My Story of Loss and Grief

October 1, 1996 is the morning that became the catalyst for years of mental anguish and personal torment. It was the morning I found my son had died. He was 3 years, 5 months and 8 days old. Jason was born with a Diaphragmatic Hernia that was repaired. We were told over and over we would never have to worry about his surgery. The words, “He can grow up to be a football linebacker!” was told to us by his surgeon. Well, that wasn’t true because after telling them many times over something just wasn’t right, I have a morning burned into my vision for all of this lifetime. It took only 36 hours from the onset of symptoms to me finding him. He developed scar adhesions that herniated his stomach and poisoned his body. I became a heartbroken shell that had to function for the sake of his two older brothers.

There are 5 stages of grief and you can move through them at different times and in different order. The stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. One can experience multiple stages at the same time and go back and forth through each of them. Everyone experiences grief in their own way and there is no time-frame attached. As long as you cope in a way that it’s harmful to you and you are moving through it, not being stagnant. There are many wonderful articles online written in detail about these stages so I won’t go into detail here.

I found out quickly so many judge you based on how long your grieve or the length it is taking you to move along. I won’t get into the many comments made that some felt were supposed to be helpful and were far from it. Jason’s Dad and I grieved completely different and with this came much turbulence in our relationship. Studies have shown that women and men grieve in their own styles and I was very much on the male spectrum and he was on the female. Males are typically very quiet, don’t want to talk about it all, look put together and like they are handling it all like a champ. Women on the other hand talk about it a lot, are outward with their emotions, and seen to breakdown. I didn’t want to talk about any of it. I had to keep moving since I had Jason’s brothers to take care of and that was my main focus. The way I handled it was inward towards myself. Jason’s Dad wanted to always talk about it, go to Bereaved Parents groups, would break down crying. Bereaved Parent’s groups were WAY too much for me. Being a highly sensitive empath, I felt each and every persons grief and pain. I could not deal with any of it. My advice to anyone grieving, be gentle with yourself, grieve how you need to, and just politely thank others for their concern but their opinion on how you handle it is none of their business. Harsh sounding maybe, but no one has the right to coach you on your journey through it.

For me, the first 5 years are a complete blur. I only remember bits and pieces which is my body’s way of protecting itself. I was diagnosed with PTSD, Major Depressive Disorder, Major Anxiety, and Anorexia Nervosa. I was, to be quite honest, a total mess! It took another 5 years to get on a level of progressing forward and now after 25 years, I’m at peace with myself. So, as you see, time-frame limits are not part of this journey.

The major obstacle I had to work on was kicking myself for what happened to my son. The “I should have done this. I should have done that’s.” It took years to finally realize that judging my actions at that moment in time with the knowledge I later had was unfair. If I had all the information I had today, different decisions would have certainly been made. You can not take every thing you know today and process your actions in that moment and pass judgement on yourself in the past or beat yourself up over it. If you are doing that…. stop it!

Now I’m going to tell you about the days leading up to Jason’s passing on a whole different level. Especially considering what I have learned over time. This is looking at it with a spiritual vision and how the universe was at play. I waitressed second shift at the time and his Dad put him to bed at night. His Dad told me 2 weeks prior that Jason kept acting afraid to go to bed. Mentioning seeing monsters. He also insisted on saying “Goodbye” rather than goodnight and it all didn’t make sense. His Dad refused to say goodbye and it was goodnight. Jason would yell back goodbye.

The night of Jason’s passing, I decided I was going to bring my son to the doctors office in the morning even though they said it wasn’t necessary. The doctors advice wasn’t sitting right with me. While Jason was laying in our bed, out of nowhere, he sat up, looked at the side of the bed, said hi and waved. He proceeded to lay back down and go to sleep. As the night went on, one of his brothers started having nightmares and needed one of us to be with him. So, his Dad fell asleep in his room. It was like forces were at play to separate us. We all went to sleep, and I found my son, hiding from the “monsters” under my bed. It was too late.

This is where I had a horrible time of why didn’t I wake up when he moved out of bed? I would be lying if I said the thought doesn’t overtake me to this day. But looking back at everything that happened with my beliefs regarding the other side today, it was inevitable and his time to go in this lifetime. Jason was an old soul, full of life and I miss him more than words can say. He sends me ladybugs, or yadygugs as he called them, to me to let me know he is around.

Our loved ones are around us anytime we need them. You just need to think about them, talk to them. They hear you. Keep an eye open for signs they are reaching out. It could be a favorite song, a bird, a ladybug, or an animal. For Jason, it’s a ladybug. My Dad shows me the number 757, the area code where we were born and raised. A song from John Cougar Mellencamp for my Uncle Spencer. You may feel a brush on your cheek, a tap on your shoulder, your name out of nowhere. It still hurts they aren’t here physically to pick up a phone and call them, but I feel better knowing they are still there when I need them. Just in a different way.

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