Colin Campbell lost his two teenage children in a car crash. He says that the way we treat grieving people is cruel and backward, and that it needs a reimagining.
"No one told me grief felt so much like fear." Two years ago my husband had a fatal heart attack. One minute my husband was outside, working in our yard, the next minute I was a widow. The overwhelming feeling I had for days afterward was terror. Absolute blind terror, verging on panic. When I found C. S. Lewis's "A Grief Observed" I was stunned by how completely and utterly his sentence reflected the fear I felt.
When I was 16, I lost my 19 year old brother to suicide. I cried so much, that I have not cried since. Not that I haven’t had reason, but I think I cried all I was ever going to in the months that followed. I’m 63 now, and still remember my biggest fear back then was that people would forget him. I made sure to talk about him any chance I could. I think Colin is spot on. There are words, and leaning in was a great way to navigate this tragedy for me.
Alan, your words here reassured me today. I was just this morning thinking of the death last year of my son's close friend, Trevor, age 27. Going to that funeral was wrenching---I did not realize that I could cry non-stop tears for two hours straight. And when I encountered Trevor's brother in the receiving line, I had no idea what to say but something possessed me to avow, "I will never forget Trevor, never." Maybe that was the best thing that I could have done.
We have names for husbands and wives who lose their spouses (widow, widower), and for children who lose parents (orphans) but there is no name for parents who lose children because it is too awful to name.
That is correct. I have read that before. It is the worst fear of anyone who has a child. And when it comes true, then all other fears suddenly seem possible. At the same time, you don't care, because you ask yourself "what could be worse than that?"
Exactly. Even my ordinary parental fears of something happening to my other children are less paralyzing, because it's already happened to me, and if it were to happen again, there is absolutely nothing I could do about it. It's a troubling feeling of resignation.
I seek to be grateful for everything I have, because I am all to aware of how easily it can be lost.
The bonus is that gratitude is the foundation for all my happiness. Instead of focusing on what I don't have--which only makes a person angry and dissatisfied and greedy--I try to focus on what I do have. Which is a lot, despite being much poorer, financially, than most people here seem to be.
Thankfully Colin and his wife found a way to handle the dreadful pain they suffer. Losing a child rips a hole in your soul. Eased with time, perhaps accepted to a level where you can progress, never healed.
That's another fallacy. I speak as a member of the club. Every day I encounter directly or indirectly people who face griefs more serious than mine, many of which are ongoing. Behold, for a trivial example, the first adoptee in the essay who, in effect, died voluntarily.
This was a very hard listen for me, but like Colin mentions, you have to lean into that pain. I lost my mom in 2018, after watching her slowly decline over 20 years from multiple sclerosis, ultimately leaving her completely wheelchair bound. Six months after her passing, my younger sister, 33 at the time, was diagnosed with metastatic melanoma. Within a year she was gone also. The worst part was that she died in April 2020 when everyone was in true covid lockdowns. We didn't have a funeral for a year and a half. Not gathering for a formal ceremony was extremely hard and only added to our grief and disbelief. I loved the descriptions of the Jewish traditions, which seem so helpful.
But I respectfully disagree with Colin's statement that he doesn't like when people say "everything happens for a reason." No, there is no reason your loved one is dead. Instead, I believe that saying speaks to the reason you are still living. His reason was for him to reach people and help them with their grief through writing his book. His reason is helping foster children find a loving home and a brighter future.
The deaths in my family have inspired me to live more consciously and never take anything for granted. I hug my children tighter. I am focused on our family first when making decisions. I live the cliche phrase "live like you were dying". If today is to be my last day, I know I will made the most of every second up until this point. That's the reason tragedies happen sometimes. To remind us to live.
I respectfully disagree while I like your interpretation of “for a reason”, as a bereaved parent, or Vilomah, hearing that there is an acceptable reason for my child’s death is pure religious conjecture and I don’t like hearing it. My son only lived 16 years...the world was gypped of his contribution, we were gypped of his love ... there is no reason for a drunk and high driver to be behind the wheel...PERIOD.
You're right. While losing a loving parent or sibling can be a profound loss, there is NOTHING like burying a child, whether three, or thirty years old. You never are the same. Ever.
