17. EXPECT TO HAVE A MULTITUDE OF FEELINGS

• Grieving parents don’t just feel sad. They often feel numb, angry, guilty, afraid, regretful, confused, even relieved (in cases of chronic or terminal illness, for example). Sometimes these feelings follow each other within a short period of time or they may occur simultaneously. I often say that grief is not experienced as a single note but as a chord.

CARPE DIEM:

Which grief feeling has surprised you most? Make a point

of talking about this feeling with someone today.

(HEALING A PARENTS’S GRIEVING HEART:

100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES;

Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD; 2005)

I suppose the feeling I first felt, upon discovering my deceased son, was horror. I don’t know that I could identify feelings after that, at least not immediately. I was split open. I screamed and screamed. No one heard me.

His body was already cold and stiff, and yet, once I reached the 911 operator – it took several attempts – I obeyed her directions. I cut him down and I performed CPR, listening to the air whistling through his clenched teeth, although I knew it was pointless.

Once the officers arrived, I obeyed their direction. I went into the next room, the dining room, and sat in a chair. I suppose I was hyperventilating. An officer stood over me and kept saying, “Calm down. Calm down.” I looked him in the eye, saying nothing, but thinking, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” And yes, like the memes say…never in the history of someone saying “Calm down” has anyone calmed down.

At some point, I went upstairs, and picked the lock to my bedroom to get in. I had locked it so that my son couldn’t open it and get his medication to overdose. He had made a number of attempts before. Of course, I had locked him out of the house as well, but he managed to get back in and found another method.

I sat on my meditation pillow, on the floor, and began praying the Chaplet of the Divine Mercy, a Catholic prayer practice encouraged for the dead and dying. Another officer came upstairs and asked if there was anyone he could  call for me, to get me out of the house. I said no. I wasn’t leaving the house until my son’s body was removed.

At some point, I made some calls. I called each of my other children, as well as my ex-husband. My eldest asked how he did it and hung up when I told her. My number two child was more supportive. He even called back to check on me. Number three didn’t answer, so I left a message to call me back. My ex didn’t answer. I also left a message for a call back. I called a neighbor for support, no answer there either. Left a message. This was late at night. I’d worked the second shift at a psychiatric children’s home. 

I called my parish church and reached the associate, who assured me that the funeral home would be in touch with them to make arrangements. No offer of support or a visit.

I finally ended up calling my ex-partner, who was at work as a police dispatcher over an hour away. He left work and came to be with me, arriving before all the to-do was over. He took me to his apartment and remained with me throughout the ordeal and years after.

I cried non-stop for a long time, throughout the wake and funeral. 

What was I feeling? I was nothing BUT feeling. Horror, sadness, grief, guilt. And, at some point, relief. The fear of losing him was gone, because he was gone. He had a chronic and, ultimately, terminal illness, bipolar depression.

The guilt was the overarching feeling for many years. This year it will be twelve years. It is finally ebbing, somewhat, so that I am able to mourn. I came across a post on one of the survivors of suicide pages I follow on FaceBook. It said, “I would have saved you if I could.” And that gave me a tremendous sense of peace. Yes, Joseph, I would have saved you if I could. I did not want you to die.