I know too much about grief. I am experiencing too much of it. My 19 year old son was in a car accident last August and did not survive. I still don’t like to say or write the “d” word with regard to him. That would be de _ d. Which is what he is but I can’t deal with it. I didn’t want to write about him. Alex. He was absolutely wonderful young man. I thought about writing about our much-loved dog Max, who we accidentally ran over and killed last February. I mourned losing him, and felt aghast at what we had done to him. We love our animals dearly. What could be worse than killing your own pet? Now I know. But I had to write about Alex. I need to honor him, because what else can I do? I sometimes wish that I could dress all in black so that the world would know what I am suffering. I have gone through some of the stages of grief many times. Sometimes I experience some of the stages within the same day, even within the same minute perhaps. From what I read and from what people have told me, this is the way it goes. I don’t want to reach the last stage – acceptance. I never want to accept this. Someone who lost her son told me that a counselor had said to her that she never had to “accept” what had happened, because it is unacceptable, but that she would have to learn to “accommodate” the loss, to figure out how to go on with her life. At this point, I think that “accommodate” is a better word. If I absolutely knew that Alex is fine wherever he is, that he is somewhere, then I think that I might somewhat accept what happened. I would miss him, but I just want him to be ok and to not be totally gone. I think that most of the time I am in denial, or avoidance. It is how I go on, and I have to go on because I have two daughters who deserve a chance at life. I manage to put the truth away, and I am aware of doing it. It is locked up in some compartment in my mind. I seem to be better able to do this than many people, which makes me feel guilty. But since I have to go on, and I have to get things done, and I can’t do them while crying, my grief gets put away. I think that if I couldn’t do that I really might go crazy, although I don’t know exactly what that means. Or I might slip into major depression. I seem to have three levels that I operate in. Usually I am in denial or avoidance of the truth. It feels as if my beloved Alex is away at college or something. Sometimes I am teary, or just sad and depressed. The third level is the scary one, where I acknowledge the horror, I know the depth of our loss, and I feel that I can’t take it. I am afraid of this level taking over. I guess that’s why I usually avoid the truth. Sometimes I am so angry that I want to destroy something, but I don’t know what I want to destroy. Me, probably. I am angry at the way the world is set up. I am furious that there is so much suffering in this world. I am disgusted that at 48 years old I am left here on earth with various signs of the aging process starting, while my young son is gone. I hate the world, and it doesn’t deserve him. I am furious that an amazing individual like my son, so incredibly intelligent and wonderfully kind, would be taken from this earth. Why was he taken? I am very angry that I don’t have an answer to that question. I want to know why this had to happen. If it was chance, if there is no greater meaning to life, then I think I hate that even more. I’ve done a lot of bargaining, particularly in the first six months or so, when it still seemed possible that somehow it could be changed. “Please, please, please, let me die and let Alex be here.” “Please, let his Dad and me both die. Alex could and would take care of his sisters probably better than we do.” “Take all of my jewelry, take my health, I’ll work 3 jobs, I’ll never even see him, let me suffer, just please bring him back.” “I’ll do ANYTHING I can, ANYTHING, just please, I want him back.” Nothing works. In trying to go on with my life, because I really don’t want to heal, I have read various books. I first was drawn to books that dealt with Near-Death Experiences and After-Death Communications, trying to find hope that maybe Alex was still “here”, just not on earth with us. I also read books written by people who had lost loved ones, particularly their children, because it helps somewhat to know that you weren’t singled out, and to hear that other parents have had the same thoughts, wishes, and fears. I have also gone to a few meetings of The Compassionate Friends, a group run for and by bereaved parents. I have not really had any negative experiences with people trying to invalidate my pain, or telling me that I should be over my grief. I have heard from others that this happens, but I am not the most social person, so it hasn’t happened to me yet. My father would point out that at least Alex didn’t suffer, and that he is not “surviving” in a vegetative state. This is not always what I wanted to hear, but it is very true, and I know that my dad was trying to help. As I used to think, “Everything kind that people do or say helps, and yet nothing really helps.” I guess I’m a fairly private person when it comes to grief. I don’t like to cry in front of others. When I would talk to others after the accident, of course I wanted and needed their empathy, but I was equally desperate to talk about Alex, and to hear any of their thoughts and memories of Alex. I also was desperate to hear their thoughts about religion and afterlife, which was quite a change for me, because I had never cared before, and certainly wouldn’t have wanted to talk about these subjects. I still want to talk about him, and have others share their memories of him with me, and I’m still interested in peoples’ beliefs. I just love him. It’s not fair. The world is not fair. The world is cruel. He was an absolutely amazing individual, and I hate that I/we have to go on without him.