Posted by Something happened to me 20 years ago that I think about nearly every day. On 16th July 2004 my wife and I were roused from our sleep with the phone ringing by our bedside. We were sleeping in accommodation provided by a charity named Edward’s Trust sited with Birmingham Children’s Hospital, and our 17-month-old son was in Intensive Care. The phone call was to ask us to come quickly to the Intensive Care Unit. By the time we arrived on the unit Cardio-Pulmonary-Resuscitation (CPR) was already taking place.
My son died.
There are things about those final moments that I remember vividly, and yet the memory is also blurred and unclear. I remember sitting on the floor with my head in my hands as they performed the chest compressions, I remember my wife getting me back to his bedside. I remember the doctor telling us that his blood pressure was ‘dangerously low now’. I remember us telling him not to be afraid, that we were there with him. I don’t remember them stopping the CPR.
My son died.
I remember being asked if I wanted to carry him to the room they had prepared for families to spend time with their children when they died. I remember initially saying no, worrying that I might not be able to physically do this, but I also remember changing my mind and carrying my precious, but now deceased son through the hospital. I remember phoning my parents to tell them, my wife calling her parents as well and family joining us at the hospital, bringing our daughter, our son’s twin sister.
My son died.
As I write this, nearly 20 years later, I still want to cry. I still grieve, I am still bereaved. Life has, nevertheless, moved forward. I am not sad all the time, I am not crying every day, I function, I work, I laugh, I enjoy life.
My life changed on 16th July 2003. There are things that have happened that may never have happened if he had not died. We would probably not have moved from the West Midlands to the North West. We would never have met many of the people we now consider to be our closest friends, people I cannot imagine not being part of my life. Without relocating I would not have the job(s) that I have, nor have had the opportunities that I have had.
Was my son’s death, therefore, ‘for the best’? Did this traumatic event need to happen to change the direction of my life to ensure I fulfilled some kind of destiny?
No.
My son died.
To suggest that this was in any way a positive thing, or led to positive things in a way that lessens the awfulness is to fundamentally fail to understand what those three words mean.
I would give anything for him to be with me now. My friends, my work, everything.
That does not mean, however, that I cannot use my experience to help. This does not negate the dreadfulness and it does not ‘make things right’. Maybe, however, it can help others, if not me.
As a doctor I see people who are bereaved. I understand. I see people who are watching a loved one die. I understand. I see people suggesting that they ‘should have got over’ their bereavement – I can tell them, with deeply felt personal experience, that you never ‘get over’ a bereavement, that it changes you forever, but that things will not feel like this forever.
I have learned things from my experience. I would rather not have had this lesson, but we don’t get to choose these things. If I have learned, then I can share, and I can help.
I have already previously blogged about this:
Part of Who I am – Dr Jon Griffiths (wordpress.com)
Christmas can be the hardest time – Dr Jon Griffiths (wordpress.com)
I think it might be time to start saying more about it now. Maybe some more blogs, maybe some more tweets. We will all have to endure bereavement at some point. We will all grieve. We don’t talk about death and dying as often as we should.
If you are going through a bereavement, you can feel incredibly alone, as though no one could possibly understand what you are going through. Yet there are literally thousands of people experiencing the same as you. You are not alone.
Perhaps that is the most important thing to say to anyone struggling now – you are not alone. You are not going crazy, there is unlikely anything wrong with you. It feels awful though, doesn’t it? It feels like you will never feel happy ever again, and that you shouldn’t feel happy ever again. Let me tell you now, that you can, you will, and you should feel happy again, but I can’t tell you when that will be. There is truth in the old Persian adage ‘This too shall pass’.
To everyone, please be kind. Be kind to yourselves, and please be kind to others. As we don’t often talk about these things, you never really know what others are going through, or what they have had to deal with in their life.
Bereavement is tough, ley us come alongside those who are enduring it now, let’s try and make sure that no one feels alone.
Dr Jon Griffiths 