Christmas wishes for parents who have lost a child

Eleven years ago, I spent two fun-filled years helping to plan my high school reunion.

The day of the reunion was the same day I buried my 22-year-old son.

Ryan was a passenger on a motorcycle that was involved in an accident. He died instantly. There were no goodbyes.

The abyss that one falls into at lightning speed when you are told your child has died is indescribable. Putting the loss of your child into words doesn’t even come close to how it feels physically.

How could it, when your children are the only people you love before you have met them and the ones that are loved unconditionally, forever.

It is in the natural order of things for one to lose grandparents, parents, a spouse, hopefully at ripe old ages from a life well-lived. Generally, people know how to comfort you, often because they have suffered the same loss.

Yet when you say you lost a child, people look away, stay away and say the most unbelievable things. It is still a taboo subject.

If you lost your spouse, no one would ever consider saying, “You can have another one.” Yet with young parents, this is often what they are told.

You are supposed to have ALL of your children, for ALL of your life.

After years of belonging to the Compassionate Friends (a group for bereaved parents), it still shocks and saddens me to hear new parents tearfully talk about loss of friendships and lack of support, and for those much further along, to hear how they feel their child has been forgotten.

There are some wounds that time will never heal. I will grieve for my son for the rest of my life. I will grieve for his future that was taken away from him, for his “unfinished” life.

Author Edward Rutherfurd wrote: “Small wounds are healed by time; but time can only bandage great wounds which continue to bleed in secret.”

No one should have to bleed in secret. We are meant to help each other.

Therefore, my first wish this Christmas is for parents just learning to walk in these shoes to know that there is hope. It is a very difficult and long journey, but the physical pain eventually softens, the masks are no longer worn every day and, eventually, a new life evolves, one where happiness abides side by side with your deep sadness.

My second wish is for anyone who knows of someone who is spending their first holiday without a loved one: Let them know you are thinking of them. People are always saying, “I don’t know what to do.” All it takes is a hug and an “I’m sorry” to show your compassion. June McMartin, Beaconsfield