Child loss and coming to terms with life never being the same.

risah, My heart hurts for you as I read your post this morning. God Bless you greatly and praying for you right now. I wish I was there to hug you and just simply listen to you. I'm sure she was beautiful inside and out. Our children are our heart.

I can't imagine your grief. Nobody can except those that have been there.

A friend of mine lost her daughter 3 years ago to melanoma. She said she's not "moving on", just "carrying on", one day at a time. I've been told this kind of grief takes time. I'm sure there is a huge hole in your heart.

I'm wondering if there is a Grief Share Group at a church near you. Sometimes it helps to talk it out with others and become friends with those that share your grief and can pray with you, I am told. I have several loved ones in heaven that I miss greatly, but yours is a different grief....it's your child.

If I could this pain away from you, I would. I will continue to pray for you. Please keep us all posted. I'm sure there are others that share the same grief with you that would be a blessing to you and you to them. Hugs & Prayers....

risah, I lost my son to suicide two years ago. It still doesn’t seem real at times. He was 36 years old. I recently, a couple months ago, began to see a grief therapist. This has helped me begin to deal with this loss….little by little. At times I am overwhelmed, and other times, still in disbelief and numb to the pain. I also lost my husband within the last year. Moving forward, bit by bit. Holding you in my heart….❤️

So very very sorry for your loss.

Now, you have to know, the very LAST thing your daughter would want, is for you to take your life.

You have to know that.

My uncle took his life in 1987. Absolute nightmare for the entire family.

I was a violent crime victim in 1982. Kidnapped and held for a time. Needless to say, a lot of horrible things happened there. Plenty of death threats. Long story, eventually I escaped.

Became profoundly suicidal in 1983 and 1984. Don't really even know why I am still here. Oh, literally held a knife to my wrist or a bottle of pills to my mouth...and many many times.

But somehow, I am still here.

I have been in those places with exactly zero light, zero hope. Absolutely nothing to live for.

When I hit those places, eventually I learned that if a hunkered down, did nothing, became a couch potato for an hour, or two hours, or two days, or two weeks...eventually that wave of darkness would pass and some light would show.

So, that is what I have been doing these past 42 years.

There are things to try. I know that we try them and they fail. And we try them and they fail. And we try them and they fail.

Counseling, meditation, all kinds of things. We try them, they do nothing. Over and over and over again.

But, another thing I have learned over these past 9000 years...er, um, well, just 42 years...is that when we engaged with these techniques in the past...it is very very likely that, well, we just overlooked a bit. Just a bit of something. Just a tiny bit of something.

And that tiny bit of something, might be a key.

So, for example, re the brain...our enemy....we get thoughts. Thoughts become trains of thoughts. And then, within the trains of thoughts, something will pop up. Something a bit ok, or maybe just not horrible.

And what we do, is reject that train, because we are so freakin' laser focused on all the negative trains.

But that teeny tiny bit of nothing, may actually lead somewhere.

Ok..for me. I found these You Tube travel videos of train rides. These dorky idiots taking train rides and smiling like the idiots they are. And of course, you know, such nonsense.

But one time, in the background, I saw a rock formation. And it reminded me of hiking out west when I was a kid.
And that time, instead of rejecting that memory, I just let it be. And I was back in the Black Hills in 1980.

And, you know, for about ten minutes I stayed with that memory. No rockets going off, just a memory of walking in a nice scene in nature.

And the simple fact is, despite my darkness-addicted heart and brain...for about an hour after, I was just in a better mood.

I think, we miss some things, reject some things...and in that process reject a tiny way out...because it is not all rockets going off and glory. I think maybe some of the seeds to destroying the depression are so subtle, we just walk by them.

Sometimes the answer to extreme darkness is just a Dunkin Donuts coffee. If we let it happen.

So, one thing you can try, that I tried...just revisit all the things you tried in the past. But be more patient with them. Extremely patient. Ridiculously patient. Try to find some nuance there. Don't let that old train say there is nothing there, ---- and then just defy and reject that.

I don't mean become Mary Poppins happy. I mean, just you know, let some memory of riding a horse when you were a kid...let that just exist in your brain for a few minutes. That kind of thing.

Teeny tiny steps out of the misery soup.

42 years after being kidnapped by psychotic goons and having my life threatened. I am still here. And I have basically zero talent at this stuff. It is almost impossible that you are not far far far better at this stuff than me.

@risah, in addition to @opheli, I'd like to bring @holly56 @dwlowrance @team4travis @georgette12 @ihtak46 @harriethodgson1 into this discussion. They, too, understand the loss of a child.

I think this image reflects your description of grief.

What would you like us to know about your daughter?

I thank each one of you who commented on my post. I do need to let you know, however, that although I will spend the rest of my life grieving for my daughter, I will never take my own life because of it. I just wanted to make the point the the feeling is there, and will always be there. It is the norm for me now. I have a good life with my husband; we are both retired and live in Az, traveling to Ct in the summers. Even though, no life is perfect. As good as our life is, I will always have a cloud of grief hanging over me, reminding me that my daughter is not here. I won't drive off the cliff near our house, but it will always be there when I drive by, reminding me. I have 2 grown sons and 4 grandchildren who keep me from those actions, but those thoughts and her voice will always be in the background while I am trying to enjoy life.

