I had a whole month’s worth of blog posts planned out.
I was going to give you a little tour of my new website, which has been a year in the making and which I’ve been eager to share with you — including the new sections on parenting, soul work, hearth and home, and writing and reading.
In honor of the six-month, “half-birthday” of my latest book, Magical Journey, I intended to excerpt some of the inspiring, heartfelt letters I’ve received from readers – and to ask you to consider buying a hardcover copy before they vanish for good from bookstore shelves, to make way for the last wave of summer beach reads.
I’ve been looking forward to writing about my friend Beth Kephart’s wonderful new book, Handling the Truth, which will be published next week, about the art of living well and the equally demanding art of making the personal universal. (For now, I’ll simply say: if you write memoir in any way, shape, or form, you need this book.)
A summer vacation in Montana without our sons gave me lots to think about, as I both missed my boys on a daily basis (actually, on a moment-by-moment basis) and, at the same time, appreciated the freedom of not having to worry about meeting the needs and expectations of a younger generation of travelers. There is, I know, an essay to be written here.
And then, early last Sunday morning, came the news of a death. A dear friend’s nineteen-year-old son — killed instantly in a tragic accident.
He was a boy I’ve known ever since the day his mom joyfully revealed her pregnancy by announcing to a group of us women friends, “I did it again!” A boy I’ve loved and cheered for and prayed for since he arrived on this earth. A boy who grew, right alongside my own younger son, from a chubby blond toddler into a handsome, thoughtful, athletic teenager with a passion for music and motorcycles. A boy whose young life was both touched by early loss and full of hope and promise. A boy whose childhood was inextricably intertwined, day in and day out, with two other boys I love with all my heart. In the backyard that our three families shared, it was always Jack and Nick and Will. Three boys, born within a year of one another and living within a stone’s throw of one another, who never had to arrange a play date because there was always a best friend right next door, ready to throw a baseball or play a game of hide and seek or go in search of an adventure.
There is a part of me, of course, that yearns to write about the loss of this boy here, now, because writing is the way I work my way toward peace. But there is also a part of me that must acknowledge at this moment the utter failure of words.
I can’t quite imagine writing any of those planned blog posts. I can’t do a Facebook update, or tweet about loss, or even wrestle an essay into shape in an attempt to make some kind of sense of things. When a young person dies, words fail and peace is a long time coming and there isn’t any sense to be made. Perhaps “peace” isn’t ever achieved. He was only nineteen and now he is gone. There is no peace in that. It may be that the most we can hope for is a slow, painful comprehension of one the hardest truths of all for a parent to bear: we can love our children, but love isn’t enough to keep them safe. And that is simply all the more reason to love them as they are, while we can.
So, for now, I am going to be quiet. It’s time for reflection and grief and presence where my presence is needed most. I’ll be back soon.
I am so deeply sorry. As the mother of four, my oldest a 19 year old boy, reading this was piercing and painful. I will say a prayer for you all.
Peace & prayers for you & for your friend’s family, Katrina! Your words here are so inspiring, even when you may not have the words to write.
So, so sorry. I am praying for the young man’s family and friends.
Peace and comfort to you and those you love – there are no words, no perfect phrase, or solemn quote just aching of hearts and the arms of those that loved together holding each other hollowed by loss and praying for comfort knowing there is love and hope with you all
As Mom to an Angel Son who began watching over me at the tender age of 22 years, 18 days as a result of a traffic accident…you are doing exactly what is needed. The closest simile I can come up with is that losing a child unexpectedly is like a mirror shattering. The pieces may eventually come back together but the image is forever altered. Be there. For your friend. For your son. Cry. Rage. Do what needs to be done. And if you can – don’t disappear. My experience was that 3-4 months into this horrific grief journey I found myself suddenly much more alone than I ever thought I’d be. Just be there. Sending Peace…and Strength…and a very gentle Understanding. I’m so very sorry.
Hi Katrina.. I know about the pain that your friend, the mum of the 19 year boy is right now feeling. It will be an ache like non ever felt before, or again, God willing! A pain that is wounding even just to think of it (again).. a pain that no medication can remove.. nothing can dull that heart ache pain.. It feels like somebody has reached in and torn your heart in two!! . Its a pain that you as a parent never want to feel, but ‘somehow’ when it happens.. you get through second after second.. day after day.. year after year.. knowing that the only thing that will one day make sense again.. is.. we will be reunited! And that’s what moved me forward.. I am holding your friends hands up high for her.. she needs much prayer and support through this time. Thank you for your message today. x j
A sad day 🙁
Love and caring for the family and especially for the mother, she needs a big, big hug.
Helena
Oh, Katrina. I am deeply sorry. Deeply, deeply sorry. I did not know. I ache with you. This is the hardest loss. Much love.
So sorry for your loss, Katrina. I experienced the same kind of loss 6 years ago when my best friend lost her only child, a nineteen year old son in a tragic car accident. As I looked at my friend in all of her grief and heartbreak, I cried and knew she would never be the same..she would never smile the same or laugh the same and my heart ached for her. I pray that Will’s family find comfort in the memories and know that God had other plans for their dear son.
