I’ve been subscribed to your newsletter for a few weeks now, and I’m so glad I am. Thank you for sharing your story.
Grief is something I’ve learned to let be…to flow. Bottling it up caused many issues for me that still pervade today. But awareness, and slowly letting grief seep through—like a crack in the Earth finally opening—released the pressure. What rose up from that crack felt like vapor… like water… like love.
It’s so important to keep sharing our stories of pain. For our world needs to see that letting the guard down brings community, joy, and connection, and not the opposite.
Jason, your willingness to share both your pain and your wise insight will definitely help others. When we do this, I think it helps give some meaning to our kids' premature deaths. Their life had meaning for sure. It's a matter of us letting go of the "why" question and focusing on "what" - what good can I make from this. Helping others who can't articulate the pain yet is so helpful.
I can relate to your story in some respects, not all good ones. I watched my mother die at age 27 right in front of my eyes when I was only 1 and 1/2, the age of typical separation anxiety. She was killed by a drunk driver. I only survived, reportedly despite some injuries, due to a "miracle." I watched my mom's parents suffer and deal with the loss of their only child for the rest of their lives.
Growing up, I tried at various levels of maturity to understand the meaning of life and death, and why. Why my mom? And why me? The one thing I always knew, more so than my peers for much of my life, is that life is finite. No matter when it happens to end.
I read many books, including the well-known,"Why Bad Things Happen To Good People," many poems, many articles, and many philosophies about life and death, alcoholism, addiction, and my tragic, inexplicable experience. I heard and listened to many people's commentaries throughout my life, from my tender years until today, about their perspectives despite not being me and not living my life.
I don't tell this to make you feel bad. Your addicted, troubled daughter did not kill my mom.
My conclusion is that we mere mortals will never totally understand or know why things happen the way they did, do, or will. Nor are we required to. That acceptance is comforting.
I also think that each individual has the simultaneous right and burden to mourn, grieve, and remember fondly anyone they lost in their own way, in their own time. Memories of many things in life can be bittersweet, and that juxtaposition, or conflict, can be the most unsettling. But we are entitled to admit and accept that that is just the way it was and is. Period.
I approached your story somewhat tentatively, there’s something about the words in the title that pulled at me. I read on to learn of Chloe and her mum and the grief within you, her Daddy, and then I read this …"Few things seem to pass so fluidly from one life to the next like unhealed pain." THIS couldn’t be any more true. If you can, find a way through Chloe’s name to change that. You could make a positive difference in others lives and potentially this could help you heal along the way. 🥰🥰
Thank you for writing and sharing your grief and pain and love. Know that at least one other person reads it and in my similar pain I am somehow comforted.❤️
Jason, your life journey has been filled with lessons abundant in nuanced complexities. You traverse these pathways as best you can moment to moment, recognizing that sometimes the land shifts and takes you in different directions over and over again. This is a beautiful piece where you describe holding essential truths within contradictions. Chloe ended her life and in doing so shattered others and you will always love her. There are some moments you wish she was still here and there are others you believe it's better off she is not. These contradictions contain the mystery of unconditional love. How can we love people who cause so much pain? It doesn't make sense, but we do. I think it takes an amazingly courageous soul to live each moment searching for the wisdom within the most crushing human experiences. I wish you comfort, peace, and rest along the journey.
That's a great question that's caused me to think - like yours always so.
I love someone who caused tremendous pain. I want to accept it. Some days I can. But most days I still wish she’d lived. Other days, I think she’s better off dead. I can’t reconcile that and I’m learning to stop trying.
So when I say, irreconcilable, I mean right now. Not forever. I changed the wording of one of the sentences to make that more clear.
You taught me a lot about the power of the question 😉. I can appreciate that there’s a deep trauma associated with this grief. I don’t know how that must feel. I try to witness and just share the question that naturally occurs as I read. Love ya brother ✌️
I’ve been subscribed to your newsletter for a few weeks now, and I’m so glad I am. Thank you for sharing your story.
