Beyond Tears: Living After Losing a Child by Ellen Mitchell Page B

that Marc do well in school? Why did I insist that he stay home and study instead of going out to play? I see my son’s diploma hanging on the wall, and I think of how he memorized and studied to become a marine biologist. It hurts. I have this guilt about how many times I had him stay home to ‘do the right thing.’”
    Rita: “I used to think that getting an education was paramount. Now I wonder why I had my son waste so much time on studies he never got to use.”
    Even those who aren’t teachers wonder why we stressed the importance of a good education.
    Maddy: “Now I would tell them to go out and have a good time.”
    There was of course anger in our new selves. In many cases and many ways, we were consumed with harshness and resentment. Anger was one of the few emotions we could still feel deeply. Often, in our redefined existence, we were insensitive to those around us. We were so wrapped up in our own sorrow that we were sometimes unable to grieve for older family members who passed away in the years following the deaths of our children. At times, it made us seem uncaring and unmoved. Our anger wore many guises.
    Carol: “I was very angry, and hearing people talk about what I considered to be trivial problems made me even angrier. I no longer cared about the little things in life and I did not worry about trifles.”
    Barbara E.: “It took me almost five years to relax enough to talk and joke
with my colleagues at work. It took so long because I was stubborn … more like in a rage. I couldn’t bear their laughter; their families were intact and without tragedy. I found it difficult to be happy for them if they were celebrating special moments in their lives. I did this openly and without shame, as I was trying to protect myself from further hurt. In later years, I felt badly about the way I had acted.”
    Phyllis: “I retreated into a shell and became very cold and numb. I thought my bad luck would continue in all things.”
    Maddy: “I thought I would be immune to any small annoyances. I didn’t think anything bad could happen. One of the first things I bought for myself after Neill’s death was a blouse I ordered that came in the mail. It was the wrong size. I thought, ‘How could this happen? I’m not supposed to get the wrong size. Everything is supposed to be right for me now because of the way I’ve suffered.’ I fought with them and made a big deal of it all. It was idiotic.”
    In the early years, redefining ourselves meant giving up all the things of everyday, routine life … . there was no longer any such thing as everyday, routine life. Of course, the days went on as they always had, but now they seemed to stretch on interminably.
    Ariella: “How can you do anything? My husband and I gave up music, television, movies, tennis, dancing, sexual intimacy and ‘civilian’ friends. We were simply in despair.”
    Rita: “I could not dance for years. All hobbies were meaningless. Men’s departments in the stores put me in a tailspin.”
    Carol: “The list of things I can no longer do in my new life? I cannot go to places I went with Lisa. I cannot look through family pictures. I cannot go past her apartment. I cannot go through her things. I cannot go to the cemetery very often.”
    All of us found that foods and items of clothing that were our children’s favorites became terrible triggers of our grief. Because we were the nurturers, the ones who fed our children, clothed them, and tended to their every need before they went away, we were left to cry over a cereal box, a chocolate bar or a plate of Chinese food.
    Audrey: “For the first couple of years, trying to shop for food or clothing would render me nauseous. Seeing things Jess either liked or disliked caused me
such anguish that I often ran out of the store. Chinese food, Jess’s favorite, has become taboo for me. The thought of eating it without her is too painful.”
    Maddy: “I could not go to the supermarket without