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Loss of a child

  • I lost my son Tristan in a car accident on Dec 12, 2014. He was 15 years old. That day will be forever etched in my memory. I can feel my heart breaking again, just as I sit here typing. He was everything and so much more.

    I remember getting the call that he was in an accident. I remember rushing to the scene only about a mile from his school, and talking to the police officer that was directing traffic to find out if he was okay. They told me everyone was taken to the hospital, so I hopped in my vehicle and drove straight to the ER. He wasn’t there. Nobody could tell me where he was.

    They put me in a room and told me to wait there while they found out more information. I was worried that he was in a different hospital, feeling scared because he was alone. I just wanted to hug him, and tell him everything would be okay. A nurse would come in periodically, and we would pray together.

    I remember the door to the room opening as a state trooper walked in, he was holding something in his hand and I was asking where Tristan was, that’s when I saw it. My son’s Nintendo wallet. Before he even said the words, I knew he was gone. I felt this incredible weight fall on me as my knees hit the ground, and I cried out. I felt a pain like I had never known. An intense burst of agony engulfed my heart, I lost my breath, and quite possibly my mind.

    I had lost my mother a few years prior, and thought that was the hardest death I’d ever have to face. Because, I never thought I’d lose my child. I was wrong. But, here I was in that moment. I would never get another hug, hear another one of his laughs, see him playing with his brothers, or be able to lift his spirits if he was hurting. He would never be able to walk across the stage and get his diploma as he graduated, he would never finally get the courage up to ask the girl out, he would never get to annoy his brothers or have them annoy him, and he would never smile again. I felt as though I was caught in a nightmare, unable to escape. I was. My baby was gone. I buried him several days later on my birthday.

    When you lose a child people say “I’m sorry for your loss”. I kept thinking.. what about his loss? He never got to kiss the girl. He had Asperger’s and he had finally let down his social wall to let others see the brilliant, hilarious, creative, caring, soul he carried within him. He had overcome bullying, which had devastated him so much it made him contemplate suicide, years prior. Every time that he felt broken, I would do my best to mend his heart, and let him know how absolutely amazing he was. He was gone.

    People would say “it gets easier with time.” Stop saying that. It doesn’t get easier. You just get better at making other people feel at ease about you losing your child. There’s no cure, no magic fixer upper. You will carry it with you always. The smallest things will remind you of your child and it will hurt. There is an ache that resonates inside of me that stems from LOVE, and that is how I carry on. The best thing you can do for someone like me is to say “I’m here for you, when you’re ready, when you need me.” And BE there. The stages of grief come and go as they please. Everyone feels loss in their own way, but believe me they FEEL it. I miss my son every day. Sometimes with tears, sometimes with a smile.

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