In the days and weeks that followed, I felt guilt when people tried to facilitate a connection or invite me to do things to get out of the house.  I completely avoided them or said no.  Some days I barely had enough energy to even get out of bed and the last thing I wanted to do was to be social.  In fact, I didn’t want any expectations on me.  I needed space to process all of the emotions from shock to disbelief, to anger, to overwhelming sadness.  Every day I expected my son to pull in the driveway “at any moment” and when he didn't, my heart shattered all over again.  Within these long days I also had to process the heartbreaking realization of how different our lives would be without Trevin physically here.

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I’ve learned more about grief and grieving than I ever expected to in this lifetime as losing a child has been the worst pain I’ve ever experienced.  I’ve lost many people throughout the years, including my mother and nephew, both of whom I love dearly.  But, the reality is nothing hurts worse than losing your own child.

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Grief alters you.  It alters your life, your routine, your future plans – everything. 
 

Grief is not black and white, or even a thousand shades of gray.  It is very individual and different for every single person.  I’ve learned our society has a very poor grasp on grief.  It isn’t a short time of pain or sadness.  Grief doesn’t follow a linear pattern. And it certainly is not something you “get over.”  Some people also feel like they need to hide their grief.  They were taught they need to be strong and carry on.  To not openly grieve or mourn.  If you are showing too much, or for too long, you are "stuck" or "emotional."  If you don't show enough, you are "cold" or "not grieving."

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Hold space.  Just hold space within your heart for someone who is navigating profound grief.  The healing journey is extremely difficult.  Just ... hold space.

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When your life is shattered apart and you try to slowly put the pieces back together, they will never look or feel the same.  The edges are sharp and jagged, and it stings with every piece you try to place.  But time doesn’t stop and somehow in all the chaos of trying to live life, you have to try to figure out how to put the pieces back together, where you belong in the big picture, what is truly important, and how to move forward authentically.  

 

Having to acknowledge that life continues to move forward has been one of the hardest things I’ve been forced to accept.  I cannot tell you how many times I’ve wished I could just stop time for a few hours, a day, a week, a month – just so I can try to catch my breath, or understand, or make sense of anything. 

 

Grief leaves you with many unanswered questions.  I am learning that grief is not about finding answers, but learning to live with the questions.  And then asking more.