But the best one I can think of to explain what life is like surviving, “living beyond,” the death of our son.
It is a bit like being forced to wear a pair of painful, ill-fitting shoes. They hurt like hell and make you limp, wince, and cry, but you can’t take them off. The only way to ease the pain is to start walking, to break them in. Blisters form, then calluses, and the limp begins to settle in. After a while, months or years, I don’t know yet, I imagine that you begin to think less and less about what shoes you are wearing and most people won’t notice the limp and the occasional wince.
In the meantime, it just hurts.
14 thoughts on “A Poor Analogy”
I think I agree
I lost my brother when he was 14. The hurt becomes more manageable but it never goes away. You already know that.
Thanks for allowing us to share your grief. This is just what I experienced after Jim’s death in 2010. May you, Elizabeth and Izzy continue to find comfort in God’s loving embrace.
That’s a pretty good representation, yes. I can tell you that we’re about 3 weeks shy of a year away from the first anniversary of our son’s passing, and the feeling did… change for me, I guess. A bit less sting and more numbness. But grief comes and goes and rolls like waves. I’ll think I’m fine (or as ‘fine’ as I ever am) and then bam, something will trigger a memory or a regret and I’m in tears.
Sherry – It pains Elizabeth and me greatly to know that you, anyone, shares this pain and loss. But it also gives us hope and strength as well. Thank you for sharing and letting us know that we will make it.
You absolutely will make it. I can’t lie — it’s very hard. And I hate that it happened to your family. Your parents are very good people and I have so much respect for them. It should, of course, never happen to anyone. But as you’ve noted, we live in a fallen world. My son died after battling cancer, so not the same circumstances, but loss is loss — the end result is the same. I too sort out my feelings by writing and I’m very glad to find that much of what you’ve said resonates with my own trains of thought.
I wrote something similar to this to Elizabeth just now but will share it here as well: My college trainer used to spray this stuff on our feet called “second skin”–it formed some sort of fake protective covering when our new shoes made us bleed and ooze. I think that’s what we all want to be/do for you.
Thank you Debbie, what a great image (and invention!). I wish we could have some now, but it is nothing but scabs and callouses for us. We will just have to prayerfully endure.