What My Son’s Death Has Taught Me About Life

From grief to gratitude — Lessons learned the hardest way possible

I was casually browsing for new kitchen ideas on my laptop when my ex-husband walked into my bedroom. Although we’d remained friends for the twenty-plus years since our divorce, I was confused by his unannounced presence. I’d heard the doorbell ring minutes earlier and assumed it was one of the kids' friends.

I noticed his expression as he walked towards me, and my confusion was immediately replaced by concern. He never made eye contact as he grabbed my hands and stood me up to wrap his arms around me.

“Benjamin was in an accident,” he calmly and matter-of-factly stated while holding me firmly against him for support. He knew what was coming next.

“Is he okay?”

I envisioned my son lying in a hospital bed unconscious and needed to know the extent of his injuries.

I have to get to my baby.

Never had I expected to hear the next four words regarding my child.

“He didn’t make it.”

I lost my son four years ago. He died instantly in a head-on collision at the age of 21. While the first year was pretty much a blur, the last three have been a period of learning how to navigate life as a different person.

The after Viki.

Every person will experience loss in their lifetime. The magnitude of loss may vary, but each leaves us with struggles to overcome and lessons to learn. The resulting aftermath — Grief — can carry a person into a deep hole of depression and anxiety from which they never fully recover or, if processed from a positive perspective, can awaken the mind to a deeper sense of awareness, and surprisingly…gratitude.

Through my experience as a bereaved mother, support groups, and figuratively learning how to ride a bike all over again, I’ve been able to embrace what my son’s death had to teach me about life.

Control Is An Illusion

One of the biggest changes in perspective came with the awareness that — despite our attempts at trying to steer the cart — we really are at the mercy of life.

For all the dreams and hopes I had for my son, all the years of protecting, guiding, and making memories — having to send him off to be cremated was never part of the plan. For all the advice given and requests denied in an attempt to lead him down a path I felt would make him a better and more responsible person like we’re taught to do as good parents — had I known he would never live past his 21st birthday, I would have done things differently.

That’s the thing about life; we always assume there is plenty of time.

In the grand scheme, we are minuscule, temporary (and maybe a bit delusional) beings on this vast planet, and for most of us, that thought is terrifying.

But therein also lies the beauty.

Understanding that our destiny in life isn’t all in our hands and that we don’t have to push ourselves to accomplish something big enough to change the world, or stress over finding our exact purpose and passion, can allow us to breathe and just enjoy what comes along. Being a “go-with-the-flow” person has just as much to offer and teach the world, if not more.

Dream your dreams, but be flexible. Life will — without a doubt — throw you some curveballs that will catapult you in a different direction.

And that’s okay.

I feel it safe to assume that no one alive has the answer, but what makes the most sense to me is that life was meant to simply be lived. To be survived. It’s okay to just enjoy the ride at times and see where it takes you.

People Should Be Reminded That They Will Die Soon

Most of us fumble our way through life. It’s rare for us to wake up in the mornings and think about how many days we have left to live. We generally awaken artificially with a mental to-do list, and if we’re lucky, we might have something exciting to look forward to.

Taking time to live in the present moment is something that we’ve been told we should do, yet requires quite a bit of mental effort to accomplish.

By the end of our day, we’ve crossed off another square on our monthly calendar, and before we know it, we’re cleaning out our closets and discovering old calendars from years gone by. I recently found one from 2009 when I had four kids between the ages of eight and eighteen. As I flipped through the heavily marked pages and schedule for each month, I felt as if I was looking into someone else’s life.

I barely remembered any of it. Along with the thought of how the hell did I survive this, was the more important question:

How many years did I miss?

“Life gets mighty precious when there’s less of it to waste” ~Bonnie Raitt

Since losing my son and wishing I had allowed him to do the things he had wanted to do — instead of what I wanted him to do — my life has taken on new meaning.

Whenever I’m asked why I want to do something that makes no sense to the questioner (like my recent decision to quit my job of eleven years, sell my home and give away my belongings to travel), I simply say:

Because I’ll be dead soon.

Life is just too damn short and I’m tired of being too damn busy with shit that won’t matter when I’m on my death bed to enjoy it.

