My son Christopher died 28 years ago today.
That’s such a strange phrase to say–“My son Christopher died.” I remember practising saying it when he was in the ICU, preparing myself for what may come. The words didn’t seem to go together, like they were fighting hard to pull apart from each other.
And yet, every year on September 4, they swirl around in my head again until forming that phrase. “MY son”–because I did have him, if even for a short time. He was my son. His name was Christopher. And he died.
I am letting myself sit with that differently this year.
I’ve read so many books lately that talk about how the body keeps the score, and how grief is held in the body. And how we need to let our bodies move through grief and stress cycles, rather than trying to ignore it or pretend it’s not there or talk ourselves out of it.
For the first decade or two after Christopher’s death, it wasn’t the anniversaries that got me–his birthday or death day. I actually tried really hard to just keep going and push through on those days, and for the most part I was quite successful. The grief would come, unbidden, at other times.
I think at some level I felt that if I teared up on an anniversary, it was because I was thinking about it too much, and I was doing it to myself. It was something I was consciously causing, and I didn’t want that. So I talked myself down.
But this year I’m realizing that, no, my body just reacts weird when the weather changes from summer to fall, when the days start to get shorter again. Because my body remembers how it felt walking back from the hospital that last night that I saw him alive. My body rememberes how it was already dark, even though it was quite early, and there was a chill in the air.
My body associates these things with grief.
And my body remembers. It’s not that I’m causing tears. It’s that the tears are just coming. And that’s okay.
I’m letting myself write this on Wednesday morning.
I didn’t want to write it early, because I wanted to let myself write what I felt. Then I’m going to turn the computer off for the day. I booked a yoga class (I haven’t gone in a while). I’ll likely go up to the graveyard–I haven’t decided yet. I just want to let myself feel what I’m going to feel, because I’m not angry or frustrated at myself anymore for feeling deep things on September 4. I think I just have a lot more compassion on myself.
And I think the last few years it’s hit me harder because my girls are becoming mothers.
This is the first year where both my daughters are older than I was when my son died, AND they both have children who are older than Christopher was when he passed. So I can look at my girls and think, “I went through all that when I was younger than they are now.”
This year I’m also older than my mother was when Christopher died. Older than when she lost her grandson.
I feel like I’m on the other side of something, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I love my daughters and grandchildren.
I have such fun with them! I love them wholeheartedly. The kids make me laugh. The new baby is so exciting as she learns new things everyday.
And yet there is still such a big part of me that aches for the one who isn’t here anymore.
And so I’m going to take today to let myself feel, because I realize now that I’m not doing this to myself. This is just my body remembering. And I’m going to honor that.
Sheila – you know how I feel about this. Every year when you share this on the blog I see something different. Today it was the picture of you and Christopher and Keith that jumped out at me. My mind says I know that guy. I know that lady. They look familiar. You look like people I know even though I have never met any of you. Here is my prayer for you and your family: May the peace of all understanding Fill you with the Holy Spirit. Peace to you and your family as you grieve. I am bold enough to say: I love you and your family. ALL – PEACE
Thank you, Phil!
Shelia, I’ve never had to go through losing a child. I did lose my older brother. He was killed in Feb of 68 fighting with the Marines during the battle for Hue in Viet Nam. He was nine years older than me and I idolized him. I still remember that cold Feb afternoon when the car pulled up at our house and the two Marine officers got out. My parents were never the same after that. Mom has suffered three miscarriages between Johnny’s birth and mine. From then on until my parents died Christmas and holidays always had a hint of sadness about them.
My grandparents lost two children. Their oldest, a daughter, choked to death from the croup in the kitchen of my house in 1920. She was only six months old. They were trying to get water boiling on the old wood burning cook stove to help her breathe.
Their youngest son, my Uncle Johnny, was killed on D Day when he jumped into Normandy with the 82nd Airborne.
The worst butt chewing that I ever got from Dad was as a 30 year old man. The first Gulf War had started and I had enquired about a commission with the TN National Guard. I still remember Dad with big tears rolling down his face screaming at me that this family had given enough and that he and my mother couldn’t lose another son. I’d never seen him like that before and it scared me to death. He went on to mention that my Grandfather’s brother, Virgil had been killed in the Argonne Offensive in WW I and that my mother had lost a brother at sea in the Pacific and another at the Chosin Reservoir in Korea. Fortunately, the war ended before my papers came through.
My hear goes out to you. My prayer for you today is that God will grant you peace and comfort to get through today.
There’s just so much pain in the world, isn’t there? So much pain and loss. Thankful of course for the good moments (and there are many; and for me at least they outnumber the bad), but we can’t ignore how much pain people carry.
Hugs to the whole extended family.
My first pregnancy was lost to miscarriage. My older daughter was born two years later.
Whenever she hit a milestone as an infant and then toddler, I’d always have the thought that we as a family should have already experienced that particular milestone with our first, lost baby. (We have two daughters; the milestones are still exciting with subsequent children, but there’s something a little magical about them with your first child.) The milestones are more infrequent now, like starting kindergarten, or learning to ride a bike, but the feeling and the grief still hit.
