On Wednesday this week, I heard that Gijs, one of my students at the HvA, had died suddenly at the age of 26. I liked Gijs; he was a likable, friendly, enthusiastic guy. All the teachers liked him. Students too. He's the kind of person who probably has had very few enemies.  At that moment, I felt like the world was slipping away, a black hole opening up, immense sadness overcome me although I have only known Gijs since September this year.
The reason for that mountain of emotion is, I think, what I refer to in the title, as the Domino Effect. When you have already experienced grief in your life, and then you are later faced with another moment of grief, you may feel as if the new grief echoes the old one. In other words, I was not only feeling sad because of Gijs, but also feeling for a while the way I felt when my own son died. So many familiar feelings welled up inside of me. It's unfair, he's too young, could I have done something to prevent this? 

As a child, my life felt void of meaning, until various external, future events would trigger a feeling of excitement and anticipation. A visit from my grandmother, who lived on the East Coast, a holiday, a party we could attend, a trip to my aunt and uncle.

As I grew older, I was still motivated by the future I would have, the career I would build, the money I’d earn, the man I’d marry, the children I would have.

Eventually, there he was, my first child, and I was swamped in the present. In the diapers and crying, rashes and tantrums, illogical demands of a baby who cannot tell me what he wants and expects. I rushed back to work, where adults spoke with words and body language I could understand, and had expectations I could meet. Arrange that event, contact that person, make a deal, earn us a profit…

And then my son fell ill; they thought he would die on that first day on the operating table… but he survived. He was riddled with cancer and yet he smiled, he laughed, he sang, danced even. Suddenly, through this child of mine, this meaningful person who I had not yet learned to fully appreciate, I learned that today is the day that is full of meaning. That if I looked only to the future - that anticipation might be of more illness, or death, so it was better to stay in the here and now.

The house filled up with visitors, my inbox with good wishes, my life suddenly overflowed with both joy and tears.

And although Yarden has moved on from this world to the next, he has left me with many gifts. Among them, an enormous feeling of gratefulness for what I do have. For the day, for the moment, my senses, health, friends and family, a good place to live, my surviving children, my ever-growing capacity to love.

“The past is history, the future a mystery, the present is a gift.” (Eleanor Roosevelt)

Last week, I lost someone dear to me. It brought up all the old losses, the newer losses, the unfinished and finished grief still lingering in me. I told a friend that I was reading a book on grief (Elisabeth Kubler-Ross's On Grief and Grieving). He said, "Why don't you write a book yourself?" After all, I have suffered what some consider the 'ultimate loss' - the loss of a child. My firstborn, to be precise. And now, 15 years later, the story is there, perhaps waiting to come out. Would it help others if I were to tell Yarden's story? Or my story? I have survived such a terrible loss, and yet have grown stronger, more resilient. I have discovered coping skills in me that I never knew I had. I learned so much from my young boy, merely 4 when he died.  And like I said, each new loss of someone else I knew and loved, again awakens the feelings. Sadness, love, a bottomless pit, an emptiness... and then gratefulness for having known them, and for the lessons learned. Perhaps indeed the story needs to be told...

The thing is, I don't know how to begin... With his death? Birth? My wanting to have a child, but the difficulty in parenting once he was born? The temporary relief I felt after Yarden slipped away with little pain, and the guilt that relief brought? All the things I'm writing down seem the wrong thing to say, and I know that is my critical self. All the feelings I had and have are legitimate. The more honest I am, the more others might be able to connect with this, and with their own feelings. And that is my aim. To say, 'it's ok to feel what you are feeling. It's all ok, it's all normal.' 

Today, driving back from shopping, I began to think about the dear woman who died last Thursday, the one who I loved like a mother many years ago. And thinking of her brought up tears which I blinked back, thinking how unwise it would be to drive and cry. And how sad I am that I am far from her family and cannot go there to sit with them, and grieve together. Minutes later I passed the garden center and thought about planting flowers in my garden to welcome the spring which I hope will be coming soon to Holland... It's ok to be distracted. And fine to cry too.
Grief is good. It reminds me to value the here and now. To enjoy the neon orange colors of the footballers I see in the field across from my office window, and how their shirts stand out in the darkening grey of dusk.