‘Time moves on, but life is forever changed’: The pain of losing a child

On the evening of the 19th February, 2020, a Tuesday evening to be precise, my husband and I decided to splash out and watch a movie mid-week as we were told to enjoy the time together before a baby would come and change everything. Our nursery was complete and we were ready to welcome our sweet boy home any day now. He was full term, 38 weeks and 2 days old.

However, that wasn’t the ending to the story of our first-born son. On that evening, his heart stopped beating and he died inside my womb.

We named our son Brayden Elijah. Brayden meaning wisdom, Elijah after my favourite prophet. We later found out that Elijah had ascended directly to Heaven just like our sweet boy. In the time we got to spend with Brayden earth side, we grew to know him and love him deeply. He was gentle and had a special presence. He loved cranberry sodas and chocolate.

After our loss, I went for a walk with a good friend. At the end of our time together I turned to her and said “so what do I do now? Does life just go on?” and she wisely said to me “time moves on but life is forever changed.” And these words still stick with to me to this day.

The problem of pain

C.S. Lewis wrote that “Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say “My tooth is aching” than to say “My heart is broken.”

I love these words by Lewis. In fact, in my counselling work with children, I often use the analogy of a beach ball when it comes to avoiding or concealing emotions and pain. When you try to push the beach ball under the water, it springs back up. In fact, the deeper you try to push the ball down, the greater force it bounces back up with!

And so it is with pain. The more we try to conceal or suppress our pain, the more it springs back with force, becoming a burden to us and those around us.

So what to do about pain?

We can of course avoid or deny or ignore the pain, which is a legitimate and sometimes protective action to take for a certain period of time. But maybe we might have difficulty doing this over the longer term (recall the beach ball analogy).

C.S. Lewis said that “we can ignore even pleasure. But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

Our trials and pain may seem to appear in the disguise of an enemy. It can feel like God has betrayed us or not shown up in answering our prayers. The biblical writer James encourages his readers when faced with trials to welcome them as friends rather than resenting them as intruders. Instead of running and hiding we are to face them in the awareness that they come to improve us. In fact, Lewis does not argue that suffering is good in itself. Instead, he points to the redemptive, sanctifying effects of suffering.

I am learning through my counselling work that judgements and criticisms aimed towards ourselves can actually perpetuate our pain even further (if that is even be possible). For example, “is it normal to be thinking this way?” or “am I losing my mind?” When I am unkind and uncompassionate to myself, I actually cause more distress and suffering. It is important to step back and reassess these critical parts of yourself and where they might come from.

When we begin to notice or attend to our pain, the trauma we experience from our loss can also trigger other historical pain and trauma. These previous traumas such as accidents, assaults, abuse, neglect, or even relational troubles—any type of trauma that felt unpredictable and uncontrollable - can compound or exacerbate our emotional response to a major event such as the loss of a child.

The reality, of course, is that being traumatized can make you a difficult person to get along with at times. Because you suddenly get angry, you suddenly shut down or you space out. But more difficult is to live a life not being able to trust yourself. There’s always this internal pressure to step up to the plate and keep functioning. So the next piece is a profound feeling of shame about yourself and your reactions.

Brené Brown says that depending on how we deal with pain and shame, we can either shut down or it can lead us to a new sense of bravery and authenticity. She advocates for the importance of vulnerability and courage in leading an authentic life. For shame, it’s about shining a light in some dark corners and normalizing some universal experiences that by definition make us feel very alone. Many of us believe that vulnerability is the center of dark and difficult emotions that we don’t want to feel; so we guard against it. The truth is that vulnerability is the center of all emotions. We’re emotional beings, and to understand our emotions requires a bit of uncertainty and risk.

So what if we could live vulnerably and authentically? Could this really be the answer to our shame and pain? It almost sounds too good to be true. Yet I am here to say that it is true, and we can do it. Together. We can be part of the change where we can share our pain and shame, and feel connection and love. We can dare to live vulnerably in a world that has yet to awaken fully to the gift that is living in authentic connection with others.

Please find a link to the full article published in the BC Catholic: https://bccatholic.ca/voices/larissa-rossen/time-moves-on-but-life-is-forever-changed-the-pain-of-losing-a-child.