8. UNDERSTAND THE SIX NEEDS OF MOURNING

Need #1: Acknowledge the reality of the death.

• Your child has died. This is probably the most difficult reality in the world to accept. Yet gently, slowly and patiently you must embrace this reality, bit by bit, day by day. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

Eleven years later and there is still a part of me that does not acknowledge that Joseph, my son, is dead. Even though I found him. Even though I…as instructed by the 911 operator I finally reached after multiple attempts…cut down his cold stiff body and futilely administered CPR. A part of me still does not believe he is dead. 

A shift occurred inside of me at that moment. When I walked through the front door and saw him, I screamed and screamed. I dropped whatever I was holding. I went looking for my home phone, pacing around. Some part of me knew that when I called 911 it needed to be from my landline, so they knew where the call was coming from. I dialed and got no answer, twice. The third time someone finally answered. 

That shift? This is not Joseph. That shell? No, that was not Joseph. That whistling sound coming through his locked teeth as I administered compressions? That was not coming from my boy. My boy was gone. His spirit had flown away and this empty shell was not him.

My boy. Yes, he was 22 years old, but he will always be my boy. My boy. My brilliant, beautiful, stinky boy. My boy, who gave the best, tightest hugs. My boy, with a delightful sense of humor. Once, when he came home from a day at a partial care program, he asked me how I would describe him in one word. I immediately said, “Delightful”. He said, “Really?” How did he not know? How did he not know how much I delighted in his being? How did I not communicate that to him? 

We did not talk much. He had returned to my home after living with his sister, rehab stays, including out of state, and hospitalizations. He had been discharged from a residential program because he was not attending school as required. They dropped him off at a Dunkin Donuts until the shelter he was scheduled to go to opened. He spent the night in the shelter, awake, due to his ongoing anxiety issues, which was why he was not making it to school. He showed up at my door the next night, smelling like alcohol. I had been asleep. Of course, I let him in. He lay down on top of the covers next to me. I tossed a throw blanket over him. A year went by. He spent most of his time in his room on his computer, which he built himself. As I said, he was brilliant.

We went out to eat one night that last week. Again, neither of us said much. Looking back, he seemed subdued, but so was I. 

Then I found he was using DXM again; and, I told him he could no longer stay. Well, he did not stay. DAMMIT! 

He is gone. My beautiful, delightful, stinky boy. Buried in the cold ground.

It was him.