Too Young to Die
No time for transitions
Kimm. Barb. Dustin. Joe. Mothers and their too-young-to-die sons. Dustin died a few weeks before my mom did in late 2021. Joe died several months after in 2022. I think most of us expected mom’s death earlier than it occurred. At 80, she had had a heart attack and was hanging on to this world long enough for all of us, including herself, to adjust to the idea that she was headed to a different, less pain-filled place.
On the other hand, 34-year-old Dustin and 40-year-old Joe died suddenly with no time allowed us to prepare for their transitions. They were here with us. Then, their physical selves were not. Their moms were – are – bereft.
Your Own Way
Without a map
I attended a visitation earlier this week, and I desperately wanted to say something besides “I’m sorry” and “How are you?” While these phrases express concern, they don’t necessarily acknowledge that the person on the receiving end of them is experiencing something that we might be able to relate to from our own losses yet they still are on their own personal journey through and with grief. What can I say that says in an Avatar way “I see you”? I see you and I know you are on a journey that can be taken only by you.
You have to find your own way with no map, with no previous experience to guide you. Your compass for this trek is your own soul, which can lead you through the strange land of mourning if you let it. How do I take all of that and put it into a statement or phrase or question so that you know that I care and that I’m not judging you on this personal journey of yours and that I am here for you when you need to be held? There has to be something I can say that relays all of this to those who are grieving.
No Way to Completely Understand
Holding space
Those of us who are not Dustin’s and Joe’s moms have no way of completely understanding how they feel now without their children – these particular, specific sons. While we have experienced loss, our loss is not the same as their loss. We can watch. We can be present. We can hold space that is open and loving. We can listen. That’s it. That’s all we can do. We cannot take away the suffering. We cannot bring their sons back to life. We cannot fill the void left by their early departures.
My thoughts are with you as you mourn
The life and love from you that have been torn.
May thoughts and memories of your son in your soul be sealed;
May your heart and mind be healed
With love from those who care
and offer you a prayer.
Say Their Names
Shining light
I haven’t figured out what that question or phrase is yet, but I’m going to do so. Until then, I know that we can listen. We can say their names – “Dustin.” “Joe.” – with smiles and love. We can ask for memories of Dustin and Joe to be shared with us. We can acknowledge to Kimm and Barb and every other mom out there whose child died too soon, “I don’t have any words for you. I don’t have any answers for you. I have ears to listen to you and a heart to love you with. I remember Dustin. I remember Joe.” We can say those words because that is all we have to offer.
We can remember. We can hold space for them and all those who died before us. In that space, we can see their divine light ... their light shining upon us, divinely inspiring us to be the best parts of them, so they can live on helping others, holding others, inspiring others through us.
Sending you light and love,
Angela Jane
Disclaimer: I am just a regular human being, not an expert of any kind. The thoughts I share here are not intended to be used as professional advice. Please seek professional assistance from an appropriate healthcare provider if you are experiencing any mental or physical health issues.