“Why Momma, why?”

Finding the words to tell our children was and still is to this day, one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I knew what would happen when I finally found the words.

The children were very young when this loss occurred. Most of them did not process it for years to come. One understood when I told him; as best he could.

He went into auto-pilot when he heard my words.

I watched him fight back his tears. I watched him swallow down the knot that appeared in his throat. He was young. I didn’t expect him to go into auto-pilot, but I was no stranger to auto-pilot, I knew what that meant. I gave him time and I watched him closely.

I took them all in to see Daddy in the casket before the services began. I thought he would come out of auto-pilot when the harsh truth of life was laid out before him.

He didn’t.

His only words were, “That doesn’t look like Daddy”.

A few days later, we were back at Granny and Papa’s house and he retreated to the back bedroom.

In an instant it poured out of him.

“Why Momma?” he sobbed.

“Why did my daddy have to die? Why did God take my daddy? Why didn’t he take someone else’s daddy?”

“Why Momma, why?”

His tears rained down with force. There was no amount of swallowing that would stop them. He had let go of auto-pilot and he was feeling every ounce of it.

In that moment, I had no answers. I just held him and cried with him.

The road was long and not always easy. It was merely the beginning of one child’s grief…..

© LifeasChristine, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to LifeasChristine with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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2 thoughts on ““Why Momma, why?”

  1. David R. Steindorf says:

    By the time I finished reading this story I had used up all of what was left in the tissue box. I guess I was more typical in that the flood gates opened up when I saw my father in the casket. I was 29 when he died unexpectedly. I had been married for two years. He had been my Best Man at the wedding. I went on autopilot the moment my wife gave me the news she had received while I was showering for work. I briefly came off autopilot after I had flown home and first hugged my mom. But it was seeing my dad sleeping in that elaborate box that did it. I’ve gone on and off autopilot many times since, like just now when I read your story and it all came rushing back; this time in a more healing way. I’m sure there will be others because this is life. But, so far, my dad’s leaving us was the deepest I have gone into that well where you’re not sure there is a bottom.

  2. Christine says:

    I often wonder if people will understand the terms that I use to describe certain aspects of life or the behaviors that are demonstrated; auto-pilot is one of these terms. Perhaps experiencing loss bridges that gap to understanding the term that I use. I imagine that many that experience loss go through a period of auto-pilot because in a way, we are overcome and trying to process something that we don’t necessarily want to process and to some degree, we probably fight it at first. I am grateful that you shared your story with authenticity and a sense of rawness. People can relate with honest words. I have always felt awkward saying ‘sorry for your loss’ because it seems inadequate for the truth of what I feel. To know that an individual has experienced one of the harsher realities of life; to say goodbye to someone you loved with finality. In many ways, it deepens your understanding of how life works and it’s not an easy lesson. I know this, as do you and many others. My heart goes out to you.

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