Caves

When Colby was six and seven we went with his cub scout group to stay overnight at Cumberland Caverns, a large cave system in Middle Tennessee. Each year we went, Colby was the youngest in the group and the route our guide took us on was quite ambitious. We scaled steep rock walls, crawled through long narrow tunnels, and jumped over wide crevasses––and Colby loved every minute of it. Colby kept up with the older boys (the eight and nine year olds) just fine and the experience gave him a life-long interest in caves.

In caving, he and I both learned that it is important to have three sources of light with you at all times. Because, when your light goes out there is a blackness like you have never experienced. It is an inky, thick, overwhelming darkness that seeps into your pores. It is not necessarily a terrifying blackness, but it certainly is a colorless void that I learned to respect.

Grief for a child is like the blackness of the caves. It is ever present and becomes part of you. It is a thick, fluid presence that never goes away. Sometimes it is a little less dark, a little less thick, but always, it is there. I wish I could express in words how profoundly Colby's passing has affected me, how completely the death of any child affects his or her parents, but I have not yet been able to wrap my brain around that. Perhaps I never will.

What I can say, however, is that I hope very much that anyone who has living parents who reads this will be careful with their lives. We humans take chances with our lives every time we step into the street, ride in a car, or take a pill. I want to say, yes, it can happen to you. You can be the one who is in a car accident. You can be the one who is in a house fire, or drown in a pool. I would not wish the pain of a child's death on my worst enemy, so please be careful with your lives. Please be aware of what is going on around you. Please think before you act. Please do not put another mom or dad through the darkness that so many of us grieving parents live with every day.