I can relate to what you are feeling no child can replace another we are travelling in the same boat my eldest a son passed away in 2012 at an age of 22 I still feel that he is going to walk into the house calling me it has been extremely difficult for me but life still goes on with me trying to block that he is not here with me God bless all that we still have

My 36 year old son left Earth 6 years ago. Time does not heal all wounds. Time makes it harder. People who say Time heals all wounds have never lost a child or are delusional & living in denial or aren’t in touch with their true feelings. Sure I learned how to laugh again but so what. The laughing is part of playing the game that I’m doing okay. I’m not okay. There’s no such thing & never will be. My life & health have gone downhill rapidly, all the autoimmune diseases have progressed to end stage, & new diseases have emerged—terminal, no treatment, no cure, excruciatingly painful, including Lewy Body Dementia. I’m doing the best I can but life is not the same. Life is too difficult. I know your pain. I want to join him as soon as possible. And I thought that it would never be possible that I could lose another child but oh how wrong was I. As a young mother decades ago, my baby daughter died. I’m 71. I’ve buried 2 of my children. Nothing will ever feel joyous again. My heart is in pieces forever & no one understands this pain. They say it’s abnormal to grieve this long. They say it’s time to move on. Move on?? What do they know? They’ve never been in our shoes. They can’t ever know. I try to stay busy with hobbies but it’s always there, the loss is always there. The pain is always there, everyday. I miss his bigger than life smile that lit up the room when he walked in. His hysterical laughter that made everyone happy. I miss tousling his beautiful hair. I miss his bear hugs. I miss that I’ve never had the chance to watch him growing older. I too have been kidnapped, tied up, with a gun pressed into my skull. I wish they had shot me dead. Years ago before I became confined to a wheelchair (MS), I managed to run away on 2 separate occasions from kidnappers. This is a violent country but I’m too disabled to leave it now & go home to the US. I’m housebound because this country has zero facilities for disabled/handicapped people. No ramps, no elevators, no bathrooms (even in private homes) that accommodate a wheelchair. So I’m stuck looking out the window to our tiny walled in garden, behind high voltage wires. No way to travel or take a Sunday ride. Ha. Highway robbers. And no bathrooms out there anyway. So I’m forever at home, trying to get by with the hobbies. No one to talk to. I speak their language but talking about the dead is taboo here. My husband is my caregiver & he’s got his own losses—3 brothers (2 were murdered as teenagers). So much tragedy & trauma. I will be happy for the 2d Journey, the Eternal Journey. It’s all that’s left to look forward to.

I'm about to go to my 4th session of Griefshare. I just want to add that there is some talking, but it isn't all talking, there is a workbook to work with at home and a 30 minute video about grieving which focuses on different parts of grieving. Many times it is said that there is no "getting over it" or time for grief to be done, as some people think when they haven't grieved a major loss. I can't say enough good things about Griefshare. The 13 week program is usually at a church, and as a not regular church person I still felt welcomed and comfortable with that part, because there are parts that have to do with talking to God and how that can help too. Oh, and if you never feel like talking at all during each Griefshare session, about the homework or the video, that's OK too.

Hello @risah. I just joined this forum this morning because I recently lost my son to cancer and the past few days have been a struggle for me. I hate the thought that "it never gets easier" but I get it. On the other hand, I saw a picture that showed how, although grief stays the same 'size', as long as we continue to grow, life grows bigger around it, so the relative magnitude actually does shrink. I happen to be a physicist, ergo Dr. Teddy, so I get that too... the theory of relativity. I will try to hold onto that image as I work through the process.

My wife and I both just turned 64 (July 22 and Aug 26), our 44th wedding anniversary is next month and our oldest son, who just turned 38 on Jun 25, finally lost his 20-month battle with stage IV cancer (diagnosed in Jan 2023). We drove to Virginia that January and stayed for 3 months until the chemo seemed to be working. But then it started growing again and this June, and he was transitioned to hospice. So we came back to be with him. We kept our hopes up as high as possible, even though all of the modern medical treatments had failed. Sadly, (but thankfully) we were at his bedside on Aug 17 when he started showing all the signs that hospice warned us about. And his younger brother was able to be with us to hold his hands when he took his last breath at 11:09 am.

The mix of emotions made my head spin and my heart crush. I was glad that his suffering was over but crushed by the loss and the fall from my high hopes. I am thankful that my wife and younger son are about as strong as I am (as best as I can tell) so I'm sure that we will make it through. I haven't even cried in over a week... until I read the post by @rottenweather123. Everything is relative. I can't even imagine walking a mile in your shoes... If this were a burden contest, or a test of strength, you win. You must be a superhuman to have survived all that. I hope that doesn't make you feel worse! I mean it as a compliment. You make me realize how much I have to be thankful for.