Grief Unfiltered

Filters are everywhere these days. With AI taking over so much of our digital world, it feels like there’s a filter for everything. But filters aren’t new. We’ve used them on our phones for years—first to turn a photo black and white, then sepia, then “vintage.” Especially in our phones.  We have used them for many years, mostly what started innocently, simply to change our photos from color to black and white and when we got advanced, sepia, the “vintage” look. 

But nowadays, filters have taken on a whole different meaning and do just about anything.  Not only can you change the color to black and white, but you can change it to blue, purple, or orange.  You can change it so it’s a vibrant rainbow with a pronounced shadow behind you.  You can erase the background and create a whole new one.  And you can even create a brand new YOU if you want to.  And therein lies the problem. 

Now I could take this in direction, which I will probably do, another day, but for today, I want to stay right here and talk about grief filters.  

Filters in some instances are good.  But in grief, not so much.  Filters make things “easier to look at,” but grief isn’t meant to be edited, softened, or color‑corrected. It’s meant to be lived, felt, carried, and spoken.  Out loud.  Too often there is pressure to tidy up our pain so others don’t have to witness it.  No.  Why should we???

Can we remove the filters from grief?  Can we remove the filters from OUR grief?  Can we just be real? 

I’ve just come down from remembering my Joseph’s birthday—my precious son, gone almost eleven years now because of a dreadful, terrible, awful, no‑fault‑of-his-own car incident. (I still refuse to call it an accident. An accident is unintentional. But when you intentionally drive distracted, you are intentionally creating the conditions for a tragedy. And that’s what happened).

Anyway, the days prior I was fine.  I knew his birthday was coming.  We are always painfully aware of the dates surrounding our loved ones, (even those we try to filter).  Those dates live inside us. They don’t sneak up; they sit quietly and wait. So I knew his birthday was on the horizon.  And it didn’t bother me.  At least I thought so.  But when I woke up, I didn’t know what to feel.  I felt off. Lost. And I just really missed him—deeply, painfully, wordlessly.

As I sat down to write about him, I found myself struggling. How do you express the missing? Him being a poet, I don’t even think he can come up with the words to describe the missing that I’m feeling?  How do you put into words the ache of a child you carried, birthed, fed, nurtured, bathed, shopped for, laughed with, cried with, prayed over, and celebrated twenty‑one birthdays with?  He was 22, we only missed one.

I have two daughters. I can call them. I can say “Happy Birthday.” I can buy them gifts. But I can’t do that with Joseph anymore.

What do you do with those emotions? Those feelings?  Where do they go? You can’t hide from them. You can’t change the filter. There is none.

But yet we try.  We put on a face.  Change the subject.  Change the scenery.  Create a distraction.  No matter where we go, or what we do, don’t you know that we cannot run from our grief?  No filter can cover it.  No filter can alter the scenery of what happened.  No filter can change the background.  No filter can change your pain.  Your feelings.  Your loss. 

There is no filter for grief.

I recently had a conversation with someone.  And I told them that my Joe’s birthday was coming up and the person’s response was, “I don’t like to talk about that stuff.”  I was like, “What?  Well, I do?  I like talking about my son.  I know he’s not here.  And I know that it might hurt a little, but it makes me feel better when he’s remembered.”  The person remained quiet and I kept on talking but I wasn’t going to use a filter in my conversation. 

Many people avoid grief because it reminds them of their own fragility. But I wasn’t asking her to carry my pain— I speak of him so that he can be remembered.  I speak of him to honor his life.  All I want is to acknowledge that he existed, that he mattered, that he still matters. That’s not “sad stuff.” That’s love.  Unfiltered.

No more grief filters.  Can we just remove them and be free?  

I am.

As I continue walking in this shadow of grief, filter less.

Joe’s mom,

Sis. E

 

Evelyn Fannell ©2026

www.intheshadowofgrief.com

Bend, You Will Not Break

Loss bends us.
Grief bends us.
Life bends us.
 
But bending is not weakness—
It's survival.
It's strength. Resilience.
It is the posture we take when we choose to endure.
I once tried to stand tough,
Strong, yeah
to hold back the tears,
and silence the ache.
But my silence became sickness,
and resistance broke me.
So I bent.
Forced at the time
But no longer
It's a decision now.
 
Now I bend not to break.
I bend to the sound of sorrow.
I bend to the weight of memory.
I bend to the truth that love and loss
very often walk hand in hand.
Bending is not compromise.
It is courage.
It is choosing to adjust,
to adapt,
to accept—
not because I am defeated,
but because I am determined to overcome
this thing called grief
called life
Bend, before you break.
Give in, but don't give up.
Reach out, not because you're weak,
but because you're strong enough to know you need somebody.
And in the bending,
you'll find your footing
In the bending,
you'll find your breath.
In the bending,
you'll find God—
Who helps you to catch your breath,
Who keeps you standing,
and Who constantly whispers a reminder
You will not break.
 
