The long journey to resolution...and gratefulness

Am I in the minority when I say that I have played the scenario over and over in my mind for years about which situation would be worse...being able to say goodbye to your child (or children) after a long illness, for instance, or having your child die instantly with no opportunity to say goodbye (as I did with my son, Randy)?  Some parents did have an opportunity to say goodbye--but what an incredibly high price the parents, the dying child and other family members may have had to pay for the experience of saying one last goodbye.  (The pain, suffering, emotional yo-yo-ing, hope gained, hope lost, despair and other painful emotions that may have led up to the death are extremely high costs that may have been extracted prior to the last goodbye.)

I have wished thousands of times that I could have had just ONE MINUTE to say goodbye to my son, hug him, kiss him and tell him that I loved him one last time!  The method by which he died did not allow me that option.  For a long time I was tortured by the fact that my Randy's strong, handsome body was tanned to perfection from long, fun, school-less summer vacation days in the sun (he died in late July, 1978), that his hair had been bleached to a shining light golden brown and that his physical workouts during recent football training had left him a virtual Adonis.  In short, his healthy body lay on that hospital bed totally intact and perfect--but he was nevertheless dead--and only because one split second bolt of electricity had stilled his heart forever.  HOW IN THE WORLD COULD THAT BE??? My crazed mind could not recognize the finality of the moment on any level whatsoever.  Surely the medical staff could do more. Surely in a little while Randy would come back around and our family would make the short trip home where we would talk about it for days then the horror of the event would fade into distant memories.  I think we all know this: Shock is the sweetest emotion a newly bereaved parent can experience.  There is no way we could possibly survive the death of a child without the powerful numbing anesthesia that shock affords us.

As I became a more "seasoned" bereaved parent I began to realize that I could not hold on to the anguish and regret of not getting to say goodbye.  It was driving me crazy. Whether I used rationalization, or just became reconciled over an extended period of time to the fact that I could never change the way Randy died and that, longing for the experience of saying goodbye would never come, I finally and, grudgingly, came to the following conclusions (but not necessarily in this order and certainly not at the same time):

*  Randy did not suffer prior to his death and for that I am grateful...even though I did not get to say goodbye.

*  I feel certain that his last day on earth was one of Randy's happiest.  The ground was broken on that very day to start construction of our home in a bedroom community south of Metro Atlanta. A small lake, stocked with fish, had been completed months before and Randy could not wait to get to the country where he could fish whenever he wanted to right in his own yard (he loved to fish) and ride his bike (that he had won in a national Kellogg's art competition a few months earlier) and explore the rural surroundings.  And, to top it all off, Randy's best friend had already moved to the country and would be living right next door to us, just as he had done in the past.  Randy had joyously anticipated the move to the country for a long time.  I am grateful that he lived with happy thoughts, unfettered by any cares and concerns, anticipating a wonderful future...right up to the moment he died.

*  I am grateful for the 13 years and 22 days of happiness that I had with Randy prior to his death.  Being a housewife during almost the entire period of Randy's life gave me so much time and so many golden opportunities to let him know in so many ways that I loved and cherished him, my first born, with all my heart.

*  I am grateful that I was able to overcome enough of the shock, grief and horror over Randy's death in time to build a strong relationship with my remaining child (and Randy's little sister, Pamela, who was eight years old at the time of his death), before it was too late.  Randy loved his sister and was proud of her.  He had jokingly said just a couple of days before his death, "She is known as the smart one of us."  I regret the days and weeks and months that I was physically, mentally and emotionally so bankrupt that I could not address the needs of my surviving child.  I am grateful that Pamela has a loving, forgiving heart and accepted what little I could offer her following her brother's death.  I am thankful for being granted these years since Randy's death to express my appreciation and love for my beautiful daughter and to experience a deepening closeness between the two of us.

*  I am, at long last, just eternally grateful that I was able to live and experience the physical presence of Randy for just over 13 years.  My spiritual and emotional bond with Randy will never be broken.  I am still his mother, he is still my son and he is still a huge part of me--and will remain so--for the remainder of my life.

As a bereaved mother, I will continue to yearn and long for those unexpected and priceless nighttime dreams that bring Randy back to me...happy, laughing and loving, hugging and touching..and still 13 years old...after all these years.  Between the very infrequent dreams, I have a head and heart full of wonderful memories of life with Randy.  Memories and sporadic dreams are not nearly enough to satisfy my longing for my son, but they're about all I have...and, therefore, will have to do.

It is my most fervent hope that newly bereaved moms, dads and siblings who are currently experiencing the pain of grief every waking moment of their lives may come to know some peace in the coming days, months and years.  My heart hurts for each of you who struggle to explain your grief experience to the rest of us in your emails.  Please know that as I read your pain-filled emails, I am beside you emotionally and willing you the strength to make it through the long, tortured period of healing from the most devastating of all losses..the loss of your child.

Lorene Wright
Randy's Mom