The Day My Mom Saw Me Cry as a Bereaved Mother

“This was a celebration; a birthday party,” I said with cheer!

My mom didn’t see me cry much the day of the funeral. I don’t really remember crying much. However, I do remember the day my mom finally saw me cry.

The Funeral

“It really was a lovely birthday party. It was the largest he’d ever had.”

the day my mother saw me cry bereaved mom — Some part of me must have known this was a sad day, because I placed tissues on the table.

At the funeral, I remember wiping tears from a friend’s eyes and telling him not to cry. “This was a celebration; a birthday party,” I said with cheer! Yes, it was my son’s twenty-first birthday party. We filled the church with twenty-one balloons, gobs of photos, some flowers, and beautiful pictures for guests to sign. “It would be lovely,” I thought.

I slipped a few stitches in my dress, so it would fit perfectly, before zipping out the door. I smiled and hugged everyone before speaking to the congregation. I didn’t want to be one of those “front row mommas” sitting there solemnly while everyone hugged me with pity.

I walked around greeting and hugging everyone until things began. This was a party after all, wasn’t it? We sang songs like, “You are Good” and “Be Enthroned.”

Then, I read a letter I’d written to Josh that morning. I wished him a happy birthday and told him how very proud I was of him. I spoke words of warning, encouragement, and love to his friends. I had them view a video. Then, we hugged and giggled at all the pictures gracing the large screen in front of us.

It was such a nice day. Close friends and family gathered at a local all-you-can-eat Chinese place Josh really liked. Then, a few stopped by and played basketball in the backyard. There were so many giggles that day. It really was a lovely birthday party. It was the largest he’d ever had.

Can I Get a Re-do?

“We see a moment, or a series of moments; that if you took just one moment away in the series… maybe, just maybe, we could erase this whole big mess. Maybe, we’d have our child back.”

My mom stayed for a while. Things went well. Life was busy with things to do: documents to sign, accounts to close, urns to fill, and cards to send. There was just so much to do. It kept me busy.

But, soon, my mom was gone. My nights became longer. I couldn’t sleep. Guilt set in. The double-vision began, full of thoughts of my baby. I could see him everywhere, and I desperately missed him.

“How did this happen?

Where’s my child?

I want a re-do.

Please, can’t we just erase that moment?”

You see, that’s what we see, over-and-over, repeating in our minds. We see a moment, or a series of moments; that if you took just one moment away in the series… maybe, just maybe, we could erase this whole big mess. Maybe, we’d have our child back.

The Visit

“And, there I was; crying like a bad actress in a Lifetime movie.”

the day my mom saw me cry bereaved mother urn — My mother holding Josh’s urn.

The few tears my mom saw stream down my face, at the funeral, were nothing like what she saw when she returned for a visit. She was worried. I could tell, though she didn’t try to hide the fact.

“I killed him!” I cried.

“It was my job to protect him. I can’t believe I let this happen. It’s my job to know what my child needs. Josh needed me. Did he call for me? He died all alone. My baby.”

The truth is, I was devastated. The tears that flowed down my face may have been silent, by they were now accompanied by loud, ferocious sobs. I remember the many days I’d watched Lifetime with my mom. I’d always giggle at the poor acting when the actress began crying. “Nobody cries like that. That’s ridiculous.”

And, there I was; crying like a bad actress in a Lifetime movie.

Death Changed Me

I wish I could say that something miraculous happened to make those tears go away. It didn’t. I still cry sometimes. I’ve put in a lot of hard work: therapy, group talk, leaning on friends and family, and practices of acceptance. They all helped in their own right, but I’m learning that I’ll never be the same. I am intrinsically different; changed. My son’s death transformed me into something new. I understand pain now, and I recognize it all around me.

My mom… I think she understands now too. One day, almost a year later, she called me. She explained how she was really worried about me before. But, now she got it. She said those words through tears of her own. One day, if you’re lucky, someone will also understand your tears. ♥

Xoxo,

Rachel

P.S. – There are so many nuggets in this simple post I’d like to speak to you about. Why was I so normal the day of the funeral? Why did it take such a long time for me to truly breakdown? Oh, the guilt; the heavy guilt! Acceptance… when does it really come? How many tears have I shed? Can joy be experienced again? How can we see the pain around us? — If any of these speak to you, I’d love to have you join me on this blogging journey. You can find me at www.OnTheWayToWhereYoureGoing.com.