Reflections on Grief and Loss
According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) WISQARS Leading Causes of Death Reports, in 2020: Suicide was the twelfth leading cause of death overall in the United States, claiming the lives of over 45,900 people. It was also the third leading cause of death among individuals between the ages of 15-24.
My son Christopher was 21 when he died by suicide. Today marks the two-year anniversary of his passing.
To be exact, he has been gone for 730 days.
I cannot stop counting, and I don’t know if I ever will.
Months ago, I asked my therapist if it was customary to count the days after a loved one died. He assured me that it was a perfectly normal response to grief and that I should continue counting if it helped me to cope.
Counting the days is helpful, but it doesn’t erase the events that occurred in the twilight of December 19th, 2020. I can never forget walking into the hospital room where Christopher lay. His body was still warm to the touch, and for a moment, I thought the doctors were mistaken, and he was still alive.
I knew it wasn’t true, but I wanted it to be.
I ran my hands across the top of his head, holding on to each dark curl. I laid my head on his chest, hoping there was at least a faint heartbeat.
There was none.
I cried between talking and praying.
Years before, I had trained as a hospice volunteer and had even worked on a crisis hotline. None of my training served me in that moment.
My husband, a veteran first responder, didn’t know what to do either. Nothing prepares you for this kind of loss.
We made phone calls, took turns holding our son, and waited as family members and the minister arrived. In the end, I sat alone, holding him until I was told to leave.
I asked for a pair of scissors and snipped a lock of his hair. I put the hair into a zip-lock bag, kissed him one more time, and left the room.
We buried our son on January 5th, one day before the storming of the nation’s capital. I only mention it here because we were to numb to be horrified.
Christopher Garvey Zilk was loved and will always be loved. He was the youngest of four children. He was funny, kind, and intelligent. He loved the movie Black Panther, was a lover of cats, and a good bowl of ramen. He dreamed of a career in cyber security, and he always laughed when people told him that he had his mother’s face. Every day we celebrate his light.
I’m happy to be a member of the Iowa Writers Collaborative. Please explore other writers in the group.
Sending you love. The story doesn’t get easier to read or hear, and my heart goes out to you. Thank you for shining a light on mental health, and talking openly about grief and loss.
God bless you and your family, Teresa.