Bereaved Mothers: The Concept of Strength


There is a quote that says, “The bereaved mother. She has experienced the unimaginable and yet she is still able to walk.” When I see it, I question the definition of strength. There is this notion that because we can get out of bed every day, we are strong. The ability to do the necessities life has demanded means we are living. People look on with amazement and say, “Wow, I don’t know how you do it. There is no way I could do that!”

It almost feels like a slap in the face.

My mind hears things like, “You aren’t doing it right.” Or, “You didn’t love your son as much as I love my child because my world would be devastated.” I know in my mind that isn’t the intent. Yet, I am unable to process any compliment related to strength. To me, grief and strength do not go hand in hand.

bereaved mothers are strong

It has been 1 year, 1 month, and 24 days since my son died. Even on day 1, I got out of bed. Necessity, habit, and responsibility motivated me to put my feet on the floor and walk one foot in front of the other. Do you know what I thought about? I thought about the numerous times I told Cameron, “There are always things in life we don’t want to do. You have to do those first before you can do what you want to do. That is life.”

My words came back to haunt me. Talk about things you don’t want to do!

Responsibility, not strength took over.

On the inside I was kicking and screaming to stop. The 2-year old me threw an all out tantrum. It raged for 9-months. Every day I carried the weight of a Cameron on my shoulders. When I moved, I could feel myself being pulled down. It was exhausting! I had no strength. Endurance kicked in allowing me to do bare minimum.

What I soon realized was I started having days that were easier. Then a couple of days in a row. After some time, the huge cloud that I was living under seemed to separate and move away. Cameron’s physical weight lifted. I was getting my second wind. From that moment forward, it has been about understanding how to balance my grief with life.

Through trial and error I have learned about my grief. It is different for everyone. I have various coping mechanisms. Things I do that allow me to live. Ways I am able to manage my grief so it doesn’t spill over into everything.

Grief gets messy.

There are so many expectations placed on a bereaved mother (perceived and real). The number of things that happen through the course of the day that remind me of my son are astounding! The deep feelings of sadness and loss are stifling. If I am not careful, I lose my breath and swirl in the abyss of hatred for what my life has become. This is what I manage. I can’t afford to swirl. It makes living harder. Emotions intensify and spill into other things. It gets ugly.

So I have built a wall. This wall exists to protect my heart. It protects the trauma I suffered and the memory of him that I refuse to give up. I can breathe when this wall is up. It isn’t strength, it is necessity. It is learned behavior. Compartmentalization has allowed me the ability to keep walking and putting one foot in front of the other. It is how I manage to appear strong.

Through trial and error I have learned how and when to peek over that wall. These are the moments I dip my toe in and feel it all. Everything happens on my terms now. There is no opportunity to swirl so I am safe until I am ready to disengage again. I am in control of the sad part of my grief.

Grief still rules.

Don’t get me wrong. There are still times grief spills over. Some days are more emotional than others as I feel the grief swell up over the top of the wall. I believe this is normal.

Others may see my wall as unhealthy. I don’t care. Grief is unique to every person. I have learned that only I can determine what is right or wrong as I walk this path. The same goes for you. Don’t let anyone tell you it has to be done a certain way. It is simply not true.

Whatever it is that motivates you to keep going. Keep doing that! I know Cameron wants me to continue living. So I do. No strength involved. Only a sense of responsibility to his memory and necessity to myself and family.

Join Our Community

Let’s survive this grief journey together.

9 Comments on “Bereaved Mothers: The Concept of Strength”

  1. It’s been 16 months sence I lost my only child, my son Andre he had just turned 27. I’m existing, I’m alive but not living, just going thorough the motions of life, I honestly don’t care about anything just want to be where my son is, he was my purpose in life! I know I’m not the only mother going through this kind of pain, but that fact doesn’t lesson it any.

    1. I understand your pain! So many times I have felt as if I was just existing and going through the motions. It makes total sense that you would want to be where he is (I think that all the time). It’s easy to say “he wouldn’t want you to just exist, he would want you to live”. There is a ton of truth to it, but it’s not that easy. You need to do what you feel is right for you. Only you know what that is. I don’t ever believe the pain goes away after the trauma of losing your child. You just learn to live with it as best you can. Sending lots of love your way. XO

  2. It has been one year and a few days since we lost our daughter and THIS is how I feel every time someone says I’m so strong. I’m sure they don’t mean it to be hurtful but I can’t process it at all. You have summed it up so well… it’s almost like people would rather sit with your strength than with your brokenness…

  3. Thankyou for putting this so well. I lost my husband and ten month old son in car accident coming up to 4 years ago. I heard so many time – I don’t know how you do it, your strong… I couldn’t even get out of bed….

    It felt like I was being judged all the time. I know they didn’t mean it. X

  4. I too have learned to built that wall it’s my reassurance that I can’t be hurt like that again, I lost my son Ben in May 2019 he was 28. It’s my grandchildren that keep me going especially his 8 year old daughter. We don’t ever get over loosing our children, it shouldn’t have happened and will never let him be forgotten.

  5. Maybe we hide the pain from others to protect them. They can’t see the inside of us. I pass many people on the street and we cannot tell what they are going through unless they open up to us.

  6. It’s 89 days since my beautiful 21 year old son left us…… I miss him terribly, yet I “appear” strong as I have to! I still have to work, good still needs to be cooked and unfortunately life still goes on around me

  7. It’s been 2 months since we lost our beautiful 18 year old daughter in a car crash. It’s tough getting though the day.
    People keep saying how strong and brave we are – we’re not we’re just surviving. We don’t know what else to do.

  8. It’s been 6 years since I lost my son and I wanted to join him for at least the first couple of years. I now have that wall that helps me be happy sometimes and I don’t care what people think. Especially when they have never felt that pain

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *