As I approach the two-year mark since the loss of my son, I find myself reflecting on the profound impact of his absence. Nathan succumbed to cancer just days after turning five, leaving behind my husband, Mark, and his younger brother, Leo, who is now five himself.
In many ways, I’ve been coping as well as can be expected under such heart-wrenching circumstances. Like many who tread this painful path, I established a nonprofit organization to honor Nathan’s memory and channel my priorities into something meaningful. My life was once consumed by my son’s illness; every moment revolved around his care. After his passing, I felt an overwhelming emptiness, as if a persistent noise in my mind—an amalgam of anxiety, fear, and hope—had abruptly ceased. That suffocating silence is tangled with grief, and in a desperate attempt to fill that void, I’ve immersed myself in cancer advocacy again. It’s a futile effort to alleviate the sense of failure for not being able to save him.
There are moments when I long for the chaos that accompanied our hospital stays, where I could hold Nathan’s hand and reassure him that everything would be alright. I was his anchor, and he was mine.
The Daily Struggle
Throughout my day, the experience of grief ebbs and flows. Some mornings, as I awaken, I’m momentarily free from the weight of sorrow. But as I rise, the reality of my loss feels like a heavy blanket pulling me down. I drag myself across the room and catch a glimpse of Nathan’s photo next to his urn. Some days, I manage a whisper of “good morning,” while other days, I’m swept away by tears before the day has even begun.
I have to get Leo ready, so I shuffle past Nathan’s closed bedroom door, a painful reminder that he is not there. As I brew my coffee, memories flood in—Nathan used to help me prepare it, claiming he was putting the “wub” (love) into it. Even when he was bedridden, I would bring the coffee to him, refusing to let cancer take that simple pleasure from us.
Leo brings joy to my life. I cherish our “morning hugs,” holding him a little too tightly. I indulge in his breakfast whims—cereal, bagels, or pancakes. The corner of the couch, once Nathan’s favorite spot, now hosts Leo, and I can’t help but recall the times I watched Nathan nestled there with his Spiderman pillow.
Finding Remnants of Nathan
Two years on, I still stumble upon remnants of Nathan in the most unexpected places—old drawings, scraps of paper with care instructions from his treatment days, and toys that Leo plays with daily. These artifacts evoke bittersweet memories that I tuck away, only to revisit later.
This evening, I take Leo for a swim, wanting to savor these fleeting summer days before school begins. Watching him struggle with fear, I can’t help but think how Nathan would have dove into the pool without hesitation. I imagine him at seven, splashing around, and that vision fills my heart with a blend of joy and sorrow. I carry Nathan with me, in every joyful moment and every trip we take.
Life Moves Forward
Over time, I’ve come to realize that life has not paused; it has continued to move forward. Nathan will always be the big brother, even as Leo grows older and prepares for his first day of kindergarten. “I wish you had a brother to ride the bus with,” a friend remarked, and it stings, a reminder of what Nathan missed out on.
The back-to-school season brings a flood of emotions that can be harder to bear than Christmas. I see parents posting pictures of their children, and each image is a reminder of what could have been for Nathan. My heart aches knowing that every milestone Leo achieves is shadowed by the absence of his brother.
When asked how many children I have, I often struggle to find the right response. Sometimes I mention Leo alone, other times I acknowledge Nathan, but it’s always accompanied by a wave of discomfort. I know people mean well, but there’s no perfect way to convey the depth of my loss.
Nighttime Reflections
At night, I still reach for Nathan’s toothbrush, unable to part with it. It’s a small connection to him that I cherish. My husband and I navigate our grief in silence, often unable to comfort each other because we know there’s no remedy for this pain. We share a “Ty doll,” a handmade tribute that brings us some solace. We often find ourselves sobbing together or finding fleeting moments of happiness as we recount stories about Leo’s adventures.
There will never be a “perfect day” in the life of a grieving parent. Instead, we learn to find happiness in small moments that others may overlook. The pain of loss is a constant presence, yet we strive to cultivate joy amidst it all.
I miss my son dearly.
Further Reading
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Summary
This heartfelt narrative portrays the daily life of a grieving parent, reflecting on the profound loss of their child and the ways they navigate their grief while caring for a living child. The author shares memories, the struggle of facing milestones without their deceased child, and the ongoing presence of sorrow in their life.