It’s been about a year since we received that phone call that changed our lives forever. The call to tell us our son had been in an accident, that his condition was grave. When the Doctor came in and said, “I’m sorry, we did all we could do”, I thought nothing would ever be the same again.
Now, after this much time has passed, people say to me, ”How are you doing since you lost your child?” And I’ve come to realize that after you’ve lost a child, nothing really changes much, except... you’ve lost your child.
To my surprise, the sun came up the very next morning. And the moon and stars shone that night.
And every morning and every night since then. I’ve lived through the change of every season. I watched the leaves turn their brilliant shades of autumn, then fall silently to the ground. The snow came and covered the earth with frozen wonderment, then quietly melted away as new buds began appearing on the trees. Resurrection, new life, blooms on the azalea bushes, the sounds of birds and lawnmowers and children playing in the yard. You see, after you’ve lost a child nothing really changes much ...except, you’ve lost a child.
Every day the stores open, people get their groceries, shop for cars, buy new clothes. Salesmen meet their quotas, nurses give their shots, teachers instruct their students. The stock market rises and falls. In far away places wars rage, people starve, missionaries preach. Our neighbors get cancer, our friends have babies, our families gather for reunions. So you see, after you’ve lost a child nothing really changes much...except you’ve lost your child.
We still have birthdays and open presents and go out to eat. We still get sick and have surgery and take Ibuprofen. We still go to the dentist and have our teeth cleaned and our cavities filled. We still go to the football games and wrestling meets and cheer for our team. We still celebrate Christmas and New Years Eve and graduations. So you see, nothings really changed much...except our child is gone.
Oh, in the beginning lots of things changed. For a while our home was full of people offering support. Our mailbox was full of cards from people far away sending their condolences. Our refrigerator was full of food from people close by showing their love in a tangible way. Our voice mailbox was full of calls from people all over the country calling to see how we were doing. But people had to get on with their lives. Now we get a lot of junk mail and magazines. Our refrigerator is never empty, but its food we made. People call on our voice mail to see if we want aluminum siding. So nothings really changed that much...except we lost our child.
In the beginning, our employers lavished us with support, encouraged us to take time off, sent flowers and cards. But soon - sooner than we were ready, it was expected of us to return to our jobs. To travel away from home, alone in a hotel room, to deal with clients as well as with the pain. To return to the hospital to watch the patients die while we’re dying on the inside. To babysit other people’s boys, watching siblings play, knowing our siblings won’t be playing together again. To go back to school, trying to learn from a book while we’re still trying to learn to live with loss. But after awhile the routine settles in and I guess nothing really changes much...except you’ve lost a child.
In the beginning the pain was there, physical, heavy, crushing pain. Sometimes it was hard to eat. We stayed up until we were exhausted, hoping that sleep would come. The house was dark and silent a lot. The void was unbearable. There were no words to express the emptiness and grief. The questions unanswered, the need to understand more about heaven and what goes on there, the fear of what he went through in those last hours filled our mind. But after awhile we noticed the pain wasn’t so intense Unbelievably, a whole day would go by without tears, although, rarely an hour would go by without a thought or a reminder of him. Somehow the grief, the loneliness, the loss became integrated into our lives - became a part of who we are rather than a tragedy that occurred. He is still part of us, part of our very life, part of our every thought and event. It is now part of our identity, painfully, respectfully, proudly. We are the parents who lost a child. But strangely not that much has changed, except with the slowly healing scars of our broken heart, we live with having lost our child.
Now with so many things that have changed, they have become closely and forever intertwined with the things that stay the same. I still come in the same door to our house, but his size 15 hightops will never be there for me to stumble over. I still answer the phone but I’ll never hear him say, “Hi, Mom! What’s up?” We still sit down to dinner together almost every night, but his chair will always be vacant. We still go to church every Sunday, but I’ll never see him again with his hands raised high in the air, worshipping the Lord.
Oh, but someday I will see him again, worshipping. But then we will be doing it together in Heaven. We will all be changed. Nothing will be the same. New heaven, new earth, new body. No pain, no tears, no sorrow, no separation. We live for that day, we long for that day. Often we beg for that day. But until that day comes, life continues as it was, but oh, so very different from what it was. Because you see, after you’ve lost a child nothing really changes much...except you’ve lost a precious child.
Carolyn Lawrence
May 1998
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