Losing a child to death can be the most devastating emotion a human being is likely to feel. It is difficult to describe and even more difficult to understand by one who has not felt it. “Time Heals” maybe true for other wounds but not this one. Others may feel sad for you but cannot quite comprehend your pain.
“When a child dies, a part of the self is cut off.” Actually when a child dies, a part of you dies; you can never be the same again: not like you were before and never like others. The pain never dims; you just learn to live without making it apparent; without making it a predominant theme in your life. But it is as surely there as a shadow that shows up every now and then. I have been waiting 14 years for the pain to abate…………
Does anyone ever really recover from the loss of a child? We do recover from the loss of other loved ones: loss of parents we expect naturally, the shock and loss of a partner wears off stemming from the knowledge/rational that one of the two always goes first, loss of friends and siblings can be taken in one’s stride and substituted by others. But even another child does not make up for the child lost. Does the difference derive from the fact of having given birth to this individual? I do not know.
Men and women have different styles of coping, I was told; women are more open and willing to cry and talk about their pain while men tend to internalize the sorrow. I found I could not bring myself to talk about the loss at all. After a couple of years, my husband could reminisce and casually mention him in conversation where I simply did not or could not. Writing had always come easy to me but this was one topic I desisted from addressing…….even up until today.
It was even more difficult to look at my little boy’s clothes and other things because there were so many memories attached. I simply could not stand them around so I packed them all and gave them away to my sister who had a boy almost the same age. I only could not part with his footwear (the child who could not walk in the last months of his life!!); and those remained with me till we moved out of the house we had lived in. A couple of years ago, I saw his clothes with my sister, and he just seemed to come back in them. I took these back and have kept them carefully now. Time does change things after all: what I could not bear to look at for the pain it caused at one time, did become bearable after 10 or so years had elapsed.
In the first year after he died, I would often ask myself, “What is the meaning to the loss?” I wanted to make sense of his death. I had to find a reason, a meaning to it, or else I felt his short life would have been in vain. The question became even more important because his life had never had any future while he lived or had he lived longer. He was a special child, you see; mentally retarded caused by infantile epilepsy triggered by vaccinations. He required constant care and while he did eventually learn to walk and speak a few words, I was always with him, day and night, most often knowing his needs even before he realized them. Since he had no speech, I had fully attuned myself to him; and I found my older son, who was not even 10 years old then, had developed the same sensitivity to his younger brother’s needs.
After his death, all those around me had some suggestion or the other about how I should make use of my time now that I suddenly found myself with nothing to do. Seven years of 24X7 around a single entity catering to his every unspoken need……it felt like I had just got off a roller coaster ride and everything was disoriented and confused. It was winter, and I remember till today how chilled I used to feel almost to the bones in a geographical area known for its non-existent winters.
And in my mind, the refrain would go on: how can this be? I cannot simply go back to doing what everyone does (working in an office or being a housewife) and behave as if he never existed. How can his short life make a difference? And slowly it dawned on me that seven years with a special child had equipped me to handle other special children. I remembered how I had searched high and low for various resources, including special educators and other professionals to help me. So many others would be doing the same even as I was sitting and moping my loss. The answer stared me in the face: I had to do what the past seven years had equipped me to do….I had to stand up and be included among the professionals who populated the field of special needs. And to do so, my practical experience had to be supplemented with professional credentials. I applied to a leading institute that trained professionals in the field of mental health and armed them with diplomas that would legitimately authorize them to help children with special needs; and I convinced the decision makers to admit me in spite of being on the wrong side of the age limit.
The 18 months I spent in the classroom with theory and practical work opened up vistas of learning that I soaked up eagerly as it complemented my personal experiences. I understood the various aspects all too well and better than my peers who were fresh graduates with hardly any experience of real life problems. Combined with my strong language skills, it came as no surprise to anyone that I topped my class. I was now ready to make my place among the extremely limited group of people working effectively in the area of special needs.
In the last 14 years, I have played the entire gamut of roles. I have consulted with NGOs and helped set up facilities for special children; I have interviewed and compiled data on parents and children who frequent physiotherapy centers to identify those with special needs and counsel them accordingly; I have facilitated the development of vocational training in marketable talents and products for teenagers with special needs; and I continued to provide free counseling and home-based educational /developmental programs to parents across the spectrum.
Most importantly, I managed all aspects of a special school set up in my house that focused on providing critical skills related to language, math, and social skills to educable mentally challenged children in the age group of 8 years to 20 years. I imbibed the latest global trends from the net and attended relevant courses wherever I found access to them, and I trained the teachers who helped me so that we were giving the children the best in the field at all times. Further, I developed methods and systems out of my own experiences with these children. It was not so much what I was teaching them as what I was learning myself that had to be taught so that they could learn a particular skill in a particular manner. For instance, the lack of physical exercise and the resultant effect on the body combined with their extreme enthusiasm for dancing gave birth to the idea of having a dance teacher. The results were there for all to see when the group learned enough to stage an evening of entertainment for family and friends. The tears of gratitude of parents and siblings who had never dreamed of seeing their special kin on stage were one thing; the resulting high motivation to make efforts for the next show and the spillover of confidence into their academic and social skill areas was an eye opener for me.
To cut it short, the school was a huge success. The parents became partners in progress, and I became content with the knowledge that my son’s life had sowed the seeds of it all. Today, circumstances have dictated that I move on to more remunerative fields; I can no longer support the school on my own resources. A new chapter in my life is unfolding with new challenges and new rewards. I look back in satisfaction and know that one day I will reenter the domain of special needs. My learning and experience remain as treasures with me that I will share again…….one day.
When I lost my son, I needed to fathom the depths of my grief and learn what this thing called grief was all about. Fourteen years later I think I know. I reiterate what I said earlier: Losing a child to death can be the most searing emotion a human being is likely to feel. It is difficult to describe and even more difficult to understand by one who has not felt it. Maybe “Time Heals” other wounds but not this one. Others may feel sad for you but cannot quite comprehend your pain.
But there are palliatives; and each one affected by this malady has to find his own. I found mine in the company of children similar to my son; today I continue to reach out to other parents through websites, and in stepping out of the shadow of my sadness, I am also able to continue healing myself. “Investing oneself in activities that give meaning to the loss helps alleviate the pain and aids in building a new life that would keep the memory alive and well in our hearts and, I am certain, make our children proud.” Try it….it may also work for you as it did for me.
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