Dear Margaret,
This year, like every year, I sent you a card. I filled it with words reflecting your qualities as a wonderful mother and grandmother, and I had the kids add their unique signatures in their playful scribbles. We also picked out a gift card for a nice restaurant, where you can enjoy a meal with your husband, someone you’ve shared many decades with. I hope you appreciate the card and the gift, but I can’t help but wonder if they may feel hollow without your beloved son’s signature included.
I regret not reaching out more often over the past few months. I thought about you frequently – whether you were tending to your garden, hanging laundry, or tackling other chores around your home. But despite my thoughts, I didn’t make many calls or send texts. I can’t really explain why. Since that cold January day when we witnessed my husband—your son—suffer and pass away, things have been challenging for both of us.
I know you are in deep mourning for your son. As a mother myself, I should understand the pain of losing a child. But I must be candid; ever since losing my husband, I haven’t paused to ponder whose grief is greater. I lived with him daily for over fifteen years, and I was the one who received his boundless love. It’s hard to reconcile that with the reality that you’ve been his mother for forty years.
It’s unfair, but I often find myself feeling that my grief is somehow more intense than everyone else’s, even yours. Our friends shared in our sadness, but their tears have mostly dried up, while mine still flow as consistently as they did in January. Living far away, separated by an international border, made me think that perhaps your sorrow had lessened too. I assumed I was the only one still feeling the weight of this loss.
I’ve seen your emails and texts over the months. However, it wasn’t until last week that I truly took the time to read them meaningfully. My husband was my partner for 15 years, but he was your son for four decades. He was the baby you nurtured into a toddler who learned how to wave goodbye. He was the child who kept you up late after your night shifts, the boy who wanted to stay home from kindergarten, and the teen who rebelled with an eyebrow ring. He was the first of your children to go to college, and the first to announce he was becoming a father. I can still picture the joy on your face when he shared that news with you. He was your pride and joy, and always will be.
Right now, I’m managing so much. My children demand my attention constantly, and I struggle to balance my job. My grief is overwhelming, often causing me to pull over while driving because I can’t see through the tears. Sometimes, I find myself thinking, in a moment of anger, that my sorrow is deeper than that of my family and friends, and even yours.
But grief isn’t a competition. As a mother, I understand that even when my children grow, my love for them will never fade. I remember a time when someone asked my husband what it meant to become a father. He replied, “For the first time, I truly understand how my parents feel about me. They think of me every day, and love me just as they did when I was little. That’s exactly how I feel about our baby.”
I know you share that sentiment. While I may not entirely grasp your pain, I know that, to you, Shawn was not just an adult but also a 5-year-old, a 15-year-old, and a child forever loved.
In his final moments, he called for you. I was there beside him, but your presence was also needed. It was difficult to share that time with you, but I knew it was what he wanted. He loved me, of course, but he loved you deeply as well.
In these moments of deep reflection, I hope we can find a way to support each other as we navigate this unimaginable loss. Both of our hearts carry the weight of love for Shawn, and while our experiences differ, they are valid and real. If you’re looking for insights on coping with grief, you might find this article on pregnancy loss and healing helpful at Modern Family Blog. For those considering home insemination, this resource offers excellent information, and if you’re interested in exploring options, here is a great at-home insemination kit.
With love and understanding,
Your daughter-in-law, Emily
Summary: In this heartfelt letter, Emily reaches out to her mother-in-law, Margaret, to express her condolences and share her own grief after the loss of Shawn, their shared loved one. She reflects on their bond with Shawn, acknowledges their differing but valid experiences of loss, and seeks to foster understanding and connection during this painful time.