And yet we all wish we could jump ship– that we could have met another way– any other way but this.

This crappy club called child loss is a club I never wanted to join, and one I can never leave, yet is filled with some of the best people I’ve ever known. It’s a club I can never leave, but is filled with the most shining souls I’ve ever known. Every missed birthday, holiday, milestone– should-be back-to-school school years and graduations weddings that will never be grandchildren that should have been but will never be born– an entire generation of people are irrevocably altered forever. I wish people could understand that grief lasts forever because love lasts forever that the loss of a child is not one finite event, it is a continuous loss that unfolds minute by minute over the course of a lifetime. There will never come a time where I won’t think about who my son would be, what he would look like, and how he would be woven perfectly into the tapestry of my family. For as long as I breathe, I will grieve and ache and love my son with all my heart and soul. There is no glue for my broken heart, no exilir for my pain, no going back in time. There is no end to the ways I will grieve and for how long I will grieve. There is no “moving on,” or “getting over it.” There is no bow, no fix, no solution to my heartache. It’s a pain we suffer for a lifetime, and unfortunately only those who have walked the path of child loss understand the depth and breadth of both the pain and the love we carry. No matter our circumstances, who we are, or how different we are, there is no greater bond than the connection between parents who understand the agony of enduring the death of a child.

Strangers become kindreds in mere seconds– a look, a glance, a knowing of the heart connects us, even if we’ve never met before. In my seven years navigating the world as a bereaved parent, I am continually struck by the power of the bond between bereaved parents. Bereaved parents share an unspeakable bond. My son’s life was cut irreversibly short, but his love lives on forever. Just because it might make you uncomfortable, doesn’t make him matter any less. Our culture isn’t so great about hearing about children gone too soon, but that doesn’t stop me from saying my son’s name and sharing his love and light everywhere I go.

I love my child just as much as you love yours– the only difference is mine lives in heaven and talking about about him is unfortunately quite taboo in our culture. I want to speak about my deceased child as normally and naturally as you speak of your living ones. I want to say and hear his name just the same as non-bereaved parents do. Just as parents of living children unconditionally love their children always and forever, so do bereaved parents. There will never come a day, hour, minute or second I stop loving or thinking about my son.

Promises to Keep by Janet Miller