About Jean Blyler

I'm a mother who's done what no mother should ever have to do: bury a child. No one is ever prepared for pain this intense. No one. You don't know what to expect, yet everyone tries to tell you what to do. Their concern is genuine, yet everything anyone says seems to amplify the pain. Everything hurts.

My husband Johnny and I have been married 32 years, and have raised two wonderful sons. I was working a full time job in Accounts Payable, but I had to quit so I could grieve the loss of my son. I could not function. Grief does not come with an instruction book. The loss of a child changes the family unit forever, in a way that most folks cannot understand.

Sure, those around you are supportive and sympathetic – family, relatives, friends, neighbors, co-workers alike – and those close to you will shed tears and appear to share your pain. At least for a while.

But then folks move on with their lives. For them the pain is shocking but brief; for a mother who has lost a child, the pain has only just begun.

I did not know what to do next. I could not function. I wanted to die. At first everything was a blur, a flurry of activity, people all around telling me they were there for me. But as quickly as they came, they were gone. It's like when the funeral is over you're expected to get on with life. In past times you mourned the dead by wearing black for a year; now you get three days off work. You're allowed six weeks materity leave to adjust to having a new child; you get three days to bury one.

People say, "Let me know if you need anything." Honestly, though, I didn't feel like calling anyone, and I certainly didn't want to be any trouble. How do you ask people to do household chores for you just because you don't feel up to it? And yet, getting through each day would have been so much easier if a neighbor had offered to mow my lawn once in a while, or if a relative had stopped by and insisted on doing the laundry, or if a friend had turned up on my doorstep with a week's shopping already taken care of.

There's plenty of help at the beginning, but it tails off quickly. People just want to move on, and who can blame them? Unfortunately grieving continues for months, even years, and the most basic things in life such as washing your hair, getting dressed – heck, even getting out of bed – become extremely difficult to manage. You forget things too. You lose your car in the parking lot. And dinner? Who cares!

The problem is that there is usually a family to take care of while you're supposed to be grieving, other children that require your constant attention. You really haven't got time to grieve, and yet that's all you can do. People think you "just get over it" after a while, but you don't.

We must educate caregivers to call or stop by regularly, to do a bit of laundry, cut the grass, pick up groceries, and other common sense everyday chores. Caregivers can help shoulder the burden in the simplest of ways. Providing food, for instance – but in practical amounts, like fully cooked frozen meals for the next week. Gift cards for restaurants worked great for us.

A simple hug and "I'm thinking of you" works wonders too.

The things I used to enjoy don't matter to me now. Nothing is fun. Do not say to me, "You just need to get out and enjoy life." Do not tell me the wonderful things God has for me. This is something I have to work out with Him on my own. I was told to remember that God gave His only son for me. Well, He also got him back in three days. Mine is still gone. That is how you feel for a while.

I made a terrible mistake by not finding an ongoing support group for parents. There are words that hurt and words that heal. I want to present healing words. To be an assistant to your individual journey. To make it easier. Eventually I found help and you can too! Yes, There Is a Tomorrow!!!