Chapter 8. Grieving

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Back in 2023, while proofreading the final copy of Willower (as a reader instead of a writer), I was wondering the whole way through, How did I do this? I know how I did it, obviously, but I mean how did I do it? Does that make sense? A lot of the text was written when I was in a much darker place, in another world. I’d worked for years, sitting with Sam, and we were writing together. Now what?

Publishing a book, I’ve learned, isn’t always celebratory. It felt more like, What do I do now? I guess it’s time to reflect on where to migrate to next.

about this chapter

Chapter 8. Grieving moves through the first year after Sam’s death (2007).

sharing our stories

“You should come down and meet Carla McClafferty,” my mother-in-law said, urging me to drive to Miami to attend the lecture she was hosting. “She’ll be speaking about her latest book, In Defiance of Hitler: The Secret Mission of Varian Fry. But the first book she wrote was about the loss of her son. I really think you should meet her.”

(from Chapter 8. Grieving: less alone)

At this point, Sam’s been gone only a year, and I don’t want to go anywhere, do anything, meet anyone. Plus, the drive is too long, five to six hours depending on traffic. But I do make the trip. And Carla and I sit outside by the hotel pool at a table with an umbrella that’s wrapped up for the night. She tells me about her son, Cory. And I tell her about Sam.

Both Carla and I had screamed, pleaded, begged, bartered, and prayed for our little boys to wake up.

(from Chapter 8. Grieving: less alone)

less alone

Like long-lost friends, we talk for hours, until after midnight. Connecting with another bereaved mother, someone who gets it, gives me an energy that feels like hope. Though nothing has changed, I feel different, less alone.

“After you finish writing a book, just know this: nothing changes. It doesn’t change anything,” Carla tells me.

I understand what she’s saying.

Writing a book wasn’t going to bring Sam back, but maybe, in time, the writing would change me.

(from Chapter 8. Grieving: less alone)

piecing myself back together

I can say now, fifteen years since that conversation I had with Carla, that writing this book did change me. Or maybe, through all my years of grieving, writing and rewriting, I just came back to me, who I was—have been—all along. I returned to myself.

Though most people think the last thing a bereaved parent wishes to talk about is him or her, the child that died, but we’re already broken. Remembering our deceased children, talking about them, keeping their memory alive, this is what pieces us back together, makes us stronger.

(from Chapter 8: Grieving: bereaved)

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