I Swear You Will Be Fine

Dear Josh,

I read this poem by an anonymous writer on The Compassionate Friends. I thought it was one of the most honest things I’ve read.

“If you asked me about my son’s death,

I wouldn’t give you a soft answer.

I’d tell you it ripped my life in half.

No warning. No mercy. No pause button.

I’d tell you that one minute I was fighting for him, believing we still had time,

and the next minute I was standing in a reality I never agreed to live in.

I’d tell you that it taught me how fast everything can be taken.

How useless “someday” really is.

How arrogant we all are when we think we’re in control.

I’d tell you that grief is violent.

Not dramatic- violent.

It comes for your body, your sleep, your memory, your sense of safety.

It rewires you whether you like it or not.

I’d tell you I miss him in ways that don’t always look like crying.

Sometimes it’s rage.

Sometimes it’s numbness.

Sometimes it’s standing in the middle of a normal moment

and realizing he isn’t coming back.

I’d tell you it stripped me bare.

And I’d tell you this part too-

because it’s the truth:

It didn’t kill me.

But it changed me forever.

I am sharper now.

Softer where it matters.

Done pretending.

Done waiting.

Done wasting time on anything that doesn’t feel honest.

I loved him deeply.

I still do.

And I am still here-

not because I’m strong,

but because I didn’t have a choice.

That’s what I’d say.

(From anonymous writer)

This is our reality. I can relate to every single word here. Though I do think I still pretend sometimes. It’s just easier. I guess it was like that for you too?

A friend once said to me, “I couldn’t possibly manage like you are…..”. It wasn’t said maliciously. Maybe I would have said the same thing if I was in her position. After all, this is every parent’s worst nightmare. What most don’t realise, and I didn’t realise before as well, is that we don’t have a choice. We just have to learn to survive, every minute of every day. Some days, even writing this post is too much of an effort.

I hope you’re not feeling bad when you hear all this Josh. It’s the last thing I want. But this is what has happened. This is what is real. Our lives have been ripped in half. The pain is sometimes dull, but mostly deep and stabbing. And again, if this is the type of pain you went through (definitely much worse than this), I am glad we’ve taken it from you.

Missing you more every day.

Love Mum