The Word Death (or any variation)

Death is a word that grips your very soul with its long thin fingers. A word that literally squeezes every breath out of you, till you feel as if you are going to faint.

Death is a word that we have all thought about, all dealt with in some aspect.

Death is the word we hate to use when it comes to the realization that our child is gone.

Over the years I’ve used the word dead/ died/ death as I’ve lost family members (aunts, uncles, grandparents). I had no idea how hard it was going to be to say that word when it came to my son. My baby.

I have experienced death but nothing compares to that one. The one that nearly shattered me to my very core. The one that stole my every breath. The one that broke my heart. The one that physically pained me. The one that changed me.

I will continue to experience loss/ death in my life but most of them will never compare to this.

I am 7 years into my grief, my loss and it is still hard to say. I cringe internally when it slips out. I am still to this day trying to figure out the right way for me to say my son is gone. I may never find the right way because there is nothing right about this situation.

My son is dead.

My son died.

I usually just say passed away. It feels softer, less harsh. Maybe I am just fooling myself.

I have come to hate that word for what it means. I have come to hate that word for its truth, its permanence.

My son is dead and I will never get to see him or touch him again.

My son died and I can never tell him that I love him.

Death took my son and I will never get to see him grow.

No kisses.

No handholding.

No cuddles.

No reading together.

No helping with homework.

No watching him grow into a young man with a future in front of him.

Grief allows for irrational thoughts and mine is that I HATE THE WORD

DEAD.

DIED.

DEATH.

I hated it then and I hate it now.

Yes, I’ve been told it is just a word and I should take command of it – don’t let it beat me. I can’t, there is too much power in that one simple word. That word has beaten me like no other, it has stolen my soul, my breath, a part of my heart – most importantly it has stolen my son.

How can I move past the fact that it is just a word when it is the cause of my grief, my sorrow, my loss?

How can I not allow it to have some control over me?

Over time it may be easier to say that word, to gain some control back for myself, but I will never be comfortable saying it because just thinking it hurts my heart.

So if you dislike that word, hate it in fact – do not fear you are not alone. We all dislike or hate it in our own way.

The meaning.

The tragedy.

The truth.

The permanence.

The loss.

The grief.

The sorrow.

The pain.

The tears.

All this caused by one little word. A word that grabs ahold and never surrenders. A word we never thought we would ever have to say in regards to our child, our babies. A word that will affect us the rest of our lives. A word that will connect us all on this path of grief and loss.

Death is not my friend, will never be my friend. But death is my companion, a part of me – always and forever.


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    Marisa Michaud

    Marisa Michaud

    Marisa is the mother to 3 boys, one gone too soon and 2 keeping her on her toes. Drake died in 2010 at 12 days, 16 hours old after being pulled from life support due to injuries he sustained during delivery. Her other 2 boys: Aden and Gavin, whom she loves every minute with them.

    October 2, 2017

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