Tim at 18
Today is the tenth anniversary of my son Tim’s death at the age of 22. I’m sharing that with you because ten years is a milestone. It’s a time of reflection, a time to look back over a decade to see what I’ve learned that might help someone else.
I spent last Saturday with a mom new to the grief of losing a child. She’s just six months into her new life where one less person on earth calls her Mom.
Every person’s process of grief and mourning is unique. Even if you’ve lost a child yourself, you don’t truly understand what another person is feeling.
That being said, I’ve listened to enough personal sharings from grieving moms to know that there ARE strong similarities in our stories, regardless of how young or old our children were when they died or by how they died.
Sometimes just knowing you’re not alone in your thoughts and feelings and reactions can ease the pain just a little. And that’s what most of us are seeking initially. So I’m sharing three thoughts.
And if you’re on the outside looking in, wanting to help someone else who has lost a child, these ideas may help you be more truly empathic.
1) The first year of grief is the hardest. There are so many “anniversaries” to get through: the first birthday that your child isn’t alive to celebrate, the first Christmas, the annual family vacation, other holidays your child especially enjoyed, and of course, the anniversary of their death.
Believe me—it’s a flat-out horrendous first year filled with landmines. And it doesn’t even have to be a special day. It can be anything that reminds you of your child. For instance, hearing a song on the radio that your daughter was crazy for or scrolling though the tv menu and seeing your son’s favorite movie pop up…little instances like this can send you reeling.
I remember once in the first year driving behind a pickup truck with its windows down. Just the way the young man driving had his left arm resting on the sill with his fingers extended upward reminded me of Tim’s hairy arm and the long fingers on his hands. I dissolved into tears.
2) People mean well and they may be trying their best to show empathy, but you can count on some to say stupid, hurtful things. Just try to forget what they say because it will drive you crazy otherwise. Here’s a true sampling of what grieving moms have been told:
“I know how you feel about losing your son. My cat just died.”
“I feel sad like you; my 98-year-old grandmother died last week.”
“It’s been four months. Are you feeling better now?”
Some people will say nothing at. You may even have friends drift away from you because they don’t know how to be with you anymore. And that’s OK. The friends who stay are the true friends anyhow.
3) You may be angry. In fact, you may be furious. You may keep a list of people with whom you’re angry. Here was my list from ten years ago: God, Tim, my husband, the “friends” who helped propel Tim down a worsening spiral, and myself. Yes, the person I felt the most loathing towards was, in fact, myself.
My first and constant thought each day for several months was this: I was Tim’s mom. I should have been able to save him. If only I had done this or not said that or made a different decision anywhere along the road, things might have turned out differently.
No one else said those things; it was just me shaming myself. That is a terrible burden to carry. So if you are holding on to any thoughts like that now, please…just set them down and walk away. Because it’s just not true.
I know I just wrote about forgiveness, but I have to talk about it again here because it plays a huge role in my own story. Forgiveness was one of four savings graces on the lifeboat that buoyed me above the waters of despair and hopelessness and carried me to the shores of grief recovery.
Forgiveness may take some time. Again, situations are unique and I understand emotions run deep. If you can’t forgive right now, how about if, just once a day for five minutes, you pretend to forgive. Imagine how your life would be if you could forgive.
Take that tiny first step.
And know that many others have walked that path before you.
This post is dedicated to Tim’s memory and in honor of all the courageous moms who have entrusted me with their stories.
I appreciated this post. My 23 year old son died 1 year ago from an overdose of cocaine/fentanyl. The anniversary was last Saturday. The build up to the 1st anniversary was worse than the day itself, which we tried to fill with positive, hopeful events.
I appreciated your perspective on the 10 year mark as I was kicking and fighting the calendar feeling like every day that passes takes me further and further away from him. But that is simply not true, he is with me every day. I’ve now come to realize that speaking truth to yourself is very important, otherwise guilt, shame, and confusion seem to slowly creep in. I have to remind myself that my Joe was loved, and wanted and needed. That he was worthy of being remembered.