Sitting with you in prayer today.
My brother would have turned 50 this month. I was expecting my oldest daughter when he died in a car accident. None of my children knew their uncle. They never got to have first cousins from him. The family dynamics changed a lot when he died.
We also lost my grandfather on Thanksgiving Day. Now every Thanksgiving is bittersweet remembering him each year. He was an amazing grandfather. We all loved him a lot. I am grateful that he took time to write down his memories before he died so that we could know something about his childhood and growing up years.
Thinking of you and the Gregoire family today. Christopher had such a sweet and precious little face. Thank you for sharing him. I will remember him.
Hugs from afar.
The Body Keeps The Score- perhaps it should say The Soul Keeps The Score. With so many losses in the last 5 years, topped off with the hellish experience of Long COVID, I no longer care if I cry. Cry at work, cry at the store, cry listening to music, cry alone, cry when people are present…
It’s a good thing… God captures all our tears in a bottle. I wonder what that bottle will be turned into when we join Him in eternity? I know it will be something beautiful.
Oh, Debi, I hear you. I’m not like that all the time, but I have my weeks. I’m so sorry about Long COVID.
<3
I hope you were able to do whatever felt right to you to continue processing this loss.
In sharing your loss and subsequent feelings, you gift us with an extra dose of normalization to us fully feeling our "aches for the one who isn’t here anymore," in our lives, too. Thank you.
Tears come to my eyes as I read this post and the comments of those who also experienced losses. September 4, 1973 was my parents’ wedding day. Yesterday, was my parents’ 51st wedding anniversary, but Dad left this earth in 2013 before my parents had the chance to celebrate their 40th anniversary. Even though September 4 was not about me, it was about the love my parents shared here and my brother and I got to be part of it. I imagine this is a tough day for my mother.
Hugs to you Sheila and your family. Your ministry has blessed me greatly.
3 years ago I miscarried at 19 weeks, on september 3rd.
It was a missed miscarriage so the baby had probably died about 3 1/2 weeks before and my body seemed to know, even though i didnt have any signs. I felt heaviness, felt down for no apparent reason during those previous weeks. Even though I don’t think much about the loss, because I’m too busy with the girls God has blessed me with, I do seem to feel low for a few weeks around this time of year and finally realize why in retrospect.
I understand what you mean about your body reacting when the days get shorter. My daughter died when frangipani trees were blooming. And each year, when I see the flowers blossom on our frangipani tree, my body reacts. The flowers are beautiful but tears well up. I don’t mean for it to happen, and I’m not actively thinking about her… but my body knows.
Remembering Christopher with you.
Yes, that’s exactly what happens! I’m not even thinking about him and suddenly tears will well up.
I lost a baby in February of 2005, at eight weeks. I usually don’t remember the incident in February, but in August when she would have been born had she lived; every year I think about how old she would be and what she might be doing in life.
I know that God remembers with us. It is hard to describe adequately.
Sheila, I always appreciate the way you give space for Christopher’s memory at this time of year. From one bereaved mother to another, I see you in your grief and so does God.
Thank you, Chrysti! I’m sorry for your loss too.
Sheila, we lost our 16 year old son, Moses, in a car accident February 16, 2024. I feel like God has protected me in a way for losing a child, by listening to your podcast episodes about how child loss is not a punishment for sin. It is this sinful world we’re living in that takes our children. I have so much hope that I will be with Moses again, in the presence of our Savior. I wonder if Moses and Christopher know each other? Death is such a mystery. But it’s not final, and while I grieve here, and I’m not even sure what grief will look like for me February 16, 2025, I know it’s ok. I know God is with me in my grief, and I know I am not alone here on earth. Thank you for sharing your words about your beautiful son, and your beautiful daughters and grandchildren. I have two living sons (19 and 14), and want to experience their lives with joy, just as I remember Moses’s life that brought me so much joy. Praying for you, Keith, and your girls as your remember your precious boy.
Oh, Jessica, I can’t imagine that. I’m so, so sorry. That must be so raw. I pray that you will be able to fully enjoy your sons and be present with them too. And that when they have children, they’ll be able to hear stories about their Uncle Moses.
Hi Sheila thank you for sharing that you are just taking the day as it comes. So to speak. My mom passed away 1 April 2024. She lived with us for 4 years and we were very close. I’m an only child. Grief is a lonely journey and I’m not sure how to navigate it. However I’m walking close with the Lord which helps. He sends people when I need them the most. I’ve always felt I needed to be strong for everyone else now I’m trying to be real to myself and my grief. Tears flow often and even when I least expect them to. I’m telling myself it’s ok just be. Sending love and 🤗
Oh, Jacqueline! I can’t imagine what it will be like for me when my mom goes. She’s lived with us for 7 years now. I can’t imagine.
Thank you for sharing your vulnerability and grief. It’s so important for those who are finally honoring the story that our bodies are telling to let others know that it’s important to let our bodies guide what we need. Your testimony and experiences of loss are so tragic and my heart hurts for what you all have endured. Thank you for using that suffering to help others heal. I’m so grateful for all the blessings of your teachings and your insights.