We never said a proper good-bye. This time, this last time, was filtered through layers of sedation and shock in a room that was unbearably bright, strangers looking on in witness. This final farewell held nothing as familiar as a kiss, a hug, a smile and a wave good-bye as you took your leave. This good-bye was something we were not prepared for.
We never knew how aware you were during those last three weeks. We hoped somehow you could hear us talking to you, encouraging you, singing, praying. We hoped you didn’t feel pain or discomfort or fear, especially fear. Your eyes were closed, maybe that was a blessing, you couldn’t see the fear in ours. When weeks earlier you had to be intubated, sedated and paralyzed, we failed to recognize the permanence of the procedures and the moment had come and gone unknown to us for the loss it ultimately was. We were never again to share communication with you, eye to eye. You were never again to see the love so present in our eyes. We always expected you to heal. We always expected another chance to look into your eyes.
All I wanted was time; time for you to live and love and laugh and cry and breathe and grow old. All I wanted was to see you smile again. I didn’t want much. I write about my pain, my loss, my grief, when it is you who lost your life. My son, what you lose, I lose. What hurts you, hurts me. We cannot be separated. There was a time when you couldn’t tell where you stopped and I began.
You are loved. You will always be loved. Smile and feel the warmth of that love on your face, and I will smile back at you.
When facing the unknown, hope is as reasonable as despair.
When You Lose a Child 
Thank you for writing the story of your grieving and your son so well. I lost my son on May 13, 2018. It was Mother’s Day. Similarly, to your story my son was strong, very athletic, healthy, marathon runner, just a brave heart in any way. He was not just a son. He supported me and his sister. He was and is a son with a huge heart and so strangely as I am realizing more and more he was more mature than all of us. From an angry teenager he grew up to become a person with deep philosophy – forgiving and giving, tolerant and patient. He spoke six languages and his desire to learn and fly higher and higher was never-ending. I am so proud of him and will always be.
When everything aligned in his life everything ended. He went to hike National Sequoia Park the Watchover trail. He slipped in the snow and fell into a cliff – 900 feet high. A second and the impact is huge. I will never forget the trip, the search for him, the pain and more over my fear and pain for the pain he felt. I ask myself this question every day.
I am still in the pain, chaotically looking for answers, excruciating and lonely pain. But I am so grateful. He left so much – the songs he sang to me and sent via messages, the letters, the last card he gave me for the last year Mothers Day stated “ We will never be far from each other”. His name is Anton Dokov. He was cremated on his 30th birthday by coincidence.
I love you People with all my heart and I know your pain
My son was found dead on Oct 17th. Although I have grieved, the sheer agony has just begun. Andrew had a pituitary tumor, but we had dealt with it so well since he was 14. He was 27 when he died. I received the death certificates last week. The dam broke. I feel like he needs me. If I could figure out a way to be with him and not hurt anyone else I would go. The loss is so cutting. I miss him so much. Overwhelming is an understatement. I had Andrew when I was 20 years old and in college. We grew up together. I start a local support group for 13 weeks in January. Nothing to help feels like enough. Grief so over powering it is scary. Andrew has never NOT been there. He has a brother and sister he loved so much. I can’t help them.i can’t help me. There has to be a next step.
An interesting window to the grief unknown. But life is such that no one can gaurantee you are entitled to take the nex breath.
I am so very sorry for the loss of your beautiful, amazing Son. I admire you for sharing.your story, your pain and your.friendship. Thank you for sharing your beautiful, comforting, loving words. I found your story Thru The Faces of Sepsis on the Sepsis Alliance website. I just had aspiration pneumonia and sepsis, and have been trying to learn everything I can about the illnesses. (I am sorry about the order and my words being unorganized, i’m having.trouble with my phone) The reason that I chose to comment on this post is I lost one of my sons to sudden infant.death.syndrome on Dec. 12, 1985, Troy.Lee.Critchlow was born on Sept.4, 1985 & he lived for.100 wonderful days, his funeral was on.Dec..16, 1985., he was our first boy after two girls, we were thrilled to.have all of them