I wholeheartedly agree. No one who has not lost a child could possibly understand. It is literally the worst thing that can happen to you. When I was grieving my child I quickly learned to throw any book written by someone who has not lost a child in the trash. (With the exception of the one by Megan Devine because that one had some very practical advice.) There is a really excellent support group called The Compassionate Friends and I would urge anyone who has lost a child of any age to reach out if they are struggling, no matter how how long it's been.
Megan Divine is wonderful. Her book was my favorite and I recommend it to everyone. She understands that our culture is screwed up when it comes to grief.
My only son died after an auto accident in 1998, when he was 26. My saving group was the Compassionate Friends. World-wide, free, non-denominational. We talked about our children. We spoke their names, we supported each other, we cried together. Grief is something that will always be with me. It's there, but I have learned to live with it. I owe my son to live with it & experience whatever I can because he cannot. People would say-" how can you live with his loss, I couldn't" What choice did I have-if given a choice, it would have been me, instead of him. Another helpful book was -"When Bad Things Happen To Good People." Thank you for sharing your experiences & advice.
“The other thing that seemed clear to me was that we all needed to talk about our grief. We needed to share our pain, and we needed to talk about our loved ones. Everybody I talked to was desperate to talk about the people that had died, and so it seemed to me that the key to grieving is being engaged in your pain and talking about your loved one to other people.”
After my beloved son-in-law was murdered, I found myself compulsively, relentlessly sharing the story of his honorable life and tragic death. With everyone I met. With neighbors. Contractors. Bank tellers. A clerk in an upscale gift shop. No one was immune.
I did this for five years, finally tapering off to just one or two tellings a month to random strangers. I had no opportunity for “grief counseling”--other imperatives and crises took precedence over the very clear need I had for professional help.
But in the process of telling the story, I finally realized what I was doing was memorializing him, making sure he was widely known and loved as I had loved him. And I thought my grieving was complete, that I could move on to a different stage of appreciating the fine man he had been, and being grateful to have had him in my life.
I was wrong. Ten years after my son-in-law’s death I attended a funeral for an elderly man, a survivor of the battle of the Chosin Reservoir in Korea. A true hero. He had died peacefully in his sleep. He was 89, and had told me he was ready to join his beloved wife. The funeral was appropriately solemn, and I was doing fine, until the folded flag was presented to his son.
I dissolved. I sobbed quietly at first, then uncontrollably. I had to be helped out of the chapel. My friends were utterly mystified. I had not shed a tear for my son-in-law in the aftermath of his death, nor in the ten years intervening. I had been the rock, the organizer, the comforter for everyone else. In my own mind, I had accorded him the dignity he deserved, even through the military honors and playing of “Taps.”
I had merely postponed my own grief, and it flooded over me at that funeral so many years later. Now, I can allow myself a tear as I describe that experience. And I can still treasure dear George, and be genuinely grateful for his presence in my life, even for a brief spell.
It is often said that a person dies twice. First, when the soul leaves the earthly body. Second, when their name is never said again. You have kept your son-in-laws memory alive. May God bless you.
Thank you for the beautiful interview. It opened my eyes to how to grieve my own losses & to grieve with others & their losses. I cried as I thought about grieving the loss of my mother & how I learned to lean into the pain of that loss. But more importantly, this opened me up to ways to help someone else who is grieving. I hope I remember this always.
There is a beautiful film “St Vincent” (2014) with Bill Murray about a cranky old men making a friendship with a 12 year old.
At some point when his wife dies the boy says the cliche “I m sorry for your loss” and the grumpy old man erupts with irritation: what a stupid saying! Ask me something about her: how she was? What was her name..? What was she like?”
I watched the film with my kids. Even though it’s inappropriate. But it had some profound wisdoms, like this one: let the person in grief talk about their loved ones and be a listener and a carrier of their love and pain.
I admit.. I avoided the podcast and reading this article for a bit. I knew it would break my heart and I cried throughout the reading. I’m a nurse of 30+ years and have sat with people as they’ve died and have been present with families when they learn of their loved ones death. I’ve helped grieving parents of stillborn babies. And prayed over patients who were alone in their final hours. I lean into each experience but it still breaks my soul in pieces. I truly appreciate Bari for this subject and will continue to do my best to be present with my patients and families during this very tragic situation. ❤️
What a tragic story. But, it ends with a positive. They are foster parents. The shiva, shloshim and 12 month cycle of mourning in Judaism helped me get thru my parents’ passing. Parents passing are nothing like losing ones’ children, but the Jewish way to grieve is arguably the best when it comes to opening up about the loss. You talk about the loved ones you are mourning and you are connecting to your community. Very powerful support group. I’m happy that the parents became foster parents. They sound like a terrific parenting team.
