“My son died. This was a horrible event. It broke me, crushed me, and left me gasping for air.”
My son died.
He died.
He didn’t pass away.
He didn’t get lost.
He wasn’t needed in a better place.
He died.
My son died.
He’s not an angel.
He’s not my guardian.
He’s my son, and he’s not here.
My son died.
There are so many sweet words that could so easily replace the word “died.” I use them quite a bit. I use them when I reference the death of a friend, my grandparents, my father, and others. But, when I go to mention my son’s death, some how I can’t say he passed. It sounds so passive, like it just happened and that was it.
No… my son died. This was a horrible event. It broke me, crushed me, and left me gasping for air. Killed. Dead. Not coming back. Gone. HOW?!
My son died and it hurt like crazy.
Please don’t try to make it pretty. All of me.. every aching inch of me knows the truth. This is pain. It’s pain I didn’t know existed before.
Related Post: Please Don’t Tell Me How to Grieve
Maybe one day, I’ll be able to say, “my son galloped on to heaven ahead of me.” But, for right now, I can’t. I know all to well that my dear, sweet son died.
Related Post: Why Did My Child Die
Have You Had a Child that Died?
You may not be like me. You may love all the pretty sayings. If that’s you, that’s okay. This road is HARD, and we have to do what works for us.
I’m sorry you’re here. This isn’t a journey I’d wish on anyone. But, I want you to know that you’re not alone. You’re not the only one on this road. Please don’t be afraid to reach out. Know that you CAN do this. ❤️
xoxo,
Rachel
© Rachel Blado www.OnTheWayToWhereYoureGoing.com All rights reserved.
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