Losing a Child: Always Andy's Mom Marcy Larson, MD

I have thought a lot recently about blame in the context of grief. When a child dies, it is natural for feelings of blame to emerge. Whether we blame ourselves, blame our child, blame another person, or even put the blame on God, there is a lot of it to go around. Additionally, others can be very vocal about where they feel the blame should be placed when our child dies. This is often done through social media when people do not think at all about the feelings of others before throwing out hurtful comments.
 
Initially, after our accident, It felt important to place the blame somewhere. In some ways, the blame was actually useful to me. I could put on boxing gloves and hit a punching bag imagining I was damaging the car that hit us. It was a release for my anger and other scary emotions. In other ways, however, blame was my enemy from the beginning. I blamed myself for all of us being in the car at that moment. I imagined scenario after scenario where I had done one thing differently that would have saved Andy. Eventually, however, I came to realize that no matter whether I blamed another person or myself, blame had become a poison. While drinking that poison every day, I was not able to begin healing.
 
For me, the cure to the poison of blame was forgiveness. Forgiveness allowed true healing to begin and helped me feel more like myself. I was able to let go of the bitterness and anger that accompanied the blame. I have heard from others and remember thinking to myself that if I reached a point of forgiveness, that would mean that I was somehow OK with Andy dying. Let me be perfectly clear. I am NOT OK with Andy's death. I will miss Andy every day for the rest of my life. When I think about his life getting cut short I feel tremendous sadness and even some anger, but I no longer let the need for blame consume my life. That is the difference between who I was five years ago and who I am today. I hope that in their own time and way, every bereaved parent will be able to let go of the poison of blame.

From the first email I received concerning Gwyneth and her son, Laird, I was struck with how important friendship was in Gwyneth's life. You see, Gwyneth was not the one who first wrote to me about her story. It was her dear friend, Caroline. Caroline wrote that Laird had been her son's best friend and that she had promised to do whatever she could to help her in her grief journey and her quest to 'sound the alarms about the fentanyl epidemic.'
From the first moments of my conversation with Gwyneth, the theme of friendship overwhelmed every part of our discussion. As she introduced me to Laird, I was struck by what a good friend he was to all around him. Classmate after classmate approached Gwyneth after Laird's death telling her that he/she was Laird's best friend. She heard multiple stories of Laird sticking up for classmates if others were picking on them. He was truly an amazing young man.
After Laird died from fentanyl poisoning, Gwyneth focused on friendships to help her get through. Friends didn't just ask her if she needed anything, they brought her groceries and made her meals. They stayed at her side through all of the dark times. Shortly after Laird's death, Gwyneth and her family began participating in KinderMourn, an organization based out of Charlotte, North Carolina, offering support groups for bereaved children and their parents. This group has truly been a lifeline for Gwyneth. I could hear her voice sound a little stronger when talking about what she has learned in her support group. The friendship those other bereaved parents give her has been incredibly precious to her. I don't think she knows how she would have made it through the last year without them.
Even after all of this, Gwyneth had one last 'friend' to talk about. This 'friend' is grief itself. We often think that grief is something to fight against, but Gwyneth reminds us that we should really treat grief as a friend. Grief will be a part of life until the day we die. It will be our companion through times of sorrow as well as times of joy. We need to hold it close as we would a dear friend.

From the first email I received concerning Gwyneth and her son, Laird, I was struck with how important friendship was in Gwyneth's life. You see, Gwyneth was not the one who first wrote to me about her story. It was her dear friend, Caroline. Caroline wrote that Laird had been her son's best friend and that she had promised to do whatever she could to help her in her grief journey and her quest to 'sound the alarms about the fentanyl epidemic.'
From the first moments of my conversation with Gwyneth, the theme of friendship overwhelmed every part of our discussion. As she introduced me to Laird, I was struck by what a good friend he was to all around him. Classmate after classmate approached Gwyneth after Laird's death telling her that he/she was Laird's best friend. She heard multiple stories of Laird sticking up for classmates if others were picking on them. He was truly an amazing young man.
After Laird died from fentanyl poisoning, Gwyneth focused on friendships to help her get through. Friends didn't just ask her if she needed anything, they brought her groceries and made her meals. They stayed at her side through all of the dark times. Shortly after Laird's death, Gwyneth and her family began participating in KinderMourn, an organization based out of Charlotte, North Carolina, offering support groups for bereaved children and their parents. This group has truly been a lifeline for Gwyneth. I could hear her voice sound a little stronger when talking about what she has learned in her support group. The friendship those other bereaved parents give her has been incredibly precious to her. I don't think she knows how she would have made it through the last year without them.
Even after all of this, Gwyneth had one last 'friend' to talk about. This 'friend' is grief itself. We often think that grief is something to fight against, but Gwyneth reminds us that we should really treat grief as a friend. Grief will be a part of life until the day we die. It will be our companion through times of sorrow as well as times of joy. We need to hold it close as we would a dear friend.

