I don't know if either of you believe in an afterlife. I do, but when my son died that was no comfort to me. I couldn't — I still can't — imagine him in any kind of afterlife. Whatever place or state he's in seems immeasurably distant from me, and he should be with me. I need to hold him.

So I'm not going to tell you that your child is happy, or that he is in a good place, or that he is waiting for you. Even if it's true, and even if you believe it's true, I don't think it's going to help you very much.

Instead, what I would like to share with you from my own reflections since losing my son is this…

When we lose a child, what we mourn is the life our child did not have. We dream of seeing our child grow, of hearing him laugh, of watching him feel the grass beneath his feet. We dream of sharing our lives with him, and of giving him all that we have to give. These are ordinary dreams, shared by millions. But they give our lives a purpose, a meaning, and a value, that nothing else can replace.

It is terrible to lose these dreams. It opens up a gap in our lives that will never be filled, and creates an unspeakable grief.

But, in the end, what we have lost is imaginary. What we are mourning never existed. It is the life our child did not have, and the life that we will not have with him. We are mourning the loss of our hopes, the dreams of what might have been.

We never live so beautifully, or so perfectly, as when we are infants!

What is important is not the life your son did not lead, but the life that he did lead.

Whether we live an hour, or a hundred years, we all live a lifetime. What makes one lifetime better than another?

In the end, what matters is not how long we live, but how well we live. And we never live so beautifully, or so perfectly, as when we are infants.

Throughout his life, your son experienced every moment fully, undistracted by thoughts of the future or memories of the past. He never knew fear, or doubt, or guilt, or shame, or worry.

He accepted love. He did not suspect that he was not really worth loving, or feel guilty for being loved. He did not feel that being loved put him under an obligation. He did not fear that you would cease to love him. He simply accepted your love, and that completed him.

He lived as perfectly as only a baby can. He was, always, everything that he could be, that he was called to be, that he was destined to be. Very few of us can say that of our own lives.

And you gave him that. Your loss is crushing, but the dream that has been taken from you is a lesser thing than the reality that you have freely given. The reality is a complete life, a life filled with love, a life free of fear, a life of beauty. You created your baby's life, you shared it with him, and you filled it with love and beauty. You have been a part of a life that, though brief, was completely perfect. And that is a joy you will still feel sharply and deeply when time has rubbed smooth the edges of your grief.

What are your thoughts on this commentary? You can contribute to the discussion in our forum.

Peregrinus can be contacted at: Peregrinus <peregrinus@catholica.com.au>

©2007 Peregrinus

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