About two weeks after my son, Ethan, passed away, a woman named Lisa removed a bracelet from her wrist and slipped it onto mine. Her son, Jack, had tragically died two years earlier in a car accident. The way she spelled his name struck a chord with me, and I told her as much, earning a warm smile in return. At that moment, Lisa was counting years; I was still counting days, sometimes even minutes.
My husband, Mark, and I spent hours talking with Lisa, and even as I write this, tears spring to my eyes recalling that raw afternoon from six years ago. How was she still standing here, two years later, looking like a regular mom? In my mind, I picture her as a blend of shock and calm, carefully choosing her words. I was desperate for a magical phrase to make sense of my grief, and I hung on her every utterance. She said it all boiled down to love: “Love never dies. The only thing that truly exists is love. Our love for our children changes, but it remains the same.”
Inside, I was screaming, “That’s nonsense! I want Ethan back!”
Then, Lisa handed me her simple silver bracelet, hand-stamped with the word “LOVE.” It was a gift from a friend after Jack’s death, and now she said it was my turn to wear it. She told me that when the time was right, I could pass it on to someone else in need.
Today, I grapple with the fact that I don’t feel ready to let go of it. I feel a pang of shame and fear of losing that strength it represents. We received notes, books, and suggestions from other grieving parents—some found us, others we found. An old high school friend lost her 16-year-old daughter, Mia, in a car crash. I had no idea until she reached out, offering open ears and helpful resources.
One of the most unexpected connections came from my mother-in-law’s friend, who lost her son, Tom, in the September 11 attacks. I never imagined we would share such a painful bond.
The wisdom from this “sad clubhouse” of parents was like little beacons of hope during our darkest hours. Some pieces of advice resonated immediately, while others made sense only years later.
“Don’t skip a step,” was one that hit home a year later when I tried to force myself to feel okay. You can’t rush through grief; you’ll find yourself spiraling backward. I remind myself of this whenever I’m pushing too hard—for Mark, for our daughter, Lily, for everyone around us.
Another comforting piece of advice came from a friend’s mother at Ethan’s funeral, who told me, “You’ll think you’re going crazy, but you’re not.” This truth has stuck with me since day one and continues to resonate. Processing this chaos is a monumental task, but I’m learning to live with it—most days.
Interestingly, we found that more mothers were sharing their stories than fathers, making it harder for Mark to find support. About a year after Ethan’s passing, we discovered a performer and clown, much like Mark had been, who had lost his son, Leo, in an accident. I reached out to him on social media, and he replied almost immediately, expressing disbelief that this had happened to us. Since then, we’ve built a friendship where we share a unique language of understanding; nothing feels too crazy to say.
Just the other day, an old friend asked for advice about comforting a college student whose 16-year-old daughter, Ava, had recently died in a car accident. I’ve been asked for this help before and will likely be asked again. I feel it’s my duty to help others navigate their grief, and in doing so, it helps me too. Perhaps that’s why I still cling to the “LOVE” bracelet; if I could, I’d buy one for every parent in pain.
One of the simplest yet profound gifts you can offer grieving parents is to speak their child’s name. Never hesitate to say it; it’s music to our ears and a beautiful reminder of love.
I polished the “LOVE” bracelet just last night and felt Ethan’s presence beside me as I did.
Summary
In the aftermath of losing her son, a woman finds solace and strength in a bracelet gifted to her by another grieving mother. This piece reflects on the connections forged through shared grief, the wisdom passed down among parents who have suffered similar losses, and the importance of keeping the memory of loved ones alive.