Grief is something I’ve learned to let be…to flow. Bottling it up caused many issues for me that still pervade today. But awareness, and slowly letting grief seep through—like a crack in the Earth finally opening—released the pressure. What rose up from that crack felt like vapor… like water… like love.
It’s so important to keep sharing our stories of pain. For our world needs to see that letting the guard down brings community, joy, and connection, and not the opposite.
Thank you.
🙏
Jason, your willingness to share both your pain and your wise insight will definitely help others. When we do this, I think it helps give some meaning to our kids' premature deaths. Their life had meaning for sure. It's a matter of us letting go of the "why" question and focusing on "what" - what good can I make from this. Helping others who can't articulate the pain yet is so helpful.
I can relate to your story in some respects, not all good ones. I watched my mother die at age 27 right in front of my eyes when I was only 1 and 1/2, the age of typical separation anxiety. She was killed by a drunk driver. I only survived, reportedly despite some injuries, due to a "miracle." I watched my mom's parents suffer and deal with the loss of their only child for the rest of their lives.
Growing up, I tried at various levels of maturity to understand the meaning of life and death, and why. Why my mom? And why me? The one thing I always knew, more so than my peers for much of my life, is that life is finite. No matter when it happens to end.
I read many books, including the well-known,"Why Bad Things Happen To Good People," many poems, many articles, and many philosophies about life and death, alcoholism, addiction, and my tragic, inexplicable experience. I heard and listened to many people's commentaries throughout my life, from my tender years until today, about their perspectives despite not being me and not living my life.
I don't tell this to make you feel bad. Your addicted, troubled daughter did not kill my mom.
My conclusion is that we mere mortals will never totally understand or know why things happen the way they did, do, or will. Nor are we required to. That acceptance is comforting.
I also think that each individual has the simultaneous right and burden to mourn, grieve, and remember fondly anyone they lost in their own way, in their own time. Memories of many things in life can be bittersweet, and that juxtaposition, or conflict, can be the most unsettling. But we are entitled to admit and accept that that is just the way it was and is. Period.
I
I approached your story somewhat tentatively, there’s something about the words in the title that pulled at me. I read on to learn of Chloe and her mum and the grief within you, her Daddy, and then I read this …"Few things seem to pass so fluidly from one life to the next like unhealed pain." THIS couldn’t be any more true. If you can, find a way through Chloe’s name to change that. You could make a positive difference in others lives and potentially this could help you heal along the way. 🥰🥰
Thank you for writing and sharing your grief and pain and love. Know that at least one other person reads it and in my similar pain I am somehow comforted.❤️
Jason, your life journey has been filled with lessons abundant in nuanced complexities. You traverse these pathways as best you can moment to moment, recognizing that sometimes the land shifts and takes you in different directions over and over again. This is a beautiful piece where you describe holding essential truths within contradictions. Chloe ended her life and in doing so shattered others and you will always love her. There are some moments you wish she was still here and there are others you believe it's better off she is not. These contradictions contain the mystery of unconditional love. How can we love people who cause so much pain? It doesn't make sense, but we do. I think it takes an amazingly courageous soul to live each moment searching for the wisdom within the most crushing human experiences. I wish you comfort, peace, and rest along the journey.
To reconcile oneself to a situation means to accept it, even if it's unpleasant. Are you truly convinced this this can never be reconciled?
That's a great question that's caused me to think - like yours always so.
I love someone who caused tremendous pain. I want to accept it. Some days I can. But most days I still wish she’d lived. Other days, I think she’s better off dead. I can’t reconcile that and I’m learning to stop trying.
So when I say, irreconcilable, I mean right now. Not forever. I changed the wording of one of the sentences to make that more clear.
You're the best, my friend.
You taught me a lot about the power of the question 😉. I can appreciate that there’s a deep trauma associated with this grief. I don’t know how that must feel. I try to witness and just share the question that naturally occurs as I read. Love ya brother ✌️