I know this pain will always be here in my heart but I refuse to let it take presidence over my joyful memories of those precious memories.
Thank you for sharing your heart and helping us who are newer on this path!
Dearest Dee, thank you so much for writing. Please accept my sympathy in the loss of your son Joe. Are you interested in coming to lunch December 8 or 9 with some other moms who are in our same shoes, that is, have lost a child to drug or alcohol related reasons? If so, please call me at 540-270-8985 or you can also email me at Norma.Thatcher@nullLiftedUp.us. The informal group is called MAMAS (Moms Against the Misuse and Abuse of Substances). And yes, our children are worthy of being remembered.
WE LOVE YOU NORMA <3
GREG TEXTED ME THIS MORNING THAT IT IS TIM'S ANGEL DAY TODAY.
OUR THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS HAVE INCLUDED TIM AND YOUR FAMILY.
WE WILL ALWAYS HOLD HIM IN OUR HEARTS.
Thank you, dear friend. It was good to be away on this mile-marker anniversary of losing him.
How beautiful, Norma. Your writing is a spiritual experience. I love you and miss that Tim is not here with us.
Thank you for continuing to keep me uplifted. I’m putting together a December meeting. Can you make Saturday Dec 8 or does it need to be Sunday Dec 9?
This very deep side of you is truly precious. Yes to friends who can see deep inside us. Sending love to you on this milestone day.
Thank you, Frederique, my friend.
Remembering your Tim. And so thankful for the path of forgiveness you have continued to shine a light on.
Jenn G — how wonderful to hear from you! I miss you. I’m planning a December meeting and trying to decide between Saturday Dec 8 or Sunday Dec 9. Does either of those work for you?
Thank you for being willing to be vulnerable about the depths of your grief. May your openness bring hope to others.
Beth, it was so good to hear from you. We couldn’t stand to be at home over this anniversary and so we went to Arizona. It was my first time at the Grand Canyon. Very spiritual time for me.
Very insightful and moving. I am sure you hit a special note with lots of folks today. Thanks for reaching to so many others as I am sure you have brought them peace and understanding.
Connie, thanks so much for the sweet comment. I appreciate your writing about how it affected you.
Richard and I attended Mass at 5:30 this Sunday evening. The Mass was said in memory of Tim. My eyes teared up all three times they said his name.
Hugs and love
Thank you very much for the Mass in Tim’s memory. It was good to be away from home over the landmark day.
Norma and Rich:
Thanks for this remembrance. With your permission, I will take this to and share it with my Support Group, today. I’m sure that it will bring back memories to many of the attendees. I’ll take all the pictures of Tim which I have. I trust that I will be able to get through the reading, with the extra “lens” of tears!!! Your call to me and Mom is still ringing in my ears, notifying us of Tim’s death. Having great difficulty getting past all of this. You remember that Tim told me that I was his very best friend. I will never forget!!!
Uncle Bill
Yes, I do remember Tim’s pronouncement that you were his very best friend. I pray that sharing the story will have helped someone in the group.
God Bless you dear Norma. Sharing your pain, your heart, your memories with all of us on such an emotional day touches me. I feel your strength, courage, and your faith in this message. Your strength inspires me to forgive. I know it will append one day.
Blessings and Peace
Dear Jen, thank you for taking the time to sign up on your own and then comment. Sometimes I feel as though I’m walking a fine line, and yet I write as the spirit moves me to write. If a post helps one person, then it is so worth it.
Norma,I have gotten through these years without Timothy by remembering his birthday, October 6, 1986. I was at your home taking care of Laura while Richard drove you to the hospital. What a memorable day when we brought him home – stopping at Nanny and Honey’s to show them their newest grandchild. I love all the pictures that I took that day – they are in his “baby book” at my house along with the hundreds of others through the years. He will always be “Aunt B’s boy. “
“Whose boy are you, Tim?”
“Aunt B’s boy!”
I want to look at your baby book for him the next time I see you. It has been a while.
Thank you for always being there.