Good Morning! A good friend lost her son (age 31) suddenly in Feb. It was shocking news and one we still struggle to wrap our head around. I belive for now, you are doing the right thing, silence to try to process the grief. Remember though, that as time moves on, talking about this young man and all the stories of him will help keep him in all your hearts.
Sending prayers for strength for the boy”s family, and to you and your family as you grieve this horrible loss.
I am so sorry. I pray their faith and knowledge they will one day be reunited, will in due time be a tremendous comfort. My heart aches for all of you. I am the mother of three boys. My oldest is twenty. Katrina, your writing touches my heart so deeply. It has for many years. May your time of silence and presence to those you love be blessed.
So incredibly sorry to read this post. Praying for you all during this sad time.
Oh Katrina… So so so sorry. Sometimes things in life just make no sense and make shreds of our hearts. Thinking of you. Hugs.
So sorry for your pain and the pain of your family/friends. MY son is 18 and off to college this year. With every day I try to embrace him in some way, knowing that our days are are challenged by this thing called time. Thank you for sharing this and your journey. I will try harder to embrace the days.
I was led to you by a link on a website exactly one week ago today, which led me to buy your beautifully written book, Magical Journey–a book that touches the very core of the struggles I too, as a 50 plus woman, am experiencing.
A very wise woman said–“To remember that this imperfect, unpredictable life, this day, this opportunity to love and cherish one another, is fleeting, singular, not to be missed”–these are words that I cling to when I realize that there is little I can control in my life–but I can control the love I give to others–sometimes it is all I can do to get through another day. My prayers and thoughts are with you and your friend.
It can’t be easy sharing your happiness….much less your grief. Thank you for sharing your vulnerabilities and for reminding us all what’s most important right here and now….just to be silent and breathe. My thoughts and prayers are with you and the young man’s family and friends.
When something so incomprehensible happens in our lives, there are no words. I can write so easily of happiness, beauty, and anger, but in the midst of great personal loss, it takes a long time before I can begin to put bits and pieces of my emotions into words.
My heart goes out to you and all of those touched by this heart wrenching loss. May you all find a measure of peace as you struggle through this. And, from my own experience, none of us ever really recover from the loss of a much-loved child. We just learn to go on, holding them close in our hearts.
Once a month, our parish Mass schedule includes visiting “guest” presiders who will celebrate Mass and preach the homily. As much as I admired our appointed weekly pastor, I looked forward to Paul’s visits. And, if by chance he was unable to join our parish on his scheduled weekend, I found myself a little disappointed. He always offered a different perspective; often incorporating many personal experiences into his preaching, always striking a chord with me and many others. His well prepared homilies would stay with me for many days, and often provided the catalyst for many thought provoking discussions. One Sunday, when he did approached the ambo to present his homily, he simply (and a little tearfully) stated: “I recently suffered the loss of a dear friend. I have no words to offer you today.” He lowered his head and returned to the presider’s chair on the altar. The assembly stood up and quietly clapped….the best attempt at that moment to offer condolences, support and affirmation. This happened about 15 years ago….and I often remind myself that, like Fr. Paul, sometimes no words can be spoken.
I understand your loss, and feel for all who are mourning.
So sorry for the loss. Sending prayers. Yes, we must love our children as they are. Thank you!
I am so sorry. My prayers and thoughts are with you and your friend. xo
Katrina,
I am so sorry for your friend’s loss (and your family’s). As you know, I, unfortunately, know the pain of losing a son. You are right, there are no words. But I trust your presence will be the balm that is needed as you accompany your friend on this darkest of journeys. Please know that there will be many bereaved moms holding her close.
Hugs to all of you.
Your graceful words bring back so many of the feelings I had after losing my brother – equally tragic and unexpected. I will carry you in my heart during this time. It has been 5 years and I think of him every day, but now it is with a feeling of privilege for loving him so much that losing him took me to depths I had previously not known. Thank you for sharing your grief. Thoughts and prayers to his family and friends.
As you know, my mother-in-law died just a few weeks ago, and I very much relate to what you describe about not being able to write about it or provide “updates” about it quite yet. I, too, need time to be quiet and reflective. Thank you for these words.
Katrina
As you know, my daughter Sydney died at the age of 24 days old. I deeply understand the pain your friend and her family are suffering right now. There are no real words. Giving her the gift of your quiet presence is the best blessing you can offer to her at this time. You are absolutely correct with your thoughts and feelings. I will hold your friend in my heart and in my prayers as she tries to do the unimaginable; put the pieces back together and try to live the rest of her life on this earth without her beloved son.
Four years ago, two days before Christmas, our dear friends lost their beloved daughter. She was seventeen. I will never forget the feelings we all went through. We
all felt the loss. How can you put into words what you want to express? Sometimes there simply are no words… Just being there, being present and offering your support. A shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, means so much. I worry about my own
children, 21 and 24. My son assures me, “Mom, I have to be able to live my life.” My thoughts and prayers are with you, and that of your friend. God bless you.
