Grief and mourning – two words we are familiar with, but do we truly understand them?
By Samson’s Uncle, Jake Asmussen
What comes to mind when you think of those words? Perhaps sadness, loneliness, dark colors, and quiet churches. Maybe a monotone preacher speaking on eternal life, a casket, an urn, a cemetery. These are likely some of the images that come to mind when contemplating these words.
The definition of grief is "a deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone else's death." Grief has taken on new meaning for me now. I had never experienced grief so potent that it could stir up physical reactions: a pounding headache, nausea, an increased heart rate, shortness of breath, panic, and anxiety. Then comes the mourning – a wave of tears, ragged breaths, and crying out to God for mercy. Most days, it seems unbearable.
Many of us have experienced a significant loss in our lives – a parent, grandparent, friend, sibling, or child. All are terrible experiences. Life comes with change, and unfortunately, change is unpredictable. It can be good or bad, but regardless, change is always intimidating.
I had never delved too deeply into the experiences of parents who have lost a child before. I was Samson's uncle, and although I didn't have children of my own, having lived in the same household with him for most of his life made him feel like my own son. I love him as if he were my own. One thing that isn't often talked about is that when you lose a child – whether it's your son, daughter, niece, or nephew – you never lose the sense of responsibility or protection for them. It can be very challenging to understand grief and come to acceptance. What's even harder is when your mind begins to conceptualize the reality of the tragedy, and you feel a panic, an innate urge to protect that child from danger, to stop whatever harmful threat or event may have occurred in any way you can, even if it means sacrificing yourself because it is your instinct to put them above yourself. Unconditional love does not end with death; it lives on, as does the duty of protecting that child, even though physically, they may not be here anymore.
After the physical manifestations of grief come the numbness. Colors seem dull, details are easy to miss, and your memory is hazy. At times, you feel guilty for being so numb. How could I be sitting here emotionless? Why am I not a mess on the floor screaming and crying? What is wrong with me? How could I go to the grocery store? How can I think about what to eat? Why would I waste time showering when I should be crying? But it's part of the grief. Your body needs rest; you're still in shock. Life won't ever be the same, and it still wasn't that long ago that life felt whole.
Life will never feel entirely whole again. Every significant event, every moment of joy, every smile on a sunny day will come with a sting of longing and absence. You just have to learn how to live with it … and without them.
