"I Need To Live With My Grief"

Brenda Houts is a mother who lost her three sons during their teenage years; one to suicide, one to drowning and one to an auto accident. She has first hand experience with grief and how it is continues to manifest itself in her life.

One popular misconception that Brenda is trying to dispel is that grief is not over at the one year mark. She, through a letter to her sons, shows how grief is woven into the very fabric of her life.

A letter to my sons;

I do not like the sound of gunfire. Whenever I hear the crack of the gunshot, I hear the sound that took your life. I used to like to target practice but now I know that I will never shoot a gun again.

I do not like being on the water any more. Whenever I look down into the water, I see you struggling for your last breath. I think of how scared you must have been.

Every curve that I take when I drive the road has me wondering how you missed the curve that took your life and then I wonder what your last thoughts were.

New dislikes. So many things changed in my life as each one of you died. I have new dislikes now. Such as, I do not like my beautiful red robe anymore. That robe always hung on the bedpost, just in case I ever had to get up in the middle of the night.

I put that robe on the night Officer Anderson and Pastor Mark came to the door to tell me you had missed the curve and would never be coming home again. Now that robe hangs in the closet. I keep pushing it further back out of sight. I will not wear it but I cannot throw it away either.

I never drive the road past the river where you fought the current and lost, unless I absolutely have to. I never take the street by the nursing center where you laid for two years in a persistent vegetative state. I do not even think about it, I just do not drive it.

I do not watch the late night TV comedy shows anymore, because what they poke fun at is too close to the reality of my life.

"Overcoming Grief?" Oh, I have read all the advice on how to "overcome" these grieving problems. That advice just does not make sense to me. I know that some people who have had a child die feel the need to overcome these things.

Some people survive by putting their grief to the side, closing it up in a box and never going there. However, I cannot survive that way. I need to live with my grief. I am okay with not liking gunfire, not going on the water, not wearing my red robe, and thinking about you when I drive the curves.

All three of you boys understood my phobia with snakes. You would place yourself in the front on the way to the clothesline guarding me from the chance of seeing the fleeing snake. You boys tried to talk me into touching a snake, you said, "Mom if you just hold a snake you will get over your fear and then you will like snakes." I remember telling you, "It’s okay, I like not liking snakes."

That is how I feel about my new grief dislikes. I am okay with not liking the sound of gunshot. I am okay with water not being on my list of favorites. Moreover, I am okay with thinking about you when I drive the curves.

A mixture of both. This is all part of my life now; it is a mixture of both; my life when you were here and now from my life when you have been gone.

Grief is unique to each of us. We must adjust to our grief the way that keeps us moving forward, keeps us living our lives. We cannot stop grieving because somebody who has never lost has decided that grief can fit into a set period of time or because those who have never lost a child think, you can actually "get over" something so unbelievably painful. Every day, every direction I look, I face a reminder that my boys are not here.

I do not understand what more the world expects. I get up each day. I smile. I laugh. Life is all right. At the very same time, part of my life is. I cry. I sit up in the middle of the night not believing that you have all died. I have new dislikes. Life is all right.

Brenda Houts is from Detroit Lakes, Minn. She gives presentations on grief and also on teenage issues. She can be contacted at brendah@foreverthree.com.