We are not meant to live beyond our children. This must be one of life’s hardest things to bear, when it happens. I hope you can be a comfort to his family.
love and prayers to you and your friends…there are no words! xo-Melody
In the end you are right, words fail. Being present for your loved ones and yourself is the most important thing. I will keep you and your friends in my thoughts and prayers. Betsy
Namaste and blessings.
Oh, Katrina. I’m so very sorry. I was going to wait to reply to your kind email until after your vacation so as not to clutter a peaceful time. And now you need space for a wholly other reason.
Grief takes such a meandering path and is, I think, so hard to handle especially for those left behind who are in the prime of their lives. I hope for your boys that the places their grief takes them are not so dark that they have a hard time finding their way back. I will send healing to you and Will’s family. And hug my children extra tight. Thank you for taking the time to let us know about this devastating loss.
“we can love our children, but love isn’t enough to keep them safe. And that is simply all the more reason to love them as they are, while we can.”….beautiful! As a mother of an 18 year old, this touched my heart this morning.
I am so sorry for your loss. Your whole families loss. Praying for you all during this sad time.
What a nightmare. So sorry for your friend and for your family.
love to you and your beloveds today (as you experience this heartache) and everyday (as you experience whatever each sacred moment presents). xo
Every death pulls us up short, but none more so than the death of a young person. We instantly become that mother, who must bear the loss. We grieve for the experiences that will neve be enjoyed, the eternal empty place in the family’s history book.
Eventually healing words will probably come. For now, I wish you peace in this sorrow, and renewed joy in the blessings of you own sons.
One could ask why young lives are taking and we older keep living, feels so unfair. i cant even imagine the pain. But then again some of your readers have found peace and comfort somehow, with the help of a community.
Our beloved dog tragically died a couple of weeks ago and as i was in the process of imagining what loosing a child might be, my youngest son suddenly developed aneurysm, doing better now luckily. And even though you might no have any words just now or in a couple of months, please think that it is trough your talent and authenticity is how many of us can heal and find peace.
As i m going trhoug all these situations,your books and experiences have helped me so much.Please
Dear Katrina –
I am so very sorry for your loss. I cannot imagine the pain you are all feeling. I hope you can feel the love everyone is sending to you, your family, extended family, and friends. I’m thinking of you all and holding a place for you in my heart.
Music, Katrina, music. ….
Oh no, Katrina. I am so sorry. I’m sending love and prayers to you, your sons, your friend and her family. Thinking of you, my dear.
Dear Katrina….i keep starting and erasing words….it’s too much. Sending love, Laura
Katrina,
My heart aches for all of you. I am so, so very sorry. There really are no words to say to offer any comfort at this time. Many hearts are very broken right now, and getting through this grief will be most difficult and seem impossible. My thoughts and prayers are with you all.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Any loss is difficult to handle but the loss of someone so young is especially troubling. I’m sending some prayers your way.
I was going to introduce myself as a new reader to your blog here, but my introduction is insignificant here. Just know that this stranger who has found your words to be a comfort is now sending a lot of warm wishes your way.
I am so so sorry Katrina! I am sending you and those you love prayers for comfort and peace.
Hi Katrina.
Just catching up on my blog reading. What devastating news. I too learned about the passing of a far too young person this weekend. A 24 year old young lady I had met a few times over the years. Beautiful and vibrant. Unimaginable to think she’s not here any longer. A major heart surgery for a genetic condition, but everyone assumed a full recovery. And then she doesn’t make it. I weep for her friends and family and for the friends and family of this wonderful boy you write about. But my heart literally breaks for the parents. How do you navigate such grief? How do you make it through? I hear of this girl’s passing or read your post and think about my own three kids and what risk there is in loving so deeply. Is it worth it? Worth the risk? It must be because what would life be without such love? But boy is it scary.
After my dad’s death, I came to understand that grief is a reflection of great love. It doesn’t make it hurt less, but you can’t live fully and live truly without the risk…
Thanks for the post of wisdom. Beautiful, as usual.
X
Meredith
My brother died at 19 in the late 1960’s. I was 13 and his death had a profound affect on my parents and me. The person I became was shaped by this tragic event. I felt like I had to take care of my parents and it influenced my decision to become a teacher. I grew up very quickly…..
As the mother of two boys, my heart aches and aches for your friend’s unimaginable loss. Love and prayers and more prayers for the loss of this young soul to all those changed forever by this tragedy…
Oh Katrina, there are no words.
I lost a brother tragically 35 years ago and I wish I knew how to help. I remember asking again and again, “What do I need to do to get rid of this pain?” The answer, always honest, was nothing at all. It is a pain that must be accepted and integrated, which is maddeningly slow and erratic. One day you cry. The next you laugh and feel guilty. And sometime far in the future, you laugh and forget to feel guilty. Always you dream of the “What ifs?”
So you tell the children about those we love and have lost. You tell them about the funny times, the tales that made them unique and special and most of all, alive. You laugh and cry in the same breath, knowing that in your grief, you are astonishingly present to the twins you carry within you: love and loss. For me, the knowledge was a supreme gift that I never wanted to receive and would gladly return for just one hour to say all the things I wish I had said.