My son died of a drug overdose at 30. My synagogue's Minyan group held me up when I could not stand. For a year, every morning at 7am- rain, sleet, or snow. Most were older than me, widows and widowers, and their years of collective experience of life's adversities was a silent pillar of strength in the room. I will never forget the unconditional support of the group, and the healing power of starting your day with community prayer.
I had never heard about the full ritual of mourning in Judaism until this essay. I am impressed that the ritual makes SURE you stay connected to the community throughout the full year after a death.
I'm a career prosecutor and I too was curious as to this woman's background and what kind of legal consequences there were. I realized by the end of the interview that Colin must have deliberately decided to not address these issues. Perhaps this is a self-protective choice so that he can avoid being trapped in the hall of mirrors engraved with the words "What if?"
No amount of justice will bring the back the deceased. We know this. And for some, the grieving process includes justice. I am one to think that the pursue this angle after loss is not the most productive way to deal with the loss. I think the author is right that moving on through a perpetual remembrance of the individuals it the key to a new normal, a new anchor to move along in this journey we call life.
I looked it up, too. Not because it bears on the Colin's story, per se, but to see who would drive so carelessly after other incidents. She's had trouble with the law about her driving off and on since 2012. Not continual, mind you, but regularly. I know when I drank and drove as a kid (because I would NEVER leave my car anywhere), I was always worried that I might injure someone. Luckilky, I was always in control of the car. (Because I couldn't afford to replace it!). Just hard to understand being so calloused about other people's lives.
The thing that is enraging to many of us is that the people who do this get off with minimal punishment again and again and again. MADD has made a lot of progress in getting DUI laws strengthened. But losing their driver's license isn't going to stop these demonstrably irresponsible people from driving. I think that vehicular manslaughter while under the influence of drugs or alcohol should require significant jail time. That is the only way to make sure they aren't out on the road.
A very close friend of my daughter just lost her beautiful nine-year-old little girl to leukemia. The entire community is in mourning. We called it "unspeakable."
Thank you so much for sharing your story about profound grief after losing your beloved children. I have several friends who have lost children in the last couple of years and I must admit, I did have a loss for words. This is a very hard topic to even wrap one’s head around - your words have provided support and validation for many that are grieving loved ones. It was so encouraging to hear about the new teens in your home. Best wishes for a special and rewarding future together.
Because it is a fear that lives within every parent. My uncle and aunt lost both their children, Sheila at 16 to a cerebral hemorrhage and Patrick to a hero's death at 21 in Vietnam. It sticks with you.
"No one told me grief felt so much like fear." Two years ago my husband had a fatal heart attack. One minute my husband was outside, working in our yard, the next minute I was a widow. The overwhelming feeling I had for days afterward was terror. Absolute blind terror, verging on panic. When I found C. S. Lewis's "A Grief Observed" I was stunned by how completely and utterly his sentence reflected the fear I felt.
When I was 16, I lost my 19 year old brother to suicide. I cried so much, that I have not cried since. Not that I haven’t had reason, but I think I cried all I was ever going to in the months that followed. I’m 63 now, and still remember my biggest fear back then was that people would forget him. I made sure to talk about him any chance I could. I think Colin is spot on. There are words, and leaning in was a great way to navigate this tragedy for me.
Alan, your words here reassured me today. I was just this morning thinking of the death last year of my son's close friend, Trevor, age 27. Going to that funeral was wrenching---I did not realize that I could cry non-stop tears for two hours straight. And when I encountered Trevor's brother in the receiving line, I had no idea what to say but something possessed me to avow, "I will never forget Trevor, never." Maybe that was the best thing that I could have done.
Yes always speak their name………
I totally understand Alan. I lost my only child to suicide when he was 25. I was very afraid that people would forget him.
All I can say is "Wow" - what a lovely poignant essay. It could help anyone face the grief that we all will encounter at some point. Bravo.
