My father has had to bury two babies in his lifetime: his and mine.
The first time, I was too young to understand the full gravity of such a loss; the second time, I was too broken to deal with the necessities of such a loss.
In retrospect, it must have been crushing for him to go through the same delicate process again; na man my papa be!
For my mother, it was an echo of one of the darkest moments of her life and having to relive it again was painful, to say the least; na woman my mama be!
For my wife, it was the second loss of a loved one in a space of less than two years. Having to go through it again? I don’t think I can find the right words to explain how it must have felt; na woman my wife be!
For me, everything was a blur. However, I remember holding my son to my bare, chest and singing to him as we raced to a hospital in an ambulance. I remember placing my finger in his hand one last time, hoping he would grip at it. I remember my tears: na man I be!
There is a handbook for everything these days and dealing with loss is no exception. They tell you it happens to everyone. They tell about the stages of grief. They tell you about moving on and taking care of yourself. They know what they are saying. But they are wrong — no handbook can truly prepare you for the pain of loss. It is a heart-wrenching process that can drive even the toughest people mad. You never truly heal from loss; you just learn to live with it and hope that time numbs the pain.
The only reason I was able to stand through this process and carry myself admirably was the support systems I had. My parents were my rock through everything, from the start. I don’t think I can ask for a better set of parents. I don’t how I could have gone through this without them. My in-laws were the frame which kept me upright and let me stand. The few friends I was able to share with were a source of comfort to me. My family helped ease my pain. My pastor prayed for me and checked up on me and my wife regularly. But I think the major reason I was able to stand was the knowledge that I had to be there to console my wife. It was fuel enough for me even on the days when I was frail.
We are getting better these days. It’s not like we’re completely numb to it — it’s a pain which never goes away. But we are healing, somewhat.
I think everyone deals with loss in a different manner and at a different pace. It is important, however, that you heal.