We Should Embrace Our Pain

The instinctive reaction to pain is to escape from the source. Many grievers attempt to cope by covering up the emotions with drinking, drugs, or seeking unhealthy distractions from the thoughts that can lead them into depression — Anything to avoid enduring the soul-wrenching reality of their loss. These actions can hinder the grieving process and cause more serious emotional complications later in life.

Emotions are there for a reason, and none can exist on their own. We need to know the negative to understand and recognize the positive.

During the first weeks after losing my son, I vaguely remember installing wainscoting in my living room with a rum and coke next to me on the floor while listening to Pink Floyd. The measuring and cutting was the perfect distraction. The drinks — probably not the best idea, but nobody dared to stop me.

I later went to lunch with a friend and (over drinks) met a man who held fundraisers for families of dementia and Alzheimer patients. Upon hearing of my loss, he gave me the best advice:

Embrace the suck.

He suggested I allow myself to feel the sadness instead of trying to avoid it.

I soon began researching methods other bereaved parents used to get through their grief, and went nuts on Amazon ordering several books at once by different authors. The main consistency in each was the suggestion of “sitting with your grief” — allowing yourself to feel whichever emotion came to visit you on a given day without seeking a distraction.

When I started to implement these practices and allow myself to have a good snot session when the notion hit me, I soon learned that the release would usually lead to a better day.

We generally come equipped with everything we need to survive in this world — physically and mentally.

If we don’t allow negative emotions to have their moments in the spotlight, they can build up and consume us. An even worse fate than living with grief, is also losing the ability to feel joy.

Grief Isn’t Linear

Forget what you’ve been told about the stages of grief.

Most of us are aware of Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ psychological concepts. Although her books helped to soften the stigma and made it easier to talk about death, these stages were originally created to describe the process terminally ill patients experience — not necessarily the grief from losing a loved one.

There is nothing linear about it. In fact, that “line” is more of a senseless scribble.

During the past four years, I have experienced all five stages. Many times. In different orders.

When I think I’m having a great day, I’ll be pummeled with a bout of anger while picking out almond butter at the grocery store. When I think I’ve passed the acceptance stage, I’ll wake up one morning and the realization that my son is gone will be as fresh as day one.

Most of the time, grief pops in during the happiest of occasions, just to remind me that my son isn’t there to experience it.

Through my support group, I’ve encountered parents and siblings who — out of guilt — can’t bear to do anything that might bring joy to their lives, and others who vow to live the loudest and happiest lives they can in honor of their loved-one’s memory.

While there are many psychological theories and models on how humans cope with grief, there is no right or wrong way to grieve — there is no time frame. Each person’s journey is as unique and personal as their fingerprint.

I’ve dedicated my journey to making my son proud, and to seeing and doing the things he is unable to experience since his life was cut short.

Emotion Is The Greatest Catalyst of Art

Art is born from emotion. History’s great artists created some of their best works during times of heartbreak. They released the energy from their sadness, anger and unrequited love into the world through various forms of artistic expression.

Four years into my journey, and I’m amazed when one of my posts or articles appears in my memories on social media. Since I don’t have much recollection of that first year after the accident, it feels like I’m reading them for the first time — from someone else.

Holy crap. I wrote that? That’s good shit.

Use that sadness. Use that pain. Sit down and begin to write — even if you can’t see the screen through your tears. Paint. Create music. Whatever outlet you usually use, allow that emotion to propel your creativity. You’ll eventually be amazed at the beauty that unfolds through pain.

My New Normal

There was much about the grieving process that I didn’t expect, but the biggest surprise was the new shift in perspective that made me appreciate life in the after, more than I did in the before. Even without my son.

Grief never goes away. I won’t get over it. I’ve learned by creating space for the emotions that beg my attention and redirecting my focus onto something positive, that the pain has gotten softer over time. Joy has made its way back into my life and, along with grief, the two have created their own unique dance that has become a part of the new me.

I may not be the tough, “no excuses” chick that I used to be, but I’ve evolved into someone with more compassion, acceptance and gratitude for the people in my world. I believe for every negative experience, there will be a positive one of equal magnitude, and it’s worth hanging around to see what happens.

Despite the hole that was left behind when my son died, life is still beautiful. I’ve discovered I’m a survivor, I’m not too shabby at public speaking, and I’m also pretty darn good at installing wainscoting.

Ben would be proud.