I’m being a little loose with someone’s privacy here, but I think it’s necessary for people to have some exposure to the forever grief of losing a child.
It’s not just a day. On February 2, I published the post right below, which for today will remain there. Jody’s father sent me this message a couple of days later:
Thank you for Remembering Miss Body’s birthday. I couldn’t bring myself to post a comment. She died on Easter 3 years ago and I still can’t bite the head off a damn chocolate bunny without bawling.
Then, later, he wrote that she was his sunshine. I understand his not being able to post a comment . . . because he loved her so much. And I can also feel him thinking that he just had to . . . because he just loves her so much.
My grandmother lost a son when he was 18 months old back in 1924. He died from Scarlet Fever. About 45 years later I was helping my grandmother clean out a closet. We came across a suitcase that had a small velvet suit inside it. He had worn it for the Christmas before he died. She just sat there and looked so incredibly sad. She said a parent should never have to bury a child and the pain never went away. I always remembered that and realized when we buried my mother that my grandmother was burying her child, something she should never have to do. Again.
You are right. It is forever pain.