The Wonder and Chaos of Being

The Wonder and Chaos of Being is not a feel good story. It does not have a "happy ending," and there is no "dawning of a new day," when "everything makes sense," "falls into place," or "works out for the best." This story is the true account of a world with a dark and bleary landscape, where nothing is clear or easy to understand-a world in which a mother finds herself after death has snatched away one her children. It is the world I have inhabited since October 24, 2010. A place, should you ever find yourself, where you have no knowledge or wisdom. You know nothing. You understand nothing. And nothing feels right anymore. Attempting to make even the most insignificant decision produces panic. Leaving the house becomes a dreaded prospect because the anxiety is so much worse outside of the safety and reliability of home. The most heinous part of this landscape is the debilitating sorrow and mental anguish that flood your mind, body, and every corner of your being. The hurt you experience over the death of one of your children is agonizing. The pain is so brutal it can feel daunting to continue living. You wake up and find yourself on a tortuous, desolate road, upon which you have been thrust without your consent, and it has no foreseeable end.

In this story, no one rises from the dead. No one is visited by the ghost of a deceased loved one who professes peace and joy with his or her new situation and tells everyone to go on happily living. No one immediately affected by the tragedy can see the cup as half-full, find a silver lining, or employ psychological tricks or religious gymnastics to see this tragedy as a blessing in disguise; the aforementioned axioms being the empty comfort of well-meaning friends. All who are within my immediate family, primarily affected by the events in this story, are struck dumb and hopeless. Grief is not pretty, nor is it easy, but it is a part of this life. This story presents the guts of my raw grief.

Some will not want to read this account because child mortality is something no one wants to contemplate. It is depressing. There is also an unspoken fear that in reading a book about a child's death, you might be tempting fate. If you worry about that kind of voodoo, then by all means, don't read this. If one day your child dies, read it then. At least read some grieving mother's story. It might help. A little.

I used to think, as most probably have, I couldn't live if one of my children died. Then, my 13-year-old son died. What I have been doing would probably not be considered living, but surviving. That would be an accurate description. Surviving has been complete hell. Having a loving, supportive spouse, three sensitive and emotionally aware children, and a generous, encouraging best friend has made a difference. Prior to this tragedy, my "tomorrow is a new day" attitude and "where there's a will there's a way" perspective always kept me moving through life's trials. My dad even used to occasionally refer to me as a "Pollyanna." However, no positive attitude or new perspective could bring my son back to life. There was no comfort; there was only death. The one thing that gave me a shred of hope I could make it was seeing other moms who were surviving and who were farther down this same horrible road. I dedicate this story-of death, sorrow, and perpetual heartache-to my Sammyboy, and to every mother so unfortunate as to have experienced and be surviving the death of one of her children.