It simply is incredibly hard to be a bereaved parent.
Recently, another member of our forum wrote about a box of treasures in her closet. It was filled with things that her son made in childhood. The box was preventing her from using the closet for its purpose.
I get that. It has been six years since my loss, and I have many photos and precious treasures from my son. When I hold a precious treasure, it brings back memories. I feel all the original associated emotions in one hand and all the shattered hopes and dreams in the other. It truly can be overwhelming. This is a life I would never wish on another, yet I am living it, and I don’t really know how to do it.
Last Fall, my home was threatened by a wildfire. The authorities told us to gather financial and insurance records, food, medications, clothing, and comfort items and to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. I kid you not – the first item I loaded into my rig was my son’s ashes, followed by the treasures and photos of his life, and lastly, followed by everything else recommended.
This taught me that as much as those bins and boxes are painful for me, they are also what I would fight to protect over and above all else. So as much as it pains me to have these reminders of his life he didn’t get to live, I am also comforted by having these physical memories. I know many people might think me an idiot, but then they don’t know. I am a bereaved parent.