 
The Lord's servant,
Sis. E

Evelyn Fannell ©2026
www.butgodisreal.com
www.intheshadowofgrief.com

Death By Suicide

The death by suicide of Miss USA 2019 Cheslie Kryst really struck me this morning.  Cheslie was just 30years old.  This comes on the heel of the suicidal death of Ian Alexander, Jr., just 26, son of actress Regina King.  From all the pictures of both, if you check out their social media accounts, you would never guess in a million years that they were dealing with some sort of mental health issue.  They both had these tremendous smiles that were described as, “brightening a room, when you saw it.” And they were both surrounded by people who loved them.  Working for them, with them, celebrating with them for their accomplishments.    Both deaths, unexpected in every regard.

In her young life, Cheslie Kryst was an attorney and a correspondent for Extra TV.  She was a fashion icon, who recorded video blogs on her YouTube channel, and wrote a blog entitled “White Collar Glam” encouraging and offering other young woman, fashion design tips on clothing, jewelry, hair, and makeup.   Some of the items that she sold and put together were for sale on her Amazon storefront.  And Cheslie was an encourager.  In an interview with a Dress for Success ambassador, one of the things she said was “If you fail or things don’t go your way, don’t RSVP to the pity party.  But instead find the lesson in it and celebrate the failures.  They will help you go to the next level.”  In her last Instagram post, she wrote to her followers, “May this day bring you peace and rest.”  This from someone who takes her own life.  Just hours later.  Bright, beautiful, young, encourager, advocate of (black) women, fashion icon, attorney, news correspondent, beauty queen.  Not what or who we would picture as not happy.  Or depressed.  Or lonely.  Not what we would expect.

I shared some time ago about suicide and the feelings and emotions that go before it.  The depression, the feeling of abandonment, the invisibility one experiences, not feeling like you matter to anyone, not even those who are closest to you.  The dread of sometimes how we look to others, or even how much better someone is than us.  It’s an array of feelings and emotions and doubts and insecurities and pain.  So much pain.  And it doesn’t matter who you are, what you do or who you know.  The celebrity deaths of Robin Williams, Kate Spade, Bobbi Kristina Brown, Anthony Bourdain, and even Marilyn Monroe garnered major attention because it was so unexpected.  These were people who were doing a lot of things and they were surrounded by people who loved them, who knew them, but never saw it coming. 

Truth is those who are dealing with emotional issues, mental health issues, depression, and the like, have no look.  There is nothing about them that says, “Something I am dealing with is too much for me to bear.”   Looking at them, examining their lives, there is nothing that says, “I’m depressed and I need help.”  Even, from their pics or social media status, there is nothing that says, “I feel alone.”

We will truly never know what someone is going through if we do not take the time to really listen.  Sometimes the very ones who are going through things are the ones who encourage others as they go through things.  But who encourages the encourager? 

People that commit suicide do not want to die.  They only want the pain to end.  The pain of feeling alone, of feeling abandoned, misunderstood, the pain of feeling invisible, to end.  The pain in their hearts when moments in life simply become unbearable for whatever reason.

Mental illness is not just the person walking around talking to themselves, like some of us might believe.  They are not “crazy” people.  People who deal with mental illness or some sort of depression experience thoughts that we, especially those who are “strong” fail to understand.  But mental health is just as important as physical health.   If you see someone hurting in their body, you would help them.  And while mental illness is often hidden, we may not see it in ways we expect, it may still very well be visible.  To those that can hear.  I believe mental illness comes out in a language.  People speaking, I am not good enough.  No one loves me.  Nothing ever seems to work out.  She’s better than me.  Or why can’t I be beautiful or lose this weight?  Even as miniscule as that.   It’s a constant battle in their minds.  A constant battle of thoughts that their life does not matter.  In some way or another.  We just don’t know what people are thinking. 

I mentioned this before and many might be aware, that since losing my son, Joseph, in my walk in this shadow of grief, I have come across quite a few mothers who have thoughts of suicide, who have actually attempted (and succeeded), because the pain of losing a child is a far greater weight than one can imagine.  I am certainly praying for Regina King, and April Simpkins (Cheslie Kryst’s mom) for this unbearable pain, that I know all too well.  Many times, medication is a MUST to escape the pain and the thoughts that come alongside grief of this nature.  But I also know that if it were not for my ability to express my pain and my grief, most times, I would be overcome. And I thank God for those who have listened and gave me the audience I needed.

“One Reason Why” is a blog I wrote a while back, partly based on the Netflix series, “Thirteen Reasons Why.”  Feel free to