Guest Author - Dina Liora Manieri

Child death is a social taboo. The death of a child is so unthinkable that most people just push it away, often adding a physical movement or soft spoken prayer to further block and protect them from the horror of child death. Child death is so unmentionable, even dictionaries don't offer a definitive term for the bereaved parent. Isn't it interesting that a spouse “leaves behind" a 'widow/widower' and a bereaved child is termed an ‘orphan’, while no definitive word exists to define the grieving parent?

This lack of terminology is disempowering, reinforcing the unthinkable surrounding death in general, and more specifically, in the case of the death of a child. Because death is an experience we can only imagine (having no first hand knowledge) the terminology that has developed throughout history to express this experience is largely based on our primal fear of the unknown. Death continues to be defined using the terminology of the living, a terminology which reinforces this basic fear of death – especially the death of a child.

The negative terms widely used today in the death and bereavement experience only emphasize this basic fear – for example, “gone” and “lost” being sociably acceptable euphemisms for death. Mourners are expected to “move on” and “let go”. Bereaved individuals are told that “time heals” and with time, they will “forget” the “pain” of the death of their loved ones. It is sociably acceptable to whisper amongst the un-initiated in regard to a ‘bereaved’ parent that “her/his child died” – a whisper which creates a mental image few parents are willing to allow themselves to imagine. In particular, the experience of the death of a child becomes the defining moment in the eyes of the rest of the world in regard to the “bereaved” parent, a parent forever defined (with negative terminology!) by the death and not the life of their child who has died, as if all that child ever achieved in this life were the seconds of his/her death and not the (sometimes) years of life and enrichment he/she brought to those who loved them.

With all of that, how are we supposed to 'move' on?!

Parents who have not experienced the death of a child are frightened by the shocking reality that sometimes, children really do die. Parents of dead children often feel cut off, labeled and pitied; increasing the challenge of enjoying joyful and fulfilling lives when their beloved child dies. Society in general supports this exclusion of the “grieving” parent. After all, bereaved parents are so 'hung up' on the memories of their dead child that non-mourners certainly would prefer to avoid having these bereaved parents sitting in their living room or eating at their dining table, just in case the death of a child is contagious - as if they could catch 'child death' and bring it into their homes. Besides, what can anyone say to a mourning parent?

As a 'bereaved' parent, I was surprised (and a bit insulted) when I discovered that no term existed for the parent whose child has died. How can that be? Is my life experience so devastating, there isn't even a term for it? Is the death of a child so taboo, history has not allowed us to create a word for it?

I do not feel as though I have lost my son Jamie to death – Jamie is not lost. My loss is exclusive to my life, not Jamie's death. Jamie is not gone either – his body is gone, but the essence of Jamie remains. I have not 'moved on' in my grief – rather, my grief has developed and matured, creating great insight and facilitating self exploration. Time heals nothing. Time gives us experience, and experience offers new perspective. Jamie is not gone, nor is he lost. Jamie has graduated from this life of learning. I am a GRAD – parent, a parent whose child has graduated from this life. I remain in the University of Life, while he is on vacation. Though my life would be greatly enriched by his continued physical presence, I cannot ignore the fact that his death brought enrichment too. My grief as a gradparent is a gift of opportunity, given to me by my dead child.

My grief is Jamie's legacy.