I saw a video where a grieving mother told of how her friend had said to her, “I wish I could take away your pain…” and her reaction to this was a strong NO. She did not want her to take away her pain, any of it. I thought to myself I have said to others what her friend had said to her. It is not easy to watch someone you love in such pain. You wish you could take it away. This statement comes from a place of love, how could she be upset with such an offer.

She continued to describe her pain, the feelings of despair and the hardship of trying to breathe with a broken heart. These awful, life-changing attributes were hers. Because she lost her child. Hers because no one else had her relationship with him. Hers because no one could fix her fate. Hers because it was what she had left of him. His death left her with this pain. The pain of missing him.

What a beautiful way to see your pain. To hold the pain as a medal of honor. Yes, raw and cutting, but love remains and within the pain are the memories, the never-ending bond for your child.  I had looked at the pain as something you do one of two things with. You live with it, trying to become amicable, complaining of its tincture. Or you run away from it; you find distractions to ignore the hurt. Throughout the days, you might do one and then the other but the third option of holding it tight, selfishly letting no one touch it…well, that was new.

When I reflected on how I handle my pain, I realized that there are moments when I hold tight to it. Bittersweet moments when I am with Zane’s friends recalling his adventures that seems to naturally become part of our conversations.  It is why I enjoy being with them so often. Each time I am transported to another time where through stories I feel as if Zane has joined us, sipping a gin soda, laughing with us over his antics. Some stories I have not heard.  Some his friends have not heard, thus every time is like a new chapter being told.

I know some family and friends feel this prolongs my grief, thus my insistence to keep these relationships has been questioned. I have been angry with the inuendo that I should move my grief to a different space or pace to align better with the expectations of others, yet it feels self-seeking to not oblige.

Grief is the other side of love and there are no one-sized answers to how pain is held. One can only do what aligns with their current pain. Perhaps time and understanding are required.  The understanding that the need to hold the pain of loss is an equally important choice to letting it go.

The video I saw brought clarity. A mother, sharing how holding her pain close and not wanting anything or anyone to remove it made so much sense. When I hold tight to my grief, it softens. Within the angst of loss, I feel the eternal connection to my son through the shared comradery of his friends.  It is how I hold tight to my pain.