Heartache with a headstone

Last Thursday, December the 1st, my little boy’s headstone was placed. I knew that this was going to be a huge deal. Seeing my son’s name in stone; the dates of his short life. I tried to prepare myself for it, but how do you prepare for something so awful? You can’t.

I went alone to see the headstone on Thursday afternoon and as I walked across the cemetery, the wind was knocked out of me and I couldn’t breathe. I fell to my knees. A sound escaped from deep, deep within me.

It wasn’t the stone. Before the stone was placed, Ned’s grave had been a small mound. I have sat next to this mound with my arm draped across with my eyes closed day after day. It’s been the closest I can get physically to my little boy. But on Thursday, the mound had gone. The ground was flat. Ned had gone.

I scrambled, half crawled over. Where was he? Where was my little boy?

There stands a beautiful stone with his name engraved onto it, but for me, it now feels empty. I don’t know where to find Ned anymore. I have nothing to physically hold onto. He really has gone and he’s never coming back.

This is another huge step in my complex grieving journey. I spoke about it today with my psychologist. I told her I didn’t know where Ned is now. I don’t even have that little raised mound of earth to hold onto. She asked me if I needed something to cling onto. Isn’t Ned with me all the time she said? But this is something I’ve struggled with all along. Yes, I think about him every minute of the day, but I’ve clung onto that little mound with all that’s left of me, like clinging to a branch out in the vast sea.

I don’t know what to hold onto anymore. One of his favourite teddies? An item of his clothing? But it isn’t the same. That mound represented Ned. And now it’s gone.

I never for one second thought that this is how placing Ned’s headstone would affect me. He deserves a headstone, of course he does. But where does the journey take me now? How do I stop from drowning in grief’s ocean?

I don’t have the answer, but I’m clinging to the hope that somehow I get through this new phase of grieving and continue on my journey.

Always remember that grief is unique to every individual. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. Every way is filled with pain and anguish. My advice for anyone who knows a grieving person? Be their piece of driftwood. You don’t need to know the right things to say. You don’t need to know the right things to do. You just need to be there.

‘Catch a grieving person, try to make them stay,

Hold their hand so tightly, don’t let them float away.’

 

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3 thoughts on “Heartache with a headstone

  1. I hope so much Sharon that all the driftwood being given to you will become stout and strong fence posts for you.
    Here’s mine!! I’m not letting go.

    Like

  2. I hope so much Sharon that all the driftwood being given to you will become stout and strong fence posts for you.
    Here’s mine!! I’m not letting go.

    Like

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