As Candi sat in the ER after losing her 5-year-old son, Asher, tragically in a farming accident, she wondered how life could go on. The pain was just too great. Candi had seen a therapist for years and knew that her therapist was also a bereaved mom. Candi asked her sister to ask the therapist what she was supposed to do. She answered, "You circle your wagons, and just hang on."
 
Honestly, in the 6 years since losing Andy, this may be the best piece of advice I have ever heard. I love the visual that it brings to mind. For listeners who may not be familiar with the saying, 'circling the wagons' was done as wagon trains headed west. Each night, when the travelers stopped for the night, they formed a large circle made up of their wagons. They would keep the camp and their livestock inside this circle. This way they could keep the most vulnerable inside, protected from bandits, wild animals, and even stormy weather. Candi's family and friends were great at circling the wagons. Candi says she felt like a ghost for the first whole year, but somehow, her family remained fed and her other 5 kids continued to participate in school and activities. The circle cared for her when she could not.
 
Over the past 3 years, Candi's wagon train has changed. As she became involved in my online support group through Starlight Ministries and met other bereaved moms, they joined her wagon train to be her support. Candi says that she was a sponge, reading book after book on child loss. Recently, she started a bereaved moms group in her own rural community in Utah as well. I would say that instead of being the protected one at the center of the circle of wagons, Candi is working to transform herself into a wagon master. Recently, Candi's extended family suffered tragedy again when her sister lost her own daughter in a car accident. Candi felt helpless knowing there was nothing she could say to make her sister feel better, but Candi knew exactly what to do. She instructed that wagon train to circle up again, and she now sits with her sister in the dark, scary place holding her while they both just hang on.

"Thank you, Momma."
These were the last words that Holly's daughter, Brittany, spoke before slipping into unconsciousness and eventually passing away. Holly clings to these words, even now, almost three years after Brittany's death. For 20 years, Holly had been at Brittany's side through her long, complex medical journey, never even spending 24 hours away from her.
However, Holly questioned herself despite her diligence as Brittany's primary caregiver. First, she questioned the decisions that she made when treating Brittany. Did she make her do too much? Could she have eased her pain and suffering? In Brittany's last days, Holly's questions changed. Did she allow Brittany to 'give up' too early? Is there more that she should have done?
Throughout Brittany's life, she faced many battles. First of all, Brittany was a brilliant young woman with autism. Her mind functioned at a level that blew her mother and others away. In addition to her autism, however, Brittany struggled with a yet unnamed disease that battled her organs throughout her life. After a life-saving surgery in her teens, Brittany began to write a book about her journey meant to help other children suffering from life-threatening illnesses.
After completing the book, Holly and Brittany decided to table the book until her 21st birthday. At that time, Brittany planned to write more of her story and complete the book. Unfortunately, it became clear in the end that Brittany would not be able to finish the book. She asked her mother to complete it for her. Holly honored Brittany by finalizing the book she titled, 'Well, Actually .... Thank you, Momma' (available on Amazon or their website, wellactuallythankyoumomma.com).
Despite Holly's doubts, Brittany's own words tell the final story. Holly did everything she could to give Brittany the best life she could. That's what we all hope for, isn't it? We work to do everything that we can for our children. And even though most of our children don't say 'thank you, momma' in their last moments with us, we hope and pray that they are thinking these words as we part.

After Maxine's son, 19-year-old Chandler, died when his truck caught on fire 7 months ago, she knew that there was no way that she could get through even one day without God's help. Maxine says that she 'fell to her knees and thanked God for every second that she got to be Chandler's Mom.' After walking beside her sister after losing her 14-year-old son nine years before, Maxine had an idea of how painful this journey of child loss was going to be. She also knew that after all the prayers for her sister and encouraging her sister's faith, she needed to do the same for herself.
Witnessing her sister's grief certainly helped Maxine gain insight as to what life was going to be like moving forward. In some ways, I'm sure that was scary for Maxine. She remembered witnessing her sister's pain. She knew that now, even 9 years later, her sister remains forever changed. Having that insight, however, was a motivator for Maxine to start working on her grief right away. She prayed for God to show her resources to help. She prayed before finding my podcast. Maxine emailed me soon after starting to listen and recently joined one of my virtual support groups.
Maxine's grief journey is the perfect example of how broken people do the best job of helping other broken people. As much as she loves and appreciates all of her friends and the help that they offer, Maxine says that in addition to her sister's help, her best help comes from listening to stories on the podcast and talking to other bereaved moms in our faith-based support group. Although a few months ago, we were all strangers, Maxine feels like she could not love them any more than if they were friends she had known for years.
Bereaved parents understand each other in ways that others can't and that understanding brings comfort. When Maxine says that although the pain sometimes feels unbearable, being Chandler's mom is worth every tear, every struggle, and all of the pain, we all nod through our tears. We all love our kids so much and would not give up a second of their lives to decrease our pain. Together, we can keep living each day.