The tar-mountain of parental grief
31 July 14
A parent’s worst nightmare is usually the possibility of losing a child to death. All parents carry this grief with them; most of them only know it as an unopened package that they briefly examine in dark times, in sympathy or in fear. Others — like me — have experienced the reality of a child’s death and know what it feels like to move into and through the huge tar-mountain of parental grief.
Most parents have imagined some scenario for a child’s death and their response afterwards. We see it lurking in dark shadows, high trees, bath-tubs, solitary walks, careless moments of play, traffic accidents, raging house-fires, plane crashes, allergic reactions or medical beds.
That imagined loss looms large on the horizon as a huge mountain of horribleness, like an inverted tar-pit of despair. Once you cross the threshold of your child’s death, you’re surrounded by a dark morass of emotional pain, and it’ll take you an unspecified length of time to wade through to the clearer skies on the other side. There’s no way to make it through grief without becoming stained by the tar of the loss, and remnants will stick to you for years to come — probably for the rest of your life.
This is the reality for a parent who has lost a child. The tar-mountain of grief does exist. There’s no short-cut around it, and the darkness must be traversed in order to move into a different phase of life.
All people move through their grief-mountains at different paces. The pace varies; some stumble and fall in one spot for a while before picking themselves up and racing to brighter skies. Others pick a steady pace and clear the grief in the right time for themselves. Perhaps some never fully reach the other side.
There’s no way of truly conveying hope to a parent lost in grief. Even though others who are experienced in losing a child may say, “It’ll get better,” to a parent who is surrounded by the sticky morass of pain, loss, regret and shattered dreams, that doesn’t actually bring a glimpse of light. Until each person absorbs or fights the pain for themselves — processing it properly — they cannot move out from under the mountainous burden of their grief.
The future is always dotted with extra piles of sticky grief. It rises unexpectedly — in the form of another child the size of our dead one, in the places we shared happy moments, in the location of their death or remains, or in a memory that unexpectedly comes to mind. Each time, the parent must start wading through the sticky morass again, using the strategies that they discovered works for them — distractions, love of others, work, chemicals, meditation, or others.

My personal experience of the burden of parental grief — including with the public arrival of it and my honest working-through and true processing of it — is that although I have moved through the main mountain of my own emotional pain, others may not acknowledge my position because their own (theoretical or real) grief-mountain still looms large in front of them.
When others look at my life — available in static form because I’ve recorded it here — it’s easy for them to project their own burden of grief onto me. How is it possible to survive the death of my beloved only son at the hand of his father, my partner for sixteen years? How can I smile at a funeral? How can I forgive my husband? How can I move on with life? How can I give a baby away after losing one to death? As a person tries to imagine how they would cope if they were dropped into my scenario, it’s impossible for them to gain my perspective if their own grief mountain fills the sky with its hope-sucking darkness.
Everyone processes their grief differently. Some never fully step out of the darkness and retain gooey strings of deep pain hanging off their psyches for years. As an observer (to my life and to others’), refrain from projecting your own expectations or experience of what a grief-mountain looks and feels like onto other people. Just accept where a person is and offer assistance if they desire it.
In my own personal experience, my unwavering faith in spiritual realities gave me the tools to consciously process my grief and loss very rapidly, although remnant pain surfaces now and again to remind me that my work isn’t complete. My children, too, have been given the space, care, love and assistance to help them work through their own emotions surrounding our family’s experience with death and loss.
Two years on, my daughters and I have moved through our individual grief-mountains. If you meet us, you’ll see that for yourself. Until then, just accept it as being so. We are living on the other side, participating wholeheartedly in a joyous, adventurous life.
If you’re still moving through your dark morass of pain, I know your burden too. You have a future — bright with a new phase of life. I hope you see it soon.
1 · Amandarose · 1 August 2014, 08:15
that was so well written, what a gracious way to describe your experiences and life. It is always a pleasure to read your blog.
2 · Taryn · 1 August 2014, 08:29
Lauren that is beautiful! I am so glad you each have moved through, though it is difficult for me to comprehend emotionally… And your admission of having a baby for a gay couple did take me by surprise. It’s not something at this point in my life I think I could ever do. That has to do with my perceived loss in doing so, my understand of the bible & more I’m sure. But I recognize that I am not you… And I value you sharing your different perspective/ approach to life so openly as it is one source I use to broaden my thinking, test my fixed ideas & to hopefully not become too entrenched in a single approach to life.
