Yesterday Mourning

This morning brought terrible news. My friends’ son, away at college, died from a seizure and was found yesterday morning by his roommate. This is a tragic loss, for his parents, his siblings and his many friends. And while his death, their loss, is not about me, it has stirred in me more feelings than I could have imagined.

The first has been shared by the community as a whole. We are all shocked to hear the news. No one ever anticipated that the news from his freshman year of college would be that he would not be coming back.

The second, shared by the other parents, has been the desire to cling to our children a little tighter and a little longer. To linger over the sound of their voices and to watch them a little more closely. To put down the book or push away the computer and say “later” a little less often.

“Parents should not have to bury their children!” I hear myself saying. “Parents should not have to bury their children!” The memory of my grandmother’s face shortly after she learned of her son’s death in his 30’s has been with me since I heard the news of this recent loss. Grandma aged ten years in those ten minutes and never looked like a young woman to me again. Her aging was further accelerated a few years later when she learned that her other child, my mother, died at the age of 43. As an adult, and certainly since I have become a parent myself, I have marveled at my grandmother’s strength and character. The fact that she was able to continue her life as a warm, caring, devoted individual after burying her two children amazes me.

What hadn’t occurred to me until last night is the fact that not only did my grandparents bury a son and a daughter but my father also buried a daughter. Is this just a coincidence or have I stumbled on a family trait of some sort? Does it matter that all three of my family deaths were the result of different causes? Does it matter that 100% of my grandparents’ children died but only 20% of my parents’ children?

I can’t even imagine what it is like to wake up one morning and learn that your child has died. I can’t imagine what it is like to wake up each morning and realize again and again that your child truly is dead and that it wasn’t just a nightmare. I can’t imagine how one sleeps each night knowing what the morning can bring.

While I pray that I never have to experience this type of loss I can at least honor this young man’s life by learning from their loss. As time passes and we continue with our lives, I will remember, especially when it comes to my children, to pause. To take a minute. To experience each moment as it comes.