I’ve just read this uplifting article by Larry Carlat called “A space in the heart” and wanted to share it.
I like to talk to my older son Rob as if he were still here. Maybe you do the same with your child. I tell him how I’m doing and ask him about his day or whatever measurement of time they use wherever he’s hanging out. I tell him how my younger son Zach and his mom are getting along. I tell him about the shows I’m watching, especially the ones I think he’d like the most. I talk to him while I’m writing, and sometimes if I come up with a particularly eloquent line, I thank him for the inspiration. “That was really nice, dude,” I’ll say out loud, “keep up the good work!”
I know he can hear me and that he’s watching over me. I often feel his presence or at least recognise a sign that he’s dropped by for a visit. How do I know this? How do I know that all the things I hear him say aren’t just the product of my overheated imagination, the Robbie movie endlessly playing in my head? All I can tell you is this: I just know. I just know because that’s what I choose to believe. I believe Rob and I are having a conversation over my morning coffee and he’s helping me write this sentence right now (“Damn straight I am!” he just said and smiled). It feels good to believe; it brings me a measure of comfort and keeps me connected with him. Rob lives deep inside my heart; he always has and he always will.
Maybe you were lucky enough to have had a good relationship with your son or daughter and maybe they were destined to do great things. You miss them so badly and so intensely that you can’t bring yourself to talk to them, much less hear their voice, because the pain of their absence is too much to bear. The idea that your child’s hopes, dreams, and ambitions have been savagely dashed is excruciating to process, much less to accept. I get it, I do, but I recommend that you try to push through and talk to them anyway. It doesn’t matter if they can hear you; it doesn’t matter if they respond. What matters is expressing your love for your child. You loved them in life, you love them in death, you’ll love them until the end of time. You need to tell them that every day. They are a part of you; they will always be a part of you, and if you’re open to it, you can learn a lot by listening to them. Just because they’re dead doesn’t mean they no longer have important things to tell you.
They will help shape you into the different person you’re becoming. Your conversations with them, as imagined as they may seem, are one of the best ways to process your loss. Talking to your child will tell you everything you need to know. You’ll always get a straight answer to any question. I’ve asked Rob if there was anything I could’ve done to keep him here with us, and he told me that he tried, that he really tried, but he just couldn’t deal with his inner sadness anymore.
Let them know how you’re feeling. A few months after Rob died, I was going on about how much I loved him and how I always thought that that would be enough, that the enormity of my love would always keep him safe, and how I felt like somehow, I let him down. He surprised me by saying that was ridiculous and he felt that he had let me down.
They enjoy nothing more than a good joke. Every time the Powerball payout reaches a billion or so dollars, I playfully ask Rob if maybe he could slip me the winning numbers. He says that giving out that type of information is frowned upon, but if he could, he’d give the lucky digits to his mom because he always liked her better. “You’re still such a dumbass,” I say to him. “Takes one to know one,” he shoots right back.
Tell them how much you miss them. Your child will hold your hand while drying your tears and reassure you that everything is going to be okay because they love you. They only want you to be happy again and enjoy the rest of your life. They want that more than anything. I know because Rob told me so.
