Bereavement, Grief
Comments 9

14 months and 20 days later

Under water girl

It has been 14 months and 20 days since my son died but it is only recently that I have realised that grief is going to be part of my life, of me, of who I am until I die.

Yes, I did read the books, listened to the stories, talked to other bereaved parents but it has only recently become obvious to me that grief is never going to leave my life and that it is here to stay.

For good.

That I will have good days always followed, as a rule, by bad, really bad days.

That I will get ill much more often than I even did before.

That my mind will never be the same; that I have become a head sieve. I forget often and I need constant reminders of appointments and meetings. Loads and loads of patience and understanding too.

That I will be sad. Often and deeply and sometimes furiously.

That anger will be my closest companion. An existential anger that cannot be directed at any-one, as the only One who could answer my questions lives in a different dimension.

That the story I so believed, that there is a God who heals and has compassion and makes sense,  a god who mends our wounds is only a man-made fantasy, created to give false comfort to the ones who are too afraid to face the real story and real life.

That pain triggers are everywhere.

In a lesson plan, in a rainbow, in a splash of colour, in a smell, in a drawer, in the autumn days that my son never got to feel, in the flicker of a candle, in the innocent yet so poignant, for me, episode of curious George.

That there will never be heart healing, that there will never be complete peace, that there will never be a day while I am still here, on earth, that I will not miss my departed child.

That living with such chronic heart pain requires huge amounts of courage but never looks heroic as the battle is not against a palpable, definite enemy but it is a daily struggle of squelching through the mud of apathy and pain and despair.

That there is never, ever a break from the heartache. It is a throbbing, drilling, numbing sort of ache that has taken the rhythm of my breath and the pace of my heart and it has become part of me.


It has become ME.

I am a woman of sorrows and forever shall be…


  1. The subtlety and unpredictability of those ‘pain triggers’ can be one of the most difficult aspects – eighteen months on, so many ‘little things’ still catch me unawares and leave my heart raw and bleeding ❤️

    • I doubt they will ever disappear, Victoria. They will maybe and hopefully decrease in intensity and frequency but the shards will always remain and make us raw.xx

  2. Oana, you will always be a woman of sorrows, I think we too realise that now. Life really will always be far more different than others can realise, and I’m pleased they’ll never understand, but the sorrows can never be everything. They never fill every single shadowy corner, and just sometimes they have so little control that you kmow you can keep fighting and holding them back xxx

    • That is right, Jenny. Bu as you well know, sometimes the shadows they cast can be so dark, they make out whole world dark for a while. Sometimes a long while, sometimes for a few seconds. But yes, as you say, life will never, ever be the same as before.xx

  3. I can not imagine what you are going through Oana. My niece’s little boy died at six months old seven years ago and she is pregnant at the moment, expecting a new baby next year. It is such a bittersweet time for her. Sending love.

    • Jen, we have been postponing trying for a new baby as I can only imagine the emotional dilemmas and anxiety! I wish your niece all the very best with the new pregnancy!xx

  4. Izabela says

    Si eu Oana trec printr-o mare pierdere (sanatatea copilului meu – s-a nascut cu un sindrom genetic rar cu consecinte teribile asupra lui) si ma lupt sa ies din noaptea neagra prin care trec. Am speranta, ca atat eu cat si copilul meu, ne vom gasi pacea si acceptarea deplina a situatiei, ca sa nu traiesc toata viata in regrete si resentimente, caci ar fi prea dur pentru familia mea. Crezi ca e posibil?

    • Izabela, cred ca atita timp cit exista viata in trupusorul lui, exista si speranta. Noi aici vedem mereu copii cu sindromuri rare dar ale caror viata este apreciata de cei care ii ingrijesc, in ciuda conditiilor de viata ale micutilor. Partea grea este dupa…cind, dupa cum am zis in post, nu mai ai pentru ce lupta, cind totul e durere sufleteasca si absenta. Imi pare rau ca vi s-a intimplat asa ceva dar sfatul meu este…bucurati-va de existenta copilului IN CIUDA bolii cumplite. Te pup.

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