My story, my “why”
A snapshot of life when my tragedy occurred:
I was on vacation with my boyfriend, having the time of my life. My 4 sons were with their dad. It was Christmas break from school, they’d gone on vacation together and had an amazing time, and were back home now. There was a 6 day overlap between when they got back from their vacation and when my boyfriend and I returned home from ours.
My sons were 21, 19, 15 & 12. I was two flights away from home when I was having new years eve dinner on the balcony of a Chinese restaurant near our hotel.
I was a beautiful night when I got the call. My phone alerted me that my children’s father was calling, my ex-husband. We’d been married 19 years and were divorced for 4 years, we co-parented very well, but weren’t super friendly. It certainly wasn’t going to be a “hope youre having a happy new years eve” call. In fact, a phone call any time, let alone years eve when I was out of the state, wasn’t good. To my boyfriend, I said “oh no, this isn’t going to be good” as the pit in my stomach dropped answering the call.
There’d been an accident. It was probably just a concussion. Ok. This was jarring but it would be ok. His dad had talked to him, he was coherent and fine.
My boyfriend and I went back to the hotel and I waited for confirmation that it was just a concussion, I just wanted to be sure everything would be fine after a brief hospital stay. Just a concussion.
More time went by than made sense for a quick confirmation.
He called back and I answered on the first ring. “He’s gone.”
“What?”
“He’s gone Allie, he’s gone.”
“What are you saying? Why are you saying that?”
“He died, he’s gone, he died,” he was crying. Screaming? Crying? I’m not sure. I didn’t understand anything.
I rolled off of the bed onto the floor, kneeling at the edge of the bed. “Why are you saying that?” I think I was screaming, or maybe I wasn’t yet.
I looked at my boyfriend, “he’s saying he died. Why would he say that? What is happening?”
Nothing was ever the same again.
Ever.
I know grief.
I know shock, denial, anger, desperation, bargaining, more shock, more denial, more anger, depression, and ultimately, I have had to come to know acceptance.
Now, I educate. I help and support and am here for others, just like others were here for me. I leaned hard into my community and learned what worked for me.
Daily check ins were the most helpful for me in those first few months.
You are not alone with your grief, and you need not ever feel that you are.
Even when no one understands, you are not alone.
A daily check in with a grief coach can help you feel grounded, feel the least bit sane, feel a tiny slice of relief from the chaos maybe. It can keep you present on the earth so you don’t float away into the ether, maybe.
I had worked in hospice care as an aide before my son died. I was familiar with death. Comfortable with it, even. I accepted death as a part of life. I helped other families with their loss. But when my child died, I lost all sense of reason, logic, understanding. It was the most shocking and confusing thing imaginable.
I became a certified grief coach as a way to help others because I know the pain, I know the confusion, I know the ache.
Everything changes when someone you love dies. Everything.
Every part of my life was uprooted. Not one aspect of my life has remained the same.
I can be here for you to help you through.