Why the words we use matter...

Forever Forward were the two words I’d seen on the side of a bus which I referenced at the end of my previous post. Together they sound rather like a call to arms. Full of energy and determination.

And sometimes, as a bereaved parent, we find ourselves pleasantly surprised to feel like this, however fleetingly. Not at the beginning of course…and I’m using the word ‘beginning’ very loosely, because it’s highly likely that, after we’ve lost our child, ‘early grief’ is more accurately measured in years, rather than days or even months. But, as time goes by, there may well be moments when we find ourselves believing we’ve actually got this.

If you haven’t read my earlier repost, Co-Destiny, originally part of my Obstacles to Healing series, it’s worth taking a look. Because in it I describe the phenomena that we become familar with in profound grief, namely our oscillating between two different stages, grieving and restoration. It’s in the latter stage that we may feel more positive, like we’re making progress and have more energy for pushing on.

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And yes, these may only be very small moments, and frustratingly brief, but they aren’t nothing. Sometimes they act as powerful reminders that the desolate place we are in right now need not be where we ultimately have to stay. That’s why, when these positive surges first arrive, we may find ourselves feeling renewed optimism about our chances of living a better life, outside of our immediate tragedy, at some point in the future.

Have you ever found yourself wondering what is happening at these times? If you’re anything like me, the suggestion that you’re coming to some kind of acceptance that your child is dead will feel totally unacceptable. And woe betide anyone who might be foolish enough to joyfully observe that, at last, I’ve started to move on.

I will never reference myself as having accepted my son’s death: as far as I’m concerned, it shouldn’t have happened and it will always feel wrong that he’s no longer here. And neither do I ever plan to move on, because that would require me to leave him behind. No, when I’m feeling more positive (and nowadays that’s most of the time) it’s because I’m choosing to spend my energy on personal healing, so I can move with my son into a brighter future, for us both.

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But isn’t this all linguistic trickery, my attempts to soften this loss by playing around with how I describe it? Well, I don’t think so. I believe the words we say to ourselves really matter.

And that’s why, in the piece I’m reposting today, I chose to use the words ‘Facing Forwards.’ Less of a battle-cry than ‘Forever Forward’ but just as powerful. Because what I described here is an important decision that we can (eventually) make to STOP spending time torturing ourselves over the past.

How do we do this? By setting an intention. We decide that those moments when we feel our old energy and determination returning aren’t just freak accidents, they’re a sign that there is a future of new possibilities ahead of us and that, by committing to facing forwards, our healing will continue to move in this direction too.

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As ever, I am acutely aware that I am writing from a perspective which time has gifted me. My son died in April 2021 and so I have had 64 months (or 1920 days) to process this loss. Where I am now bears no resemblance to the place I was in at the beginning of my journey and for me it’s important to acknowledge this.

Because, whilst I would never want to go back to the agonising start, I haven’t forgotten how it felt, and how hurtful I found any suggestion, however well-meaning, that I would not always feel as bad as I did at present. Instead, what I most needed was for others to create a space where VALUE was placed upon what I was FEELING RIGHT NOW. And perhaps this was because, amongst all the horror and complicated emotions around the loss, something else, in its purest form, was crying out for my attention…something which has only grown stronger in the years which have followed…and that is LOVE FOR MY CHILD.

If right now your grief feels very raw, I hope that, at the very least, these words provide some comfort for you. That, amongst the devastation in which you may currently be sitting, you can still feel the presence of something deeply precious: the enduring love you have for your OWN child. Because nothing can, or will, ever take this away…

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My aim in all my writing is to share my journey in ways which help other parents navigating child loss feel less alone. Posts are free…but if you wish to show support, I always appreciate new subscribers and any sharing of my work. The buttons are below, thank you.

Stories from other bereaved parents can be found in Tears, Tools and Treasure. And if you would like to share your own story here, you are warmly welcomed to DM me.

Unless otherwise stated, every word in this post is my own. No form of AI was used to produce it as I believe in the importance of lived experience and authentic expression.