Bereaved. It’s such a strange word. Honestly, I don’t know if I had ever heard it before losing Morgan.
Then, suddenly, it was used everywhere. All around me. About me. About Andrew. About my whole family. About this new existence I was thrown into. I think it took me a few days to even put two-and-two together and realize… I was a bereaved parent… whatever that meant.
It felt like a slang word. A curse word. A curse. Like a ominous cloud hanging over my head, following me everywhere I went, casting a shadow over my life… All I could think for days was, I’m a bereaved parent, and shudder.
Turns out “bereaved” is just a super big, intimidating word for someone who is grieving or mourning.
Merriam-Webster defines Bereaved as:
Bereaved (n.)
be·reaved | \ bi-ˈrēvd , bē-\
plural, bereaved
: Someone who is suffering the death of a loved one
// bereaved families of the victims
Merriam-Webster Dictionary
Well, golly, isn’t that just spot on. Despite my aversion to the concept, I definitely qualified as a “bereaved parent.” I had suffered while waiting for the “inevitable” death of my son. It was singularly the worst day of my life, and the hardest thing I had ever endured.
Funnily enough, as time passed, I grew to like the word more and more. As I pondered the definition of this existence that had been thrust upon me, the more I came to appreciate and embrace the definition.
I am a Bereaved Parent….
Someone who is suffering the death of a loved one.
Someone who is suffering the death of a loved one.
Someone who is suffering the death of a loved one.
Not… “was” suffering… IS SUFFERING. I am suffering the death of my son. Right now.
… Not just when we got back the test results.
… Not just when we heard the doctors tell us it was “only a matter of time”.
… Not just when he started struggling to breathe.
… Not just when he was getting colder and colder in my arms.
… Not just when he slipped away into the arms of Jesus.
… Not just when we left his body at the hospital with the nurses.
… Not just when we went home with empty arms and an empty carseat.
… Not just back then… on the worst day of my life.
Now. And every. Single. Day.
This is a wonderfully freeing realization! By definition, I am allowed to grieve my son every day of my life because I am – and will always be – a bereaved parent. I will always be feeling the loss of my son. And that’s OK.
So I think it’s important that people know what a bereaved parent is – because I certainly didn’t know before I became one.
A bereaved parent is a parent who is suffering the death of their child every single day.
Every day we feel that loss. Every day we have to work hard to keep moving forward. Every day we notice the lost piece of our family puzzle. Every day we miss our child – even when our arms and hearts are full with other blessings, too.
Bereaved Parenthood is a complex existence. It’s an intermingling of joy and sorrow. Joy that our child was here. Sorrow that they are gone too soon.
On My Slice of Joy, I plan on exploring the intricacies of life as a Bereaved Parent. I hope to promote awareness amongst those who are not members of this “club”, and also bring comfort to those who – unfortunately – are lifetime members. Check out the About This Blog page for more information.
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Please note that my experiences are just that… MY experiences. Everyone’s grief journey will look different and I do not intend to make anyone feel bad for grieving in a way that is different from my own. There is not a “right” way to grieve. Something that helps me might not help you (and vice versa). I just hope to bring some comfort to others by sharing my story.
