Compartmentalizing the Pain

The past few days and weeks have been extraordinarily difficult for me. I feel that I may have misjudged my grief and not given it enough expression as of yet. You see, one of the coping mechanisms I've learned to use is compartmentalizing my grief. In other words, there are times when I must put my grief aside in order to accomplish whatever task(s) are at hand. Later, when I'm in a more appropriate place and time I can release that grief in a healthy way. While I'm at work or serving in my capacity within the church seem inappropriate times for me to give full expression to my feelings. While I'm at home during quiet moments alone or with your mother or while I'm exercising, those are times when I allow my grief to be expressed. This approach of compartmentalizing my grief and releasing it only in appropriate situations and healthy ways has helped me continue to fulfill my day-to-day responsibilities while also allowing me to progress thru the process of losing you.

However, as time has marched on and life has returned to its melancholic state of mundane responsibilities, I find that there are times when I am unable to fully compartmentalize the grief. During these times various external factors act as triggers that instantly bring you to my mind unexpectedly catching me off guard and thus unprepared to deal with the flood of emotions that naturally follow. Sometimes its a song on my phone or over the radio. Other times its a glimpse of a picture of you while you were in the hospital. Still other times it's simply random memories sparked by 'deja vu' from something I remember from when you were still with us. All of these events and so many others have a way of causing my grief to breech the walls I have erected to keep it in check. As a result, I fear that I may have compartmentalized too heavily and not given enough expression to the feelings and pains that plague me.

In an effort to cope, there are songs that I simply cannot listen to...they're too painful for they are the same songs I listened to while you were alive and I was busy making plans for our future. There are pictures of you that I simply cannot view...they remind me too much of how sweet it was to have you in our home with us. There are memories that I won't allow myself to access and there are thoughts that I won't allow myself to think. These have been quarantined until I can find a more controllable way to bring them out and once again include them in my life.

One thing that I've found to completely decimate my compartmentalization altogether is meeting other parents who have lost children. I've found that these can be grouped into one of two categories. First, there are parents who have been so deeply affected by the loss of their child that they truly empathize with you. These parents offer no words of comfort or healing because they know no words will suffice. They simply offer to grieve with you. I am grateful for these and have found comfort in the silent love and support they offer. Second, there are the parents who feel that their child's death has made them an expert and it's now their responsibility to mentor others who go thru similar circumstances. I hate meeting these parents. They always tell you that they know exactly how you feel.

There have been a couple of times when people who fall into the second group have gotten me so upset that I have desired to confront them directly and inform them that they actually have no idea how I feel. How could they know? Although they may have lost a child of their own, they didn't lose you. Did they have the experience of laying their hands upon their child's head and feel the Holy Spirit undeniably tell them that their child would not recover? I did. Did they look into their sons' eyes as he lay sedated and intubated and hear the Holy Spirit whisper softly that it was time for their son to leave them? I did. Did they have the hellishly spiritual experience of laying their hands on their dieing son's head and using their priesthood to release him from this life? I did. Did they hold their son in their arms as the life literally drained from his body? I did. So how then could they possibly understand how I feel?

During these moments with these clueless individuals I have fortunately been able keep my composure, thank them for their concern and then move on. I pray that I will continue to have the strength to do, for the depth of the anguish I feel over your loss seems to completely overwhelm me at times. No person will ever understand the awful darkness of a parent who has tragically lost a young child until they have personally experienced it. No mother or father can possibly comprehend the spirit sickening emptiness associated therewith until it hits them personally. No individual will understand how it feels to live life with a part of themselves missing unless they experience it firsthand.

I miss you Drew. I would give anything to have you back, even my own life.

With Love,
Your Father