Sometimes life shifts without warning. One minute, you’re living a predictable and, at times, mundane existence; the next, you’re thrust into a maelstrom of chaos. If I had known decades ago the direction my life would take, would I have made different choices or held onto some moments tighter? This question lingers in my mind.
Perhaps it’s the gloomy January weather weighing on me today that seems to mirror the emptiness in my life, or maybe it’s another wave of grief that still crashes over me, even seven years after my son’s passing. Some days cut deeper than others, leaving me feeling as if the ground has been swept out from under me once again, forcing me to relive that initial shock, the evening I learned my son was gone. It comes as a stark reminder that healing isn’t a straight path but rather a winding road, full of twists, turns, and setbacks that challenge our resilience and tests our will to continue moving forward.
In the early days of my grief I filled my days with distractions, searching for anything that could momentarily dull my pain. I threw myself into home projects, painting furniture, reorganizing closets, and spent countless hours watching mindless television, all in an effort to silence my racing thoughts and escape the deafening quiet of my home. But no matter how hard I tried to escape, painful reminders always seemed to surface, whether it was a photo that popped up on my phone, or a familiar place I accidentally stumbled past. Each reminder jolted me back to my new reality, leaving me filled with an emptiness that seemed to consume me entirely.
The simple acts of daily living, brewing coffee, answering emails, engaging in small talk, felt like I was participating in an elaborate charade. I was going through the motions of living without truly being present, unable to reconnect with the passions that had once inspired me.
As time moved on I couldn’t understand why the emptiness persisted so relentlessly year after year, barely giving me time to catch my breath. What I failed to recognize then was that hollow ache I was feeling wasn’t solely derived from my loss, but that it stemmed from something deeper. It was the absence of having a purpose in my life, to move me forward when every fiber of my being wanted to hide under the covers from a world that continued to turn despite my son’s absence.
My identity had undergone a seismic shift, making it impossible to return to the work I once pursued. The person I had been before my son’s death no longer existed. The reflection staring back at me from the mirror was no longer mine. It belonged to a stranger, someone who wore my face but whose eyes held a different story entirely. Everything felt trivial; my daily routines were empty and meaningless. I moved through each day without truly being present, like an actor performing in a play they’d long since lost faith in.
It took over three years of drifting through this vast fog before I finally grasped a truth that was both harsh and illuminating: while loss can fracture the human spirit, it’s the absence of purpose that truly breaks us. That void acts like a vacuum, pulling us deeper into darkness than the loss itself. I realized I had moved through most of my life on autopilot, never questioning what drove me forward. My purpose had been clear and almost instinctual, building a career and creating a life for my family. I didn’t need to search for motivation; it was woven into the fabric of my daily existence. But now the goals I had pursued with such determination seemed like artifacts from another life. The passion that had once moved me evaporated in the light of my new reality.
It was in these darkest moments, that I began to understand something crucial about human nature. We all require more than just survival; we need a reason to survive. The simple act of existing isn’t enough to sustain us. We need something to work toward, something to believe in, something that makes the pain of living not an endless journey, but worthwhile.
This realization didn’t immediately transform my grief into purpose, but it helped me understand why my healing felt so incomplete. I had been trying to recover from my loss without addressing the fundamental need for meaning in my life. It wasn’t just about learning to live without my son; it was about finding a new reason to engage in life again, to wake up each morning with something more than an obligation to push me forward.
In my heart, I knew I needed to create something meaningful, something that gave a voice to what was left unsaid. I found myself drawn to stories of artists, who like my son, had their talents overlooked during their lifetimes. This connection inspired me to create a nonprofit that honors these artists posthumously, creating a platform to showcase their unseen talents. The more I immersed myself in their stories, the more I felt connected, not just to them, but to my own grief in a way that felt less isolating. Eventually, this dedication became the compass that propelled me to change. It was the rope that pulled me back from the brink when everything else seemed to be slipping away.
Purpose doesn’t erase loss, but it can transform it. It gave me a reason to keep going on days when I wasn’t sure I could. It reminded me that even in absence, there is still something left to give, still a way to honor love, still a way to create something from the wreckage.
Finding purpose doesn’t have to be world-changing; it can be something small, something personal, anything that gives you a reason to keep going when the weight of loss threatens to pull you under. It hasn’t been a linear path for me, far from it. I still have days when grief overshadows everything I do, when memories flood back with such intensity that I can barely catch my breath, but I know now that healing isn’t about “moving on” but rather learning to carry our losses with purpose.
Through this heart wrenching journey, I have learned many difficult but essential lessons about survival, resilience, and the human capacity to endure even the most profound grief. Perhaps the most crucial one is this: when we are living in the aftermath of profound loss, when our world is shattered and our spirits broken beyond repair, we must actively seek a reason to keep living. That and only that is what pulls us forward when we feel like giving up.
Purpose becomes your lifeline. It is the thread that connects you to living again when everything else seems insignificant. I will never know if my life would have been different had I made different choices, but what I do know is that, even in the face of unimaginable loss, I have found a way forward, a path through the darkness that honors both my son and my need to continue living. I have built something that carries both my son’s legacy and my own, a purpose that gives meaning to the pain and transforms loss into something beautiful and meaningful. And maybe, just maybe, that is enough for this lifetime, enough to keep me moving forward, one day at a time.
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Lovely piece. Thank you so much for sharing.