No we won’t. Losing children is incomparable.
We have names for husbands and wives who lose their spouses (widow, widower), and for children who lose parents (orphans) but there is no name for parents who lose children because it is too awful to name.
Actually we do in Sanskrit, Vilomah, which means “out of order death” and in another translation :”when the dark hairs die before the gray”. ❤️
Oh that is so eloquent. Thank you for sharing that.
Thank you for sharing that! I'm glad that at least one culture on earth has been able to put a name to it.
That is correct. I have read that before. It is the worst fear of anyone who has a child. And when it comes true, then all other fears suddenly seem possible. At the same time, you don't care, because you ask yourself "what could be worse than that?"
Exactly. Even my ordinary parental fears of something happening to my other children are less paralyzing, because it's already happened to me, and if it were to happen again, there is absolutely nothing I could do about it. It's a troubling feeling of resignation.
Celia, I eventually got to a place of feeling acceptance of my life and the uncertainties of life and, for the most part, gave up fighting it.
I seek to be grateful for everything I have, because I am all to aware of how easily it can be lost.
The bonus is that gratitude is the foundation for all my happiness. Instead of focusing on what I don't have--which only makes a person angry and dissatisfied and greedy--I try to focus on what I do have. Which is a lot, despite being much poorer, financially, than most people here seem to be.
After 10 years, I'm still trying to accept it.
Oh that is crushingly well said
I heard that first said by a wise priest who eulogized a young man who had died.
Thankfully Colin and his wife found a way to handle the dreadful pain they suffer. Losing a child rips a hole in your soul. Eased with time, perhaps accepted to a level where you can progress, never healed.
That's another fallacy. I speak as a member of the club. Every day I encounter directly or indirectly people who face griefs more serious than mine, many of which are ongoing. Behold, for a trivial example, the first adoptee in the essay who, in effect, died voluntarily.
I uttered that exactly, then took a deep sigh. Wow.
This was a very hard listen for me, but like Colin mentions, you have to lean into that pain. I lost my mom in 2018, after watching her slowly decline over 20 years from multiple sclerosis, ultimately leaving her completely wheelchair bound. Six months after her passing, my younger sister, 33 at the time, was diagnosed with metastatic melanoma. Within a year she was gone also. The worst part was that she died in April 2020 when everyone was in true covid lockdowns. We didn't have a funeral for a year and a half. Not gathering for a formal ceremony was extremely hard and only added to our grief and disbelief. I loved the descriptions of the Jewish traditions, which seem so helpful.
But I respectfully disagree with Colin's statement that he doesn't like when people say "everything happens for a reason." No, there is no reason your loved one is dead. Instead, I believe that saying speaks to the reason you are still living. His reason was for him to reach people and help them with their grief through writing his book. His reason is helping foster children find a loving home and a brighter future.
The deaths in my family have inspired me to live more consciously and never take anything for granted. I hug my children tighter. I am focused on our family first when making decisions. I live the cliche phrase "live like you were dying". If today is to be my last day, I know I will made the most of every second up until this point. That's the reason tragedies happen sometimes. To remind us to live.
I respectfully disagree while I like your interpretation of “for a reason”, as a bereaved parent, or Vilomah, hearing that there is an acceptable reason for my child’s death is pure religious conjecture and I don’t like hearing it. My son only lived 16 years...the world was gypped of his contribution, we were gypped of his love ... there is no reason for a drunk and high driver to be behind the wheel...PERIOD.
You're right. While losing a loving parent or sibling can be a profound loss, there is NOTHING like burying a child, whether three, or thirty years old. You never are the same. Ever.
I wholeheartedly agree. No one who has not lost a child could possibly understand. It is literally the worst thing that can happen to you. When I was grieving my child I quickly learned to throw any book written by someone who has not lost a child in the trash. (With the exception of the one by Megan Devine because that one had some very practical advice.) There is a really excellent support group called The Compassionate Friends and I would urge anyone who has lost a child of any age to reach out if they are struggling, no matter how how long it's been.
The Compassionate Friends is one of the few places parents who have lost children can talk about that loss and know that the people listening get it.
Megan Divine is wonderful. Her book was my favorite and I recommend it to everyone. She understands that our culture is screwed up when it comes to grief.
