Dont Organise My Tears, Reflections on Bereavement

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I did care for him deeply.

Bereavement | Royal College of Psychiatrists

This is one of the hardest death I have dealt with and I have lost way more people than most people ever will. My son died of an overdose 10 years ago.

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I cried some but was more numb. I have waited for real grief to come all this time….. I cry sometimes. I have always said to myself and others that I am ok because I know he is still somewhere…I miss him and wish I could get to know him better. He had just turned 18 and was an old soul.

But I also suspect that I have thought it was wrong to be angry and sad. If there is a dam and it breaks, I know I can share this with a few trusted friends. Anniversaries are silent. No one seems to remember but me. I suspect it scares them….. It is comforting to remember that your not alone and reading others comments reminds me that I am human and among many….. I scanned downed the list of comments but stopped at yours for some reason.

I feel so sad for you, I know you did have a great and wonderful 18 years with your son. You got to hold him and smell his new baby smell. And when he learned to walk and then fell down. I bet you have so many awesome memories. Im never going to know how any of that feels and it hurts that I was never able to know that kind of joy or see myself in a miniature version of myself. I was the mom to a miniature Poodle for 18 years and we spent every day together, ate our meals together and slept together. The last year was the hardest not only because he was losing his memory and use of his legs but because I constantly dreaded the worst case scenario.

I ended up putting him to sleep because I would rather deal with the regret and pain of what I did rather than risk him being alone and suffering at his time of passing. But then what if I lost my son after 18 years?

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How on earth would I ever be able to cope with that and work through it? Monica, your son died because he enjoyed the feeling of using drugs for whatever reason but unless he was blatant, you would have ever been able to figure it out and prevent his death. I feel so bad for you because of the guilty weight you carry. I can think of the last 17 years of my life as time I wasted but 16 of those 17 years allowed me to spend all of my time with my Bernie Bear.

I was there when his legs would fail him and he would call for me from the hallway. I changed his diapers, groomed him and cradled him in my arms until he fell asleep with no fear of having to wake up early for work in the morning. I use to say that he was my angel sent to help me through the worst time of my life following the loss of my dad, my car accident, my marriage and pregnancy and all that followed after it, just one thing after another.

I gave my Baby Boo credit for getting me surviving all that but not long after the last time I held him in my arms it occurred to me that all that stuff happened to me as a way of helping me so that I would be strong enough to survive the loss of my sweet, little baby boy. I big part of me was lost 2 years ago and I will probably never accept it and be okay with it but I talk about him all the time and I love to hear other people talk about him and memories they have. They should feel ashamed for not being your strongest support group.

64 Things I Wish Someone Had Told Me About Grief

I hope it helps. This Reply Is Incredible.

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Alright, here goes. I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did.

It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person.

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And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. For a while, all you can do is float.

Stay alive. In the beginning, the waves are feet tall and crash over you without mercy. All you can do is hang on and float. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee.

It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side.

Take it from an old guy. And other waves will come. And lots of shipwrecks. My son left this world on 15 May.


He was only I am still in such a hazy place. I have asked why? Why my son?