Channeling Grief after Henry

Anniversaries - the other kind

This week marks two years since my beautiful son Henry was killed on August 29, 2022. Does it feel like two years? Yes and no.  

I still miss him and think about him all the time. But the fuzzy pain just below my ribcage is gone.  

I’m still shocked that he’s not here and wonder where he went. But there are fewer woulda, coulda, shouldas. No amount of regret will lead back to a living breathing Henry. 

Now I can think about Henry and smile at the person he’d already become: a messy, complicated, wonderful human being. I know that he brought goodness and humor to the people around him. I’m working to create positive change in his honor.

Now I have a support network of other grieving parents. So many. Too many. The crazy thing is that they’re all versions of me, no matter how their children died. We truly see each other. I met them at grief support groups, through friends of friends, or in grief writing workshops. These are my people. 

As I’m writing this (it’s August 12), a 4.4 earthquake hits SoCal. Not huge but enough to get me out of my office chair so I can grab my dog Ramona who’s beneath my desk. Exactly 15 minutes later, I hear a huge gush of water and my handyman (Adam) calls for help. A corroded piece of pipe has failed and the contents of my water heater is streaming out of the bathroom wall onto wood floors. I grab some buckets and while one is filling, I run outside to dump the other into the yard. I’m barefoot and I step carefully to avoid sliding as I move back and forth. Meanwhile, Adam runs to turn off the water heater. Ten towels later, the water is mopped up. Here I am back at my desk. 

Maybe the biggest change is that I don’t care about any of this. It’s just something I pass as I paddle through my day. If an earthquake damages something (not someone) it can be repaired. If the bathroom floats away, that’s fine too. 

I only have enough energy to focus on the safety and health of the people I love. Safety and health. Nothing else. 

Miss you. Wish you could introduce me to your first girlfriend.

Inspired by the poems of Gabrielle Calvocoressi

Miss you. Wish you could introduce me to your first girlfriend. I’d see how you look in love.

Wish you could tell me all your college stories; the friends you made and what you studied. You’d share silly stories and inside jokes.

Miss you coming downstairs in the morning, your brown tangles unbrushed, wearing a shirt that looks slept in. You can leave the house looking dishelved. I won’t even complain.

Miss you reading me the news and finding humor where I cannot.

Wish I could set out one of your favorite breakfasts: black tea, vegetable soup, and baguette bread and then watch you go into the kitchen and grab a cookie to eat first.

Miss running to your elementary school on the mornings you forgot to take your meds, handing you the pill you need, and watching you take it from my hand like a horse to swallow whole.

Miss you wearing your dark blue BBYO slicker that you took to Israel and almost lost everywhere we went.

Wish I could make you that cheesecake recipe you like, the one with the oreo crust and TJ’s pumpkin butter.

Wish we could argue about how many Thin Mints to buy so we don’t run out before next spring.

Wish we could go walking after the rain and rescue snails before someone steps on them.

Wish you could give your brother a hug and let him know that you’re with him always.

Wish I knew that you’re safe, existing somewhere peaceful. Just being you.

Book recommendation

Healing After Loss is like a grief calendar. You can open it to any day of the year and find words of comfort. Each day, a theme is reflected in a passage, a quote, and a meditation. 

There are quotes from every literary source including Harriet Tubman, Shakespeare, the Bhagavad Gita, and The Bible. 

Today I find this meditation, “I will try to open my hand—and my heart—to life as it is now.” 

I received my copy of Healing After Loss from griefHaven when I joined a child loss support group. Since then, I’ve moved the book from my car to my bedside, to my bookshelf. It’s always where I need it. 

griefHaven

Susan Whitmore lost her daughter Erika to a rare form of sinus cancer in 2002. Erika was just 32. As Susan explored her grief, she realized there was a need for a grief support network. She founded griefHaven in honor of Erika. This non-profit provides grief support and education to thousands of families including online and virtual support groups. I joined a griefHaven parent loss support group nearly two years ago, just months after Henry was killed. It was the single most important thing I did to manage my grief.  

Susan has channeled her grief into love and support for an entire community of people managing loss. Thank you Susan!