I lost my 23 year old son Lewis in December 2013. He was my eldest and I had him when I was 15. He had a tooth infection that spread to his brain. He went to the doctors on a Saturday for an ongoing sore mouth. They sent him to hospital, where his health deteriorated quickly. Then he went into palliative care. Nothing they did to treat him worked. He couldn’t walk or talk in his last days. My partner would have to carry him to the bath and hold him up. He was delirious. He couldn’t keep food or water down.
He died in my arms the next Saturday. On his last day, I just held him in my arms. The pain consumed him until he couldn’t move or open his eyes. I can’t imagine the sort of pain he was in. He died around 3:30 in the morning. Just before, his dad came in to kiss him goodbye and we held him together. After he died, we were given all the time we wanted to say goodbye to him. I wish I stayed with him forever. I kissed his lips and his hands, Pedro (his dad, my partner) kissed him again too. Then we left.
I miss him so much. At first I didn’t cry. I was so shocked. Then when the numbness wore off, I turned into a train wreck. I started putting my life in danger. I didn’t care if I died, even though I had 3 other children to look after. A few months after he passed, I remember thinking why didn’t I ever see Pedro cry? I supposed that fathers have different bonds with their sons, than mothers do. But at 3:30 am, the same time he died, I woke up to Pedro screaming. Just sitting up in bed, screaming. He threw his phone across the room. “I miss him so much.” We have a lot of counseling and we aren’t sure how to deal with this pain. Our other children are 21, 10 and 3. All of us are struggling without him.
This morning, Pedro and I were sitting at a café in a shopping center, not talking much, holding hands. I was looking around, wondering if anyone else there had lost their child. I realized it would not matter, because the pain I felt from losing my son was only shared by Pedro. I said to him, “Do you think that anyone understands, even a little bit?” He said, “No. He was our beautiful boy, no one else’s. No one can ever understand.”
I have been an atheist my whole life so I believe that I will never see my son again. He is a Christian and he says that’s all he looks forward to- dying so that he can see Lewis again. He never tells me that I need to start believing, or I won’t see him, like every other bloody idiot does. He doesn’t say anything, like he never has. He accepts what I believe and I accept what he believes. I think it’s harder for me than it is for him, not only because I am his mother, but because I don’t have my death day to look forward to. I have nothing. Everyone has told me like “god has a plan” or “everything happens for a reason”BS!!!!!! Pedro and I both call bs on those sayings. I will never accept them.
I really don't know how to go on. I still feel worthless. I had someone I thought was a friend tell me recently that I needed to get over it, because SHE had lost her 3 year old son to cancer and that was way worse than losing a 23 year old son to an infection. How could that possibly be true? Why does it matter what age he was? He was still MY child. My boy that Pedro and I have loved and cared for since we were 15/16. There’s a gaping hole in my heart for my son as big as the hole in her heart for her boy. I really wish people would understand that it’s just as hard to lose an adult child like it would be to lose a young child. I hope I never find out if that comparison is true or not, but it must be. That’s why I’m glad this site has been created. Pedro and I have been reading through all these stories and it’s given us some hope. And helped us know that we are not alone in this. I definitely feel a connection with everyone on here.