Ask Yourself This Question Before Moving After the Loss of Your Child

“The pain of waking up in a home without my son was too much to bear. He was everywhere, yet no where.”

After Josh died, my home became a prison. It was a prison of thoughts and memories which were too hard to consume. They just stood there frozen. This is how you feel before moving, after the loss of your child.

My street became a long alleyway of frozen farewells, filled with shock and disbelief. My community felt strange, as I wandered aimlessly through my once familiar grocery store. Everything seemed so distant, an out-of-body experience as I drifted in and out of reality.

Why Moving After the Loss of Your Child Makes Sense

“It was the place my son took his last breathe, without his momma; his bedroom. That red couch would never be the same.”

The pain of waking up in a home without my son was too much to bear. He was everywhere, yet no where. His car, sitting out front, once symbolized his safety. He was home, safe and sound, where he belonged. But, that was no longer true. I didn’t know why that car sat there. Why was it there? I didn’t know why anything was what it was anymore.

As I sat and watched television, I saw my son standing and leaning against the wall across from me, a position he’d held just months before he died. I knew exactly what he wore and noticed the little gathering of extra material sitting at the bottom of each pant leg. As I sat on the couch, I looked up the stairs, to my right, and saw Josh entering the front door; always turning in the same direction, sometimes wearing a cuddly, knitted hat with a puffball sitting atop. Other times, I’d take a quick glance further to my right (a hard right) and instantly become tasered with a sharp pain, followed by deep heartache. It was the place my son took his last breathe, without his momma; his bedroom. That red couch would never be the same.

I wanted to move, but couldn’t. Everything about staying in that house hurt. But, I was torn about leaving the place my son called home.

Are you struggling with deciding to stay or leave after your child’s death?

Are you torn? Are you struggling with deciding whether moving is the right thing for you and your family? It’s a hard decision, but a decision so many must face after the loss of a child. Moving after the loss of your child is not an easy decision.

Guess what? I don’t have the answer. But, you probably knew this. No one can, nor should tell you how to handle your grief. No one, regardless what they claim knows what’s best for you. Only you can answer that. But, I do have a suggestion for you.

Don’t leave until you do this one thing!

Please, don’t move until you answer this one question.

Are you moving because you see and feel your child everywhere you look in your home? Do the painful memories haunt you? Do you simply need a break from their overwhelming presence? Are you trying to leave the pain?

One day you may miss the sharp pain.

I understand. The pain is heavy. It’s smothering, and sometimes it feels like it’s taking over. Friend, that’s normal. It’s going to be that way for a while. It may be a long while. And, it’s nothing you need to run a way from. You can if you choose. But, if you wait it out… maybe three, four, or five years, you may feel differently. As you sit on the couch and look at the door, you may long to see a vision of your child entering. As you sit in their room, you may long for the tears to stream down your face, as they once did on a daily basis. Though the pain is still there, you may miss the sharp pain that once lasered you each time you dared to enter your child’s room. One day, you may experience what happened to me just the other day. This happened just over three years after Josh’s death.

Why Staying After the Loss of Your Child Makes Sense

Saturday, as I washed dishes at the kitchen sink, I peered out the window, as I’ve done so many times before. Like clockwork, I saw Josh out on the back covered deck. He stood there with a smile on his face, concentration in his eyes, and hands-moving this way and that way. I knew who he was talking to. It was my brother, and it was one of their last conversations. It lasted forever. If you knew my brother, you’d know this was no surprise. You could say the same for Josh. And, when you got the two of them together, it was like two brilliant minds had just found their best friend. They’d dance the night away.

I looked out that window, and unlike before, a soothing love song encapsulated me. I could have stood and watched the dance for hours. And I whispered to myself, “I could never leave this house.”

Your home is part of your child’s story.

“Regardless what you decide, never forget that your home is part of your child’s story.”

The truth is, one day I may. I may leave and say goodbye to this old building. But, for now, it is mine. The good and the bad. The precious memories, both painful and soothing. They belong to me. They belong between the walls of this home, and I am slowly learning to love them. I am slowly learning to own them. They are mine; a piece of me. They belong in Josh’s story.

Dennis Apple, pastor and author of Life After the Death of My Son: What I’m Learning, lost his son at home. His son, Denny, died unexpectedly on the family room couch. It was terribly hard for the family to continue living in the home. Dennis writes:

Denny died in the family room – how fitting for our boy to die there since he loved his family so much. The family room was a place of warmth, pillows, blankets, friends, plants, and love. But now it’s different. It seems cold, dark, and sullen. I have trouble staying in the family room for any period of time – 10 minutes is long enough. – Dennis Apple

Fast forward a few years, and Dennis later discusses a moment that changed the way he viewed that room. The pain was still there, but something happened that allowed him to weave that precious room, into the fabric of his son’s story.

I’ll never forget that moment or the place I was sitting in our family room when Harold answered Dr. Schuller by saying, “It was the death of a teenage boy named Denny that effected this shift in my career.” When I heard Harold Ivan’s answer to Dr. Schuller, I nearly dropped my coffee cup! In an instant, tears were running down my face. I looked over at Buelah, and she, too, was wiping away her tears. Then, I looked at Harold Ivan and could not help but notice the significance of the place where he was sitting: on the same couch and in the exact place where our son had taken his last breath. In that moment I was glad we had not moved away but were able – with Harold Ivan’s help – to take this painful location and start to “reframe” it. – Dennis Apple

Please, do this ONE thing before moving after the loss of your child.

I know you’re hurting. I know it’s painful. But, please ask yourself one question before you move.

Are you trying to run away from the pain of your child’s presence?

One day, when the pains aren’t as sharp, but they rather smooth over you like a gentle love song, you may long for your child’s presence. A sweet vision of your child, from your kitchen window, may be absolutely priceless.