Losing a child is like dying and being reborn again as a new person. Life no longer feels like one consecutive chain of events. The timeline of my life can be broken up into two sections. B.C. (Before cancer) and A.D (after his death). Sometimes, I have to convince myself that I even truly existed in the B.C. timeline because I feel that detached from the person I once was.
Have you ever repeated your name to yourself so many times that it actually begins to sound strange or foreign to you? Maybe that is just me, but that is what it feels like when I try to remember anything before my sons cancer diagnosis. The B.C. version of me didn’t know pain or tragedy. She didn’t know that she could be pregnant for nine months with a baby, fall so fully in love with him, and then have him taken from me in four short years. No, things like that only happened to other people. The ones that I saw in the St. Jude’s commercials and felt sorry for. I look back on that version of me. She was inexperienced and blissfully unaware that life could possibly be so tragic.
In my thirty one years, I had never experienced loss beyond the loss of my grandparents. And although those losses were sad to me, I was able to continue on with my life in my normal, every day manner. No one in my family had ever had cancer, nothing tragic had ever happened to any of my six siblings, nor had I never experienced anything so life altering that it changed who I was at my core.
On November 23, 2013, my life was change forever when I heard that my sons heart had unexpectedly stopped beating. Nothing could convince me that I could survive such a tragic loss. In fact, I willed for my hear to stop as well. The pain was something that I never could have imagined. The guttural screams that left my body were scary and shocking. I honestly did not even know they were coming from me at first. It felt like I was being ripped apart, but from the inside out. I could not breathe. I could not focus. All I could think about was that this must be a dream that I would surly wake from at any moment. Alas, it was not a dream. It was my new reality. I was a mother who had lost my precious baby boy, never to see him or hold him or kiss his sweet cheeks ever again.
For days, I stayed in bed, only moving to nurse my then six month old daughter or to drop off and pick up my six year old daughter from the bus. I stayed in pajamas all day long. I watched every episode of Dateline with my curtains drawn closed. Friends would beg me to join them to get out of the house, but I was not interested. About a month after Liam had passed, another cancer mom called and told me that she was going to deliver bears to the hospital for Christmas and that I should go with her. My heart raced and I felt sick to my stomach.
After a long pause, I told her there was no way that I could go back to the hospital where Liam, my only son, had passed just a few weeks prior. She said “I know you are hurting, but I think this is something you need to do. You are strong and you can do this!” I said okay to get her off my back, but I had no real intentions of going. The night before the bear delivery, I texted her that I was not feeling well and would not be able to make it. I expected her to say okay and to move on, but thankfully, she did not. She said that I would be riding with her and everything would be okay. And if I changed my mind at the hospital, I could wait in the car.
There was nothing else I could say. I was going back to the hospital to see other sick kids and I honestly did not think I would be able to handle it. As we got closer and closer to the hospital, my friend asked if I was okay, and surprisingly, I felt a sense of peace begin to overwhelm me. The feeling continued as we passed out bear after bear and watched the shy smiles grow on the children confined to their hospital beds.
I hugged all of Liams nurses and doctors and even went back to his room that he had lived in for two long months. And even though the thoughts and smells and sounds brought some sadness, they also brought me a sense of healing! I knew right then that I wanted to have a foundation in my sons name.
In 2014, I started “Linked With Liam”. We offered personalized warrior packs to kids with cancer as well as financial assistance, parking tokens and gift cards for the parents. This foundation brought me so much joy because I felt that I had a sense of purpose again. It was like I had been reborn through the simple act of serving others and bringing smiles to their faces in Liam’s memory!
In 2020, the pandemic changed everything and sadly, Liam’s foundation was no more. I began to feel like I had failed him in some way. Not being able to be around people and to help them was heartbreaking for me. Recently, I was able to stat volunteering for another cancer foundation and it has been so good for my mental health. I find that when I am helping in some capacity, I feel that sense of purpose begin to bloom again.
The new version of me, the A.D. version, is continually growing into someone who knows her purpose and will do always keep working to become the most selfless and braver version of herself. She is more patient, more kind and more thoughtful of others and their situations. She is more experienced and uses her experiences to try to help others through their trails. She listens without judgment and lives life to the fullest because she knows that tomorrow is not promised.
In all honesty, losing my son was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but it has also shaped me into the person I am today. I am proud of myself, and I hope that my son would be proud of me as well. Do you have a B.C./A.D experience? If so, I would love to hear about it below!
