Letters to My Son
A Mother’s Journey Through Grief
by
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Moving Forward
People have given me the customary “how to deal with your grief” books. As much of a bookworm as I am, it must come as a surprise to you that I have been slow to read them. It’s not because I am not interested. Partially, it’s because I don’t want to cry any more than I already do. I know reading some of these books will make me cry. I just kept telling myself that I will start reading them when the time is right. But when I realized I don’t know when that time will be, I figured I might as well start sooner rather than later. So I did.
And I was right. I cried. Did I at least find comfort in knowing that I was not alone in my grief? Not really. I think because I have always known I am not alone in grief. I know many people who have lost loved ones. I have comforted many of them in my fifteen years as a nurse. (As a side note: I clearly remember thinking when the Sheriff broke the news to me and Eric at the police station, that I wish it was a nurse telling me the news. Not because he was rude or anything, because he wasn’t. But he also wasn’t comforting or warm. Just a dude stating a fact.)
Anyway, the books were very nice and well-written. But I couldn’t help but feel pressured. Pressured to get on with my life, to move on, to feel better. What if I don’t want to do any of those things? I mean, is there really a “getting over it” or a “moving on” or a “feeling better” from losing your child? I don’t think so. I don’t want to sound so negative, but the way I see it is I can’t get over it simply because I don’t want to. I guess I feel like to get over it would mean not missing you anymore. But I want to miss you. Because I love you. You were literally a part of me. I gave you half of your chromosomes.
Maybe I do not understand the concept. That’s quite possible. However, what I do know is that “moving forward” and “moving on” are two different concepts and that there is a “moving forward” from losing your child. I am doing that now. I have been moving forward since I woke up on day 2 post your death. I move forward every day. Every time I decide to get out of bed in the morning, I move forward. Every time I make breakfast for your sisters, I move forward.
People have asked me how I do it. This moving forward. And I tell them the truth. I do it by taking one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. When my eyes open to another day, I tell myself to get up. Once I get up, I tell myself to get your sisters ready for the day. After that, I tell myself to take a shower and get dressed. One. Foot. In. Front. Of. The. Other.
Every day that I choose life, I move forward. But the pain is ever so real. I live. I grieve. I am grief.
I love you,
Mom
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About the Book
The death of your child breaks you. With some luck, you may be able to rebuild most of who you were before that loss so that you are not a complete stranger, even to yourself. Even then, you know that you will never be the same again. There will always be a piece of you missing, leaving you forever broken.
With the loss of her son, Jeramie, to a car accident, author Daynabelle Anderson found this to be true of herself: a forever broken mom. She then had to decide whether to fight it and live her life, trying in vain to be whole again, only to punish herself over and over when her efforts resulted in failure. Or she could accept that this was who she was now--to allow herself to be broken and to forgive herself for it. She chose the latter, and now she chronicles her journey into that brokenness.
This personal narrative offers one mother's story and her perspective on how to live with grief, intended for anyone who has lost a loved one and who feels pressured to move on.
About the Author
Daynabelle Anderson is a nurse, an entrepreneur, and, above all, a mother. In addition to her sixteen-plus years of seeing the many faces and phases of grief as an ER, ICU, and oncology nurse, she has experienced grief several times in her own life: her grandparents, who helped raise her; her sister; and her son. Her professional and personal experiences have given her notable insight on death, loss, and grief. She currently lives in Woodland Hills, California.