Living Through the Grief of Losing a Child

Child loss causes despair and loneliness, but don’t be afraid to reach out to those who experience it

Jackie Duda,

AARP

Comments

En español

Published August 30, 2023

graphic of a pair of hands holding a heart shape with a crying woman on it

Getty Images

I’m staring at a picture of our youngest daughter’s college graduation in May. Our smiling 22-year-old graduate, Alexis, is in the middle holding her flowers and her cap, flanked by her 33-year-old brother, Joe, her 26-year-old sister, Elise, her dad and me.

Someone is missing: our 39-year-old daughter, Nicole, and what would most likely be members of her own family. We lost Nicole 17 years ago when she was 22 to an accidental overdose after a party at the beach. In 17 years, we’ve pushed on, but it hasn’t been easy, and there are times when I, at age 60, feel like I’ve been swept back in time to that dreadful rainy early October day.

Bringing grief into the open

Last year, on National Grief Awareness Day, Aug. 30, the late Lisa Marie Presley published a heartrending essay in People about her grief after the death of her son Benjamin. I immediately connected with her despair and loneliness.

Presley was right, we need to talk about grief. Especially child loss. We’re all about the mental health crisis until it involves the death of a child. Following the immediate aftermath, once the dust settles, friends and family will go about their lives and grow distant, as if we’re some maladjusted harbinger of death. It’s only when you discover another parent who has had the misfortune to join this dystopian club of wounded souls that you feel safe to talk and get real about your emotions after years of being on mute.

jackie duda and her daughter nicole in a photograph from nineteen ninety eight at legoland and another closeup image of nicole from around the same time

Left: Jackie Duda, right, with her daughter Nicole at Legoland in 1998. Right: Nicole, center, with her sister Elise.

Courtesy Jackie Duda

“It can be overwhelming when someone thinks about a person losing their child,” says Margaret Albert, a counselor with Duke Hospice Bereavement Services in Durham, North Carolina. But the more we talk about it and write about it, she says, the more it becomes a part of the conversation. “People are so scared of this, of losing a child, and they should be, it’s a natural fear,” Albert says. But we need to be more open about it.

An overwhelming loss

I’ve experienced a lot of death in my lifetime: grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles and cousins. This is different. The loss of a child rips out your heart and stomps on your dreams.

“We expect our parents and grandparents to pass before us, it’s the natural order of things,” Albert says. “When someone loses a child, it’s like going against nature, we lose our assumptions about how life will operate.”

Losing my daughter was like a nuclear bomb going off and shredding us, sending our family off in scattered, confusing directions. It happens whether the death is sudden or expected after a long illness. I hunkered down in self-destruct mode for at least two years until I snapped out of it to be more present for my other three children, whom I was dreadfully worried about (true confession — still am) and wanted to place in a protective snow globe so no harm would ever come to them. I became a helicopter parent, times 10. And I’m still working on that.

“It doesn’t matter the age of the child, it’s a very deep grief that you carry with you, and it’s tied directly to the hopes you had for that child,” Albert says.

Remembering her joy

My hopes were that Nicole, a skillful ballet and tap dancer, would enjoy a dance career. My heart aches when I watch the Rockettes perform in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. She loved ’NSync, Mariah Carey, Eminem, Spice Girls and TLC. She and her best friend Meagan were always dressing up and singing Spice Girls songs at the top of their lungs. I summon a rebellious Eminem song and work out in the gym, not just to get some frustration out but to remember her love for the artist. When I’m wistful, it’s “MMMBop” by Hanson, one of her favorites. Justin Timberlake songs bring a smile to my face; she was crazy about him.

I dread the unwelcome but probably well-meaning conversation starters I get from strangers. “So, do you have children? How many?” Um, four, but one died. “Why aren’t you a grandparent by now?” Really? In this day and age when couples delay starting a family, 60 years old should automatically signal grandparent? Or feverishly giddy grandparents who nudge me to nudge my kids. “There’s nothing better in this world than being a grandparent.” So is my life worthless because I’m not a grandparent? I never broach this subject matter with others. “Grieving parents view life through the lens of loss,” Albert explains. People don’t realize how insensitive and invasive those questions can be. Albert advises having a ready-made statement prepared so you’re not caught off guard. “It takes the stress out of the situation, and you control the conversation that way,” she says.

Grief is messy but natural

Support for Grieving Parents

Compassionate Friends is a national nonprofit support network for grieving parents with chapters around the country. “More counselors are being certified through ADEC, the Association for Death Education and Counseling. The resources are growing,” Albert says. “Therapists are becoming skilled to work with grief,” which vastly differs from counseling for mental illness.

I deeply appreciate the empathy bestowed by others, texted memories shared with Meagan, her mother carrying a bridesmaid bouquet for Nicole when she got married, or the blue charm bracelet Meagan gave me when she had her firstborn. It’s one thing for grieving parents to remember, but it takes it to a whole other level when others do. Or when they allow us to vent and be real.

“It’s comforting to be with people who allow you to be authentic and are not afraid or judgmental of your reactions and emotions,” Albert explains. Sometimes you need to feel sad and angry. It’s emotional, physical, spiritual — grief is every part of who we are as human beings. No two people grieve the same. Many find a tangible way to mark the significance of their child’s life, which helps us to continue those bonds and remember them, Albert says. I will launch a college scholarship on Nicole’s 40th birthday for fine arts and dance majors who have a parent or parents with disabilities. My husband and I are both disabled. The scholarship will enable another child from a struggling family to go further in life and pursue their passion for the arts.

Grief isn’t linear. It doesn’t progress neatly in sequential order through stages. Grief is messy, and it evolves. There are times I can tiptoe at the water’s edge and move through life as though everything is normal, and there are times when that unexpected wave of grief crests and crashes over me, dragging me into the surf to drown me. “It’s more like a grief wheel that goes forward and backward, it’s very fluid,” Albert says.

Bottom line: Grief is natural, it’s a part of living. “It’s like a mirror. Grief is a direct reflection of love,” Albert says. Child loss is scary and goes beyond what most of us are equipped to cope with. Don’t be afraid to reach out and support those who’ve lost a child, even if it’s been decades. And please let them be real.

%{postComment}%

Jackie Duda is a health and travel writer in Frederick, Maryland. She’s also a mental health and disability advocate. She’s written for The Washington Post, Woman’s Day, Costco Connection and other publications.