3 · Naomi · 1 August 2014, 09:16
You are indeed a gifted wordsmith, Lauren. I love how real and authentic you are; and I love that you share your life so openly and honestly – you inspire me. Thank you for being you.
4 · Melissa · 1 August 2014, 09:19
Just wanted to say thank you for your openess on such a private and emotional part of your life!
5 · Donna · 1 August 2014, 09:20
Beautifully said – it’s like STFU with an injection of love!
6 · Marisa · 1 August 2014, 10:25
Beautiful. The compassion in this post is just…beautiful. That’s not even the right word, it almost hurts me to read it, but it’s so lovely at the same time. Thank you for constantly challenging me to approach the world from a different perspective. Much, much love to you and yours.
7 · Amanda Glen · 1 August 2014, 10:35
Thanks for sharing. You are one incredible lady.
8 · Robin · 1 August 2014, 11:12
Beautifully written!
9 · Amy · 1 August 2014, 11:39
10 · Karen Lee · 1 August 2014, 12:30
Well said! Having walked through the darkness of my own mountain, I totally relate to everything you’ve written here. Thank you for drawing attention to these matters, and I hope it helps others to refrain from judging you.
11 · Jen · 1 August 2014, 14:59
I had an argument with a friend last night and spent today rehashing it. While thinking about it, I asked myself if I had treated my friend with love and compassion. I felt like I hadn’t and what I could do to rectify my future actions. That in turn made me think of this blog, as my mind set before reading this would be an endless cycle of anger and guilt towards the other person. Thanks for showing me another way to handle those I care about!
12 · lily boot · 1 August 2014, 15:45
You truly have a gift for recognising and describing your emotional experiences – I am tempted to copy these heart felt words so that I may refer to them again should I ever need to stop and think about how best (kindest and mostly lovingly) to consider someone who has suffered a terrible loss.
I have never experienced a loss like that which your family has endured and I still today feel sad for your loss. Your description of that fear all parents live with is so true. So true. I have sat there in that dark moment of fear and the tears have flowed.
I think you’re marvellously brave to share your experiences in a forum that is both so public and (sadly) so open to relentless bitchiness. And as I expressed yesterday, I am baffled by those who think they know everything and that only they possess the script describing exactly what you and your family should be doing and feeling now.
I have never visited here at Sparkling Adventures that I haven’t been intrigued or delighted by something you’ve described. So often, you have visited a place that is well known to me and I love looking at it afresh through your eyes, seeing how it has changed since I’ve last visited or having that “goodness! I didn’t know that was there!” moment. Do you remember when you went to Birdrock Beach? I’d never heard of it but your glimpse of it looked so beautiful that the next hot day we had, I packed the family up and off we went – it was fabulous! Thank you :-)
And sometimes the stories you share about your parenting really get me thinking about the way I parent my child – I don’t need to think you’re perfectly right and that I need to change right now – but isn’t it wonderful how we can catch this little glimpse of how someone else is navigating these endlessly challenging waters, and then think about our own choices and turn them over and over, looking to see if we could do something better.
Thank you Lauren. I am so glad you experience joy in your days. So you should. And my heartfelt wish is that you experience much, much, much, much more. You deserve too. Everybody does.
13 · Delcie · 1 August 2014, 18:13
Beautifully written Lauren…
14 · Anna · 1 August 2014, 20:24
You can say that for yourself. You cannot say it for your children.
You have no idea how much or little they have “moved through” their grief at losing their brother. Because I can say, as one who has been where they are, further pain awaits them when their own children are born. When they re-experience the terror and grief of their childhood loss with the greater understanding and vulnerability that comes with motherhood.
I’m sure you will dismiss this as you dismiss any disagreement. And perhaps I’m wrong. But I don’t believe I am.
15 · Betsybb · 2 August 2014, 13:20
No one knows what we would do, feel, say if we lost a child. You have said it well here, always someone who thinks they can give advice, criticize.
Just move on down the road with your life and know that there are many of us who just enjoy your blogs without judging you in any way.
16 · Sarah (Wheel Education) · 2 August 2014, 22:35
As another who has travelled my own personal grief tar-mountain I resonate with what you have said. You have once again worded it very well and expressed what I would struggle to put into words.
17 · Dawn · 4 August 2014, 09:07
Lauren, no one will ever fully understand what you have gone through, this is your journey, and that of your girls.continue to be yourself, and your beliefs. There is no perfect person ever, I love watching your family and learning from you, your girls are truly blessed!!
18 · Mary · 4 August 2014, 11:16
Beautifully written.