Today I got the horrible news that two more people, friends of ours, were inducted into the infamous fraternity – Phi Thanatos Teknon. A fraternity made up of parents who outlive their children.
It’s a club that no one signs up for and everyone dreads being asked to join. The initiation, if survived, is only surpassed by the hazing that takes place after the initial induction.
It’s a roster made up of new pledges and old alumni. Once you are in this fraternity’s house, you are forever a Phi Thanatos Teknon. Nothing but your own demise can change that.
It’s a place where, for a time, you feel completely alone. All others in this house appear to be strangers. There are no familiar faces that are going through the grueling pain and hazing of grief and loss. All senses lose their keenness and you are left with no appetite – just an unquenchable ache and longing. And all alone.
There is no particular age group in this fraternity. There are people here who have lost children at birth, those who have lost adult children, and every age in between. And no matter the cause of death, the upside down and backwards reality rips you apart from the inside out. This is not how things are supposed to be. Parents are NOT supposed to outlive their babies.
I would like to say that you become more comfortable in this house, and maybe in a way you do. Or maybe you just become better acquainted with the others who dwell here. Maybe you finally enter into the acceptance phase of your grief and learn to live with the hole in your chest where a portion of your heart used to be. Or maybe you begin to see the the entire name hanging over the door of this place.
It’s not just Thanatos Teknon – The death of children. There is a name at the beginning. It is so short, it can often be overlooked, but it’s meaning is the most powerful in the title. Phi.
Phi. Its Greek symbolic meaning is “grace of God”.
And suddenly you realize that you never were truly alone. This house is covered by the grace of God Himself. He can, after all, relate. He also lived in this house. He watched with horror as His own Son died. He felt the pain and still feels the pain that this house holds.
As you look around with these new eyes, with this new perspective of being in the company of Grace, you begin to notice things you didn’t see before. Windows in this house. Windows of opportunity that offer the light of meaning and purpose to the pain. You notice the new pledges that are coming in, crushed and broken, and you begin to use your pain to comfort them in theirs. You begin to see that there can be beauty in this house. It’s walls can hold the pictures of the children that left us in their lovely shapes and sizes and colors. This fraternity can become a family of people who will not only grieve together but will celebrate the lives they knew and loved and the depth that comes from sharing both life and death with their children. It is a group of people who can reach beyond the walls of the house and touch their communities with little more compassion and love. And a lot more Grace.
I would give anything to spare my friends the pain that comes with joining this fraternity. But it is part of the process. The initiation. I only hope that I can be on the other side of the door with open arms and the hope that comes after having lived here for a while.
I love you both. And I am here….
J
