A pain too deep…no one gets in

Ah.  Whether this was a wordpress glitch or an oversight on my part, the mother of Jordan’s email showed up just now and allowed me to approve her comment. Earlier tonight, I wrote the post below.


I received an email referencing a comment made here yesterday.  The mother who wrote did not leave an email or website, so I can’t approve the comment.  I am posting it here (below) as evidence that Jordan (age 18) died, that she wrote, and that many of us who’ve lost children simply cannot imagine in the early days, a life after losing our kids.

I remember the early days.  I remember not wanting to get out of bed, to dress, to eat, to laugh, to remember how great it was to be a part of the family I once knew and loved.  I remember doubling over in an agony so deep that I didn’t know if I would ever be able to look on the sun or the moon again without wanting them to disappear, and thus, my life to dissolve into the void.

I was and am one of the lucky ones.  I awaken each day to greet new mysteries, to greet new memories out there for the making, and to greet new adventures in the hopes of reframing old ones as newjust in the living of them.  None of that was conceivable in the early days of losing Owen.  Five+ years later, I can say, yes, I’m here and doing my work on the planet and in the interest of moving forward and becoming part of others’ histories.  Owen’s stories are everyone’s stories, and I am here to tell them.  Yet, forward is not where I wanted to go in the early days.  Forward is where I am.

I don’t know what it’s like to lose my only child.  I have my older son, Nat, who sustains me along with my husband, Dave, my best friend, Lea, and my brother, Emmitt, and an extended family who support me in those times when I can’t imagine how we all got here.  I don’t pretend to know what it’s like to feel like no one is in this loss with me.  In the end, all of humanity is with me (past, present, and future), for all of humanity is made up of births, deaths, and everything in between.

To Jordan’s mom: I hear you.  I remember.  You have a community that’s larger than you currently imagine.  Stay the course.  We’re here, reading your words.

“My 18 year old son died after a very long illness. 30 days ago today. I rarely left the house for five years and honored his request of no help except pain meds. I am dying. I’ve lost27 lbs. 5ft5 and I weigh 95 lbs. My heart aches so deep sometimes I cant breath. the last 19 hours of his life I laid next to him and held his hand and talked to him. He would occasionally squeeze my finger when I said I love you. I will never forget the horrible sounds, the drowning in his own fluid. I was there as he took his last breath and I don’t think I will ever get over this. I am and have been alone through all this. No one came, no one could take hearing that death ratttle. I’m alone now and I don’t want people around. They don’t understant and they didn’t know Jordan. Although I believe he’s in heaven and free, I am here and the pain is so consuming. I’m sorry for your loss. Right now I can’t find anything to make it better. I haven’t even left the house or my bed for that mattter. How can anyone ever let go of their child. I can’t find any peace.. I am so lost without him.”

This song became my mantra after Owen died.  I send it out now to Jordan’s mom, whoever she is, in the hopes that she can find a new hope in the “light of the dark, black night”:


~ by lsiniard on September 11, 2012.

3 Responses to “A pain too deep…no one gets in”

  1. Reblogged this on Echoed Chaos Blog and commented:
    This really touched me and expressed so perfectly what many of us cannot verbalized…Thank you for sharing!

  2. I wish I could speak to Jordan’s mom or knew her name. As some of you know, I’ve lost my only daughter who I raised by myself in a car accident 2 years, 2 months ago (will be 3 months soon). While I’m still early in the grieving stage, I have grown so much since those first days, but I’ll never forget the pain I felt. Sometimes it floods my memory in a wave that over takes me with surprise and shame that I can feel happy at any part of my life. Although I know my daughter would never have wanted me to curl up and give up on life, I’ve thought so many times about just ending my own life because life just doesn’t seem right by myself. But I forge on, see my therapist and take my meds. It isn’t easy to keep all the feelings inside, but some of us don’t really have the outlets that others are fortunate enough to have. I long for a partner to share this with, but even her father didn’t know her nor hear of her accident until we called him. My family avoids talking about her, friends only put up with so much, so…you learn to hide it all away which kills me. To Jordan’s mom~~find some way to find support, but take care of you, Jordan would want you to do that. You were a great mom to him, showed him love and care. We are all with you now. Sending you love and support. Cindy

  3. I stumbled upon this blog while I was looking for a verse to post in our local newspaper for the one-year anniversary of our daughter’s death. She’s been gone 11 months today, and I can relate so much to your talk about the early days and the pain. I am so much better today than I was back then, but I still cry every day, and I’m still in shock that she is gone. She was 23 years old and we still don’t know how she died. She was found on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. The initial autopsy could find no reason, and I’m waiting for the samples they took to tell us something so I can find some sort of closure. I can also relate in having to hide my pain because I can’t help but feel that the people around me won’t understand that just because time has passed, doesn’t mean my pain has. Thank you everyone, for sharing. It is so nice to hear from people who understand.

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