15 Apr ‘We all need somebody to lean on!’
The other evening my husband Paul and I were watching ‘The Sounds of the Seventies’ on TV and Bill Withers came on singing his famous song ‘Lean on Me’. It’s a song we probably all know well but as I listened to the words, I was transported right back to those horrific first days just after our beautiful boy suddenly and unexpectedly died.
Lean on me, when you’re not strong
And I’ll be your friend
I’ll help you carry on
For it won’t be long
‘Til I’m going to need
Somebody to lean on…
In an instant I was reliving feelings of total vulnerability. I remembered my frantic need to lean on all those who could help me bear the most hideous pain I had ever known. I needed friends like I had never needed them before!
I now know that every parent who has lost a child reacts differently. Some are the opposite to me and just want to hide away and be left alone for a time. We must find our own way to grieve but at some point we will all need those ‘somebodies to lean on!’ There really are no rules when it feels like your heart has been ripped out of your body.
It hurts!
I was desperate for friends who would listen to my rambled confused thoughts as I tried to make sense of what had happened. I didn’t need them to say the right things or come up with wise responses – I just wanted them to sit with me in my pain.
I was like a frightened child who needed looking after. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t bear to be on my own. I hated awkward silences! I needed people to come to me because I didn’t have the strength to go to them. I couldn’t find any words to call for help!
I’ve never known such overwhelming feelings of crippling weakness and vulnerability.
Nothing could fix me. I knew life had changed forever and I was scared. The future instantly became bleak, empty and lonely. Ben was gone. No one could take that wretched sadness away – nothing could bring him back.
I questioned God constantly – my faith was in tatters. I remembered verses from the Bible I used to quote such as, ‘the joy of the Lord is my strength’. I thought I would never feel joy again and as for strength??!!!..
It’s hard to remember the person I was pre Oct 2018 – back when life was normal and my family was complete. Back when I had no idea what this debilitating grief felt like.
I long for the ‘good old days’ when I was unmarked by grief – happy and content and confident. When I could laugh freely and happily talk about trivia. When I was oblivious to the devastating tsunami of tragedy that could potentially strike at any moment.
The bliss of being completely unaware that life as I knew it was about change in one frightening moment – beyond recognition!
I often wonder what kind of friend I would have been if roles were reversed and it was one of my close friends whose child has died.
I realise now I probably would have got it very wrong. It must be almost impossible to watch a friend in such emotional pain and not know what to do or say.
As a society we need to learn how to do this better! We never know at what point it might be our turn and we might be the one needing somebody to lean on.
This beautiful sunny Easter weekend Paul and I cycled up to the Meadow (the natural burial ground where Ben lies) for our one permitted daily exercise during the Coronavirus lockdown.
Sitting by Ben’s tree I reflected on the past eighteen months and noted how little life has actually changed – how I need those friends as much as ever! I’m still very broken and vulnerable yet my sorrow is a mixture of joy and pain. Happy and sad memories somehow merge together – a paradox of conflicting emotions. You simply can’t think about Ben without smiling!
I imagine some people probably assume I’ve become obsessed with grief especially as I write about it all the time. I guess they could be right but I live with it every day and now know that grief is simply the price of love. Others may think I’m just stuck in a sad place and are frustrated by my inability to move on.
I fear that I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to put my broken life back together again. But in reality the pieces will never quite fit as there will always be a huge chunk missing.
Nicholas Wolterstorff sums it up perfectly in his book. His twenty five year old son died in a climbing accident –
‘Now he’s gone and the family has to restructure itself. We don’t just each have a gap inside us but together a gap among us. We have to live differently with each other. We have to live around the gap. Pull one out, and everything changes. ‘
Lament for a Son by Nicholas Wolterstorff
Newly bereaved parents often ask if grief gets easier with time.
The answer is complicated and messy –
No… it doesn’t but I’m told it does change. I’m only about eighteen months in and it still feels like yesterday. I cry less and find talking about Ben and what happened a bit more normal. But the words are surreal – as though I’m talking about someone else’s tragedy.
The ache in my heart is as raw as ever and the sadness is often completely overwhelming. The empty hole seems to get bigger as I watch life move on without my boy. However, I see glimpses of hope as I’m slowly learning to rebuild my life around a sadness that is not quite as debilitating as it was.
Surprisingly I’m somehow still breathing and functioning more normally than I could have ever expected. I try to use the pain to make me stronger and I’m learning to recognise and enjoy moments of joy and thankfulness.
I celebrate the amazing twenty five years of living with the most wonderful son any mum could wish for.
I’m incredibly grateful for the beautiful family I still have – our tragedy has made us stronger than ever. They’re simply awesome!
I’m totally indebted to the wonderful friends who said ‘lean on me’ and meant it – no conditions, no judgements and no time restrictions.
And finally… I’m very thankful to a God who loves me and listens to my rants! I know he carries me (even when I can’t feel it!) and gives me enough strength to simply get through one day at a time!!
I will keep on reminding myself to choose joy (even in the midst of pain)!
