to write about it, and truly hope that it continues to give you some comfort. Thanks for sharing your life with us… because in my opinion, stories are so much more significant than advise. My son’s 5th birthday is today… so this post really hit home with me…
Happy Birthday to your son, hope you guys have a great day. Thanks so much for your support Kate.
What a perfect and heartbreaking description.
I’m wrapping my arm around you friend.
Not to take your pain away, but to join you so you aren’t alone.
Thank you Leighann.
That\’s all I could ask for Alison, thank you.
Oh, darling, my heart goes out to you, always. Yours is a grief I can only imagine (and do in my darkest, most fearful nights, as a child on the autism spectrum is always at greater risk of loss) but not mine to bear. My grief is so different, a beloved elderly parent, whose end for me was awful but also not tragic, he lived his long full life. My mother lives in grief’s room, although the flame is thankfully moving further out as time dissipates the sharpness of his absence.
But a child, that loss… unimaginable. Unless it is real. As it is for you.
And yet you can and must constantly seek to look beyond the candle, for your other lovely children are also in the room, alive and needing you. And you are such a lovely mother, and look away, and are so there for them in spite of the part of you that is tugged to the candle and wants to lose yourself in it forever.
Hugs.
That describes it perfectly….but it’s also a comfort. To know there is no longer pain for my son and for me selfishly–to know I have my little love waiting when its my turn.
That is a perfect analogy. Hugs to you during this difficult te. Sending warm prayers to you and your angel baby in heaven.
It is coming up to two years since I said goodbye to my son, Henry, too. The wet wool blanket over your soul rings so true. So painful to miss a life that never was. My heart is with you.
yes. this is grief.
but it is important to “give grief words” as MacBeth said. because otherwise? that candle will tip over and burn you to the ground.
you do important grief writing here, Jessica. Really. People find their way through their grief because of your words about your own.
that is a weighty task, but you do it beautifully.
someone is always missing from the happy. i feel it here too. angels around us.
love to you.
Thank you Katie, I have found that there are times that I HAVE to write about grief. I need to get it out before I can move forward and write about anything else. I know you, unfortunately, know that feeling too. Thanks for being here for me.
That was a great way to put it. I am sorry you have to go through this Jess. I think of you every day. Love you!
Thanks so much for all of your love and support, Sarah.
What a wonderful description. Sorry for your grief, but hoping the candle gets farther away with each passing day.
Thank you
Wow. Her words are right on. I’m sorry you’re struggling. Happy days will always be sad days, won’t they? Even on ordinary days I find myself drowning in the light of that candle.
Sending Love and Hugs your way <3
Somehow the happy days always end up sad somehow. As good as it is, it is always sad that someone is missing. Sending love and hugs back, hope you are doing okay, Amy.
Perfect description…makes me so sad that you have to feel that so often. I’m sorry and I love you!!
Love you too Casey, thank you.