I’m so sorry. 🌹
My only son died after an auto accident in 1998, when he was 26. My saving group was the Compassionate Friends. World-wide, free, non-denominational. We talked about our children. We spoke their names, we supported each other, we cried together. Grief is something that will always be with me. It's there, but I have learned to live with it. I owe my son to live with it & experience whatever I can because he cannot. People would say-" how can you live with his loss, I couldn't" What choice did I have-if given a choice, it would have been me, instead of him. Another helpful book was -"When Bad Things Happen To Good People." Thank you for sharing your experiences & advice.
Jo Ann, I too am a CF member in NH...great group indeed 💔
Thank you for this deeply poignant interview.
“The other thing that seemed clear to me was that we all needed to talk about our grief. We needed to share our pain, and we needed to talk about our loved ones. Everybody I talked to was desperate to talk about the people that had died, and so it seemed to me that the key to grieving is being engaged in your pain and talking about your loved one to other people.”
After my beloved son-in-law was murdered, I found myself compulsively, relentlessly sharing the story of his honorable life and tragic death. With everyone I met. With neighbors. Contractors. Bank tellers. A clerk in an upscale gift shop. No one was immune.
I did this for five years, finally tapering off to just one or two tellings a month to random strangers. I had no opportunity for “grief counseling”--other imperatives and crises took precedence over the very clear need I had for professional help.
But in the process of telling the story, I finally realized what I was doing was memorializing him, making sure he was widely known and loved as I had loved him. And I thought my grieving was complete, that I could move on to a different stage of appreciating the fine man he had been, and being grateful to have had him in my life.
I was wrong. Ten years after my son-in-law’s death I attended a funeral for an elderly man, a survivor of the battle of the Chosin Reservoir in Korea. A true hero. He had died peacefully in his sleep. He was 89, and had told me he was ready to join his beloved wife. The funeral was appropriately solemn, and I was doing fine, until the folded flag was presented to his son.
I dissolved. I sobbed quietly at first, then uncontrollably. I had to be helped out of the chapel. My friends were utterly mystified. I had not shed a tear for my son-in-law in the aftermath of his death, nor in the ten years intervening. I had been the rock, the organizer, the comforter for everyone else. In my own mind, I had accorded him the dignity he deserved, even through the military honors and playing of “Taps.”
I had merely postponed my own grief, and it flooded over me at that funeral so many years later. Now, I can allow myself a tear as I describe that experience. And I can still treasure dear George, and be genuinely grateful for his presence in my life, even for a brief spell.
Thank you for sharing that.
Repressed grief is a real syndrome and maybe what you experienced...keep sharing and talking about him and his beautiful life as much as you can ❤️
It is often said that a person dies twice. First, when the soul leaves the earthly body. Second, when their name is never said again. You have kept your son-in-laws memory alive. May God bless you.
I hear what you're saying about being the rock. That's always been my role, too. And it does tend to rob you of the ability to simply grieve.
Thank you for the beautiful interview. It opened my eyes to how to grieve my own losses & to grieve with others & their losses. I cried as I thought about grieving the loss of my mother & how I learned to lean into the pain of that loss. But more importantly, this opened me up to ways to help someone else who is grieving. I hope I remember this always.
me too. I will not be afraid to ask them about their loved one
There is a beautiful film “St Vincent” (2014) with Bill Murray about a cranky old men making a friendship with a 12 year old.
At some point when his wife dies the boy says the cliche “I m sorry for your loss” and the grumpy old man erupts with irritation: what a stupid saying! Ask me something about her: how she was? What was her name..? What was she like?”
I watched the film with my kids. Even though it’s inappropriate. But it had some profound wisdoms, like this one: let the person in grief talk about their loved ones and be a listener and a carrier of their love and pain.
I admit.. I avoided the podcast and reading this article for a bit. I knew it would break my heart and I cried throughout the reading. I’m a nurse of 30+ years and have sat with people as they’ve died and have been present with families when they learn of their loved ones death. I’ve helped grieving parents of stillborn babies. And prayed over patients who were alone in their final hours. I lean into each experience but it still breaks my soul in pieces. I truly appreciate Bari for this subject and will continue to do my best to be present with my patients and families during this very tragic situation. ❤️
Me too
Er doc 40 years
You are a treasure to the world. Thank you!
