From Anne Moss. Logan suffered from anxiety, depression, suicidal ideation and an eating disorder and died in a truck crash.
By Tamara Rollinson
Grief hits you on many levels. Loss of a job. Loss of a marriage. Death of your parents, friends and loved ones. Death is final. No turning back.
Done. Forever in this life time.
There is absolutely no comparison to the death of your child. The death of a spouse, sibling or parent, while earth shattering and sad, does not come close.
As much as I loved my Mom, her death pales in comparison to my son Logan who died at age 19 in a truck crash nearly six months ago. Mom lived a long life. She died before me as it should be. She lived her purpose.
Do I miss her? Yes.
Do I long for her unconditional love? Yes.
But I have fully accepted she has moved on.
Logan’s father Ron died by suicide when Logan was nine-years-old. Ron’s death was much more painful and profound than my mother’s. But his death did not define me and I was able to thrive and begin a new life.
Logan’s death is altogether different. I struggle to find the words to describe how I feel. Even though Logan is not here in our physical world, I still have a son. His physical form is dust. His spirit, love and energy are somewhere.
All I have left is the soul-crushing grief. The grief will be with me until I die. The more I deny it the harder it comes back at me.
I can bury the grief, pretend it is not there, distract myself with work, traveling, a social life, religion, but no matter what I do, the grief seeps through. I find myself rushing down a rocky river getting my head bashed around. No control. It is painful. Gut wrenching.
But grief is the only thing I have left of Logan. So I am learning to live with grief.
There is no healing, moving on, getting over it.
Can I survive grief? Yes.
Can I transform or grow from it? Yes.
But it takes a long time.
I am in emotional ICU, hanging on the best I can. My capacity to deal with stress is limited, as if I was expected to run a marathon after breaking both my legs.
My greatest fear is Logan will fade away like the smell of his running shoes from the thousands of miles he ran. He will be forgotten. His name not mentioned by family. His life story reduced to words like – he will be remembered fondly.
It’s up to me to live Logan’s purpose, to work his energy, to complete his job here on earth. Logan went too soon. God had nothing to do with the timing.
People call me strong, resilient and think everything is OK since I am “normal” and not screaming in tears. I can tell you I am not fine. I am not happy. I am alive. I am OK. I am able to put the grief to the side to be with family, care for for loved ones, care for myself, take care of business and go to work.
There is no solving grief or putting me in a get-over-it box. Grief is not a problem to be solved. It is my relationship with Logan. Grief is carried.
I think of the afterlife constantly. That is where Logan is. I want to know he is OK. I want to be with him so badly that the only relief I can get is knowing this life will end. I am not afraid of death. One foot is here with the living and the other in the next life.
My hope is I will find some purpose and reason from all of this. This is my journey– one I am traveling alone with the faith I have in God. All I ask of loved ones is to be there. Listen to me with compassion. Don’t abandon me.
Ask me about Logan. Share stories about him.
Understand that I am not the same and never will be.