For parents, when it comes to the unthinkable, losing a child in any way has to be the most unthinkable of thoughts. Is it not the case that the mere hint of it in our consciousness has us banishing such morbidity to the darkest corner of our minds, fearful that its mental crystallization alone could tempt fate? Sadly however it happens. Whether it occurs slowly, through a progressive disease, or suddenly through some accident, it happens. And it happens to all types of people; rich and poor, good and bad, famous and innocuous, no matter. Tragedy and death are truly democratic that way.
I’ve known some of these people; those who have suffered this most devastating of loss. And in all likelihood, so too have you. For those of us more fortunate to date, we are instantly touched by this cruellest of tragedies, and just as quickly we are thankful for our personal ignorance. Losing a child, being robbed of the joys of watching them become adults, of seeing them in their triumphs and disappointments, of sharing in their lives and the lives of those they would have touched and created is life’s inherent unfairness personified.
For some, or so it seems, their lives cease to have any real hope of full joy. Every moment great or small is seen through a prism of profound loss. They are never again whole. For others, or so it seems, life takes on new meaning. They no longer live for just themselves, but for the child who will no longer experience life first hand. Reminded of the brevity and fragility of life, they double their efforts to live it more fully and openly. Without doubt there are countless variations in between.
I was recently reminded of this harsh reality by a new friend. Listening to her story, sensing her profound loss, hearing the pain and sad resignation in her voice, made me think, as it would many of you I’m sure, of how fortunate I am. How blessed to be able to touch my own children, to hear at any time their voices, to kiss their faces and to share their lives.
My new friend seems somewhere closer to living life fully, than living it in sorrow. But like everyone I'm sure she has her moments. And while she strikes me as brave, strong and determined to live her life as fully as she can, there is I sense a shadow there, a coolness about her that keeps her just beyond reach. Friendly, flirtatious, generous and kind, she engages all she meets. But still an unseen hand restrains her, protecting her, though now too late, from what has already been lost.
Each passing of family, friends, colleagues’ and even strangers diminishes our lives in some way. Certainly their passing reminds us of the temporary state of our own existence and what we truly value. But the loss of a child is more profound than other losess; in their loss it seems we lose the very last remnant of our own innocence.