What a tragic story. But, it ends with a positive. They are foster parents. The shiva, shloshim and 12 month cycle of mourning in Judaism helped me get thru my parents’ passing. Parents passing are nothing like losing ones’ children, but the Jewish way to grieve is arguably the best when it comes to opening up about the loss. You talk about the loved ones you are mourning and you are connecting to your community. Very powerful support group. I’m happy that the parents became foster parents. They sound like a terrific parenting team.
My son died of a drug overdose at 30. My synagogue's Minyan group held me up when I could not stand. For a year, every morning at 7am- rain, sleet, or snow. Most were older than me, widows and widowers, and their years of collective experience of life's adversities was a silent pillar of strength in the room. I will never forget the unconditional support of the group, and the healing power of starting your day with community prayer.
So sorry for your loss. Happy to hear that daily minyan was your rock. It’s a blessing to have strong and uplifting community support. God bless you.
I had never heard about the full ritual of mourning in Judaism until this essay. I am impressed that the ritual makes SURE you stay connected to the community throughout the full year after a death.
Thank you Bari. I can't imagine any parent reading this without tearing up. Life can be so beautiful and so unfair.
This was challenging to read but an important essay. I have two kids the same age. I had to take little breaks bw paragraphs.
The well of grief
Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief,
turning down through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe,
will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,
nor find in the darkness glimmering,
the small round coins,
thrown by those who wished for something else.
David Whyte
Oh, David Whyte. He can express any emotion so perfectly. Thank you for sharing this piece.
Well, this has knocked me out of commission for the rest of the day
I hope you’re not hiding from the pain
As a 35-year prosecutor of Vehicular Manslaughter cases, what of the person responsible for all this pain?
Her name is Nicole Packer.
I'm a career prosecutor and I too was curious as to this woman's background and what kind of legal consequences there were. I realized by the end of the interview that Colin must have deliberately decided to not address these issues. Perhaps this is a self-protective choice so that he can avoid being trapped in the hall of mirrors engraved with the words "What if?"
I think it’s left out because it’s not the point of the discussion. This is about words to say when one is grieving.
This was not an “accident,” it was a felony.
The family should be able to deal with it however they need to, but the rest of society cannot pretend this was simply an “act of God.”
What are you taking about? Who said it was an accident?
No amount of justice will bring the back the deceased. We know this. And for some, the grieving process includes justice. I am one to think that the pursue this angle after loss is not the most productive way to deal with the loss. I think the author is right that moving on through a perpetual remembrance of the individuals it the key to a new normal, a new anchor to move along in this journey we call life.
Just tell me she is not out driving...please
I looked it up, too. Not because it bears on the Colin's story, per se, but to see who would drive so carelessly after other incidents. She's had trouble with the law about her driving off and on since 2012. Not continual, mind you, but regularly. I know when I drank and drove as a kid (because I would NEVER leave my car anywhere), I was always worried that I might injure someone. Luckilky, I was always in control of the car. (Because I couldn't afford to replace it!). Just hard to understand being so calloused about other people's lives.
I appreciate your honesty
The thing that is enraging to many of us is that the people who do this get off with minimal punishment again and again and again. MADD has made a lot of progress in getting DUI laws strengthened. But losing their driver's license isn't going to stop these demonstrably irresponsible people from driving. I think that vehicular manslaughter while under the influence of drugs or alcohol should require significant jail time. That is the only way to make sure they aren't out on the road.
Execute her.
Beautiful.
Thank you.
A very close friend of my daughter just lost her beautiful nine-year-old little girl to leukemia. The entire community is in mourning. We called it "unspeakable."
This helps. Now we won't.
Thank you so much for sharing your story about profound grief after losing your beloved children. I have several friends who have lost children in the last couple of years and I must admit, I did have a loss for words. This is a very hard topic to even wrap one’s head around - your words have provided support and validation for many that are grieving loved ones. It was so encouraging to hear about the new teens in your home. Best wishes for a special and rewarding future together.
Because it is a fear that lives within every parent. My uncle and aunt lost both their children, Sheila at 16 to a cerebral hemorrhage and Patrick to a hero's death at 21 in Vietnam. It sticks with you.
Wow! So tragic and unfair. Wholeheartedly agree. It is a parents worst fear.