About two weeks after the loss of my son, a woman named Sarah gently removed a bracelet from her wrist and placed it on mine. Her son, Ethan, had tragically passed away two years earlier in a car accident. I admired the unique spelling of his name and shared my appreciation with her, prompting a warm smile. While she had reached a point of reflecting on years, I was still caught in the rawness of counting days—sometimes even minutes.
My partner, Jack, and I spent hours in conversation with Sarah. Even now, as I recount that day, my eyes well up with tears, transporting me back to those difficult early days. We were in awe of Sarah’s strength and resilience. How was she still navigating life two years after such a profound loss? She appeared to be just like any other mother.
In my mind, I envision her as a mix of stunned yet peaceful, choosing her words with care. I was desperate for some magical phrase that would make everything better. I absorbed her every word. She emphasized the enduring nature of love: “Love never fades. The only true constant is love. Our love for our children transforms but remains.”
I wrestled with the meaning of her words, internally shouting, “That’s not true! I want Ethan back!”
Sarah then handed me a simple silver bracelet, hand-stamped with “LOVE,” a gift from a friend after Ethan’s passing. She told me it was now my turn to wear it and that when I was ready, I’d pass it to someone who needed it.
Today, I grapple with the reality that I don’t yet feel ready to let go of that strength. There’s a sense of shame in that unpreparedness, a fear of relinquishing the very thing that has provided me with comfort.
We received countless letters, books, and suggestions from other grieving parents. Some found us; others we sought out. A high school friend reached out after losing her 16-year-old daughter, Mia, in a tragic accident. I had no idea she was carrying such a burden. She shared valuable resources and offered her listening ear.
An acquaintance of my mother-in-law lost her son, Alex, in the September 11 attacks. I never imagined we would share such a heart-wrenching connection.
Words of wisdom flowed in from the “sad club,” each one dropping a glimmer of hope at our feet. Some resonated immediately; others took years to understand. “Don’t rush through the grief,” was advice I embraced a year later when I tried to force myself to feel okay. You simply can’t rush that process. If you do, you risk spiraling backward. I remind myself of this consistently—for Jack, for our daughter, Lily, for friends and family, and for my own well-being.
“You may feel like you’re losing your mind, but you’re not,” was a sentiment shared with me by a friend’s mother during Ethan’s memorial service. She had lost her daughter, Leah, to illness. I’m grateful for that reassurance; it’s a truth I’ve held onto since that moment. The confusion and shock can feel overwhelming, and it takes hard work to navigate those feelings. I believe I’ve made peace with them—most of the time.
I noticed that more mothers were sharing their experiences than fathers, making it challenging for Jack to find similar resources. A year after Ethan’s death, we discovered a performer who had also lost a child in an accident. I reached out via social media, and he responded almost immediately, expressing disbelief that we shared such a tragic fate.
We became friends, speaking a language that only parents who have lost children can understand—a shorthand where no thought feels too insane to express, because we’ve all faced the unimaginable.
Just two days ago, an old friend sought my advice on how to comfort a student whose 16-year-old daughter, Ava, had just died in a car crash. I’ve been asked for guidance before and know I will be again. It’s a responsibility I gladly accept. It helps me as much as I hope it helps them. Perhaps the “LOVE” bracelet gives me that strength, which is why I continue to wear it. If I could, I’d gift one to every grieving parent I know.
One simple, yet profound, gift you can offer to bereaved parents is to speak their child’s name. Never hesitate to say it; it’s music to our ears, the most beautiful word synonymous with love.
Last night, I polished the “LOVE” bracelet and felt Ethan’s presence beside me as I did so.
Summary
After the loss of my son, a bracelet gifted by a fellow grieving mother became a symbol of strength and resilience. Through shared experiences and wisdom from others who have faced similar heartaches, I discovered the power of love and the importance of keeping the memory of our children alive. This ongoing journey continues to shape my understanding of grief and connection.