My son died. My love for him did not

My relationship with Charles after his death has continued and evolved. The idea that I’d have a relationship with someone who is dead makes me sound like I’m in need of a good therapist or that I am unable to accept his death.

Grief is something that lives along side me now. Talking to the air, consulting my beloved dead for advice, or laughing about something I know he’d find funny is part of that new relationship, if you could call it that. As my grief has changed and softened, so has the relationship.

I have not read tarot cards, consulted an 8 ball, or used an ouija board to communicate with my beloved dead but even if I did and it helped me cope, there would no grief shame. As long as these rituals didn’t take over my life, there would be no harm in them.

I don’t have a child I can hug or hold or watch graduate or get married. But there I times I feel his presence even if that merely exists in my own heart and head.

Published by

Anne Moss Rogers

I am an emotionally naked TEDx speaker, and author of the Book, Diary of a Broken Mind. I raised two boys, Richard and Charles, and lost my youngest son, Charles to substance use disorder and suicide June 5, 2015. I help people foster a culture of connection to prevent suicide, reduce substance misuse and find life after loss. My motivational, training and workshop topics include suicide prevention, addiction, mental illness, and grief. As talented and funny as Charles was, letting other people know they matter was his greatest gift. And now the legacy I try and carry forward in my son's memory. Professional Speaker Website. Trained in ASIST and trainer for the evidence-based 4-hour training for everyone called safeTALK.

4 thoughts on “My son died. My love for him did not”

  1. Oh Anne,
    I’m so there. I can’t do otherwise. My heart still doesn’t want to accept. I put something on FB recently that describes the profound loss and isolation felt. This “relationship” is something others can’t understand till being there. I carry something of Jill’s with me everywhere I travel; I write her name in the sand. It kills me to not buy her presents. I always bought all 3 something from every vacation without them no matter what age. Now I look for things to hang in her tree.
    I look at the night sky and talk out loud.
    I ask can you see me…sometimes. It sounds crazy…I know I’m not, but it’s so painful.
    I’m glad I can write this somewhere besides my own journal knowing you and “the tribe” will understand!

  2. Absolutely. It’s necessary for my own survival and sanity. I think most bereaved parents would agree. I sure liked our old relationship better though.

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