Once A Parent, Always A Parent

As most of you who have read my blog with any regularity know by now, my son and only child was killed in a car accident in 2002. For any who don’t, he was 17 and a senior in high school and he died because he wasn’t wearing a seat belt. He was thrown out of the vehicle in the accident. His death, however, is not the topic of my post today but it is a reason for it.

I was in CVS pharmacy yesterday morning when I was reminded that regardless of the fact my son is no longer here, I am still, and always will be a parent. The clerk and I were commenting on a child’s photo on a magazine cover, remarking about the look on the child’s face. The clerk mentioned that her daughter made the same kind of face when she was angry or wanted something and was disappointed. With knowledge only a parent would have I asked “Ah, but does the look work on mom?” She laughed and said “Well, when she does this” and made a really funny, stubborn, pouty face. I knew exactly what she meant.

I know several people currently in my life, and several others whom I have known or with whom I have associated in the past, who have lost children over the years. In fact, I know far too many these days. One in particular, a very dear family member, lost her son in December last year. You may have read about him in a couple of my December blogs. Tami, his mother, says she doesn’t feel like a parent anymore because Chad was her only son as well. How well I know that feeling. I try to reassure her that in time, not only will the pain lessen (it will never, ever go away) but her feelings of being a parent will return little by little. She doesn’t believe me now but as time goes by, when she realizes that she’ll not only survive this terrible loss but learn to live with it in a halfway normal manner, those feelings of being a mom, a parent to a child will return regardless of the fact that Chad is no longer with us here on Earth.

It happens gradually and at first you don’t really notice it. You see a child somewhere, in a store, a park, or even someone else’s child in your home and it sparks a memory of your own child. You catch yourself smiling at the memory, noticing that you’re actually having a happy thought about your beloved child that isn’t creating tears. Before long you notice it’s happening more often and then the guilt sets in. How could you be smiling and having happy memories when your child, your baby, is dead? It’s all very normal and this too shall pass, for the most part. Happy feelings turn to feelings of guilt then return to happy feelings once you realize your child would never want you to feel guilty.

After Christopher died it took me a full year before I could actually experience happiness when thinking of him. The guilt was really strong at first. But I know what my son would want, as I know what Chad would want for Tami and that would be: “Please don’t mourn and cry over me forever. I love that you miss me and I love that you were my parent but I want you to be happy and live the rest of your life without constant sadness. I’m OK where I am and I need you to be OK too.” That thought did the trick for me.

Oh, there are still bad days and bad moments but for the most part I’m doing well. Even nine years later there are certain things that make me cry or bring back that pain. But it passes far more quickly these days.

To that clerk in the CVS store – thank you for reminding me that I will always be a parent, a father. You did it unknowingly but you brought a happy memory to my heart and a smile to my face. Tami – take heart. You are still Chad’s mother and you always will be. No one and nothing can ever take that away from you. Remember my motto: “You never know how strong you can be until being strong is the only choice you have.”

I am a father. I am Christopher Clark’s father. And that will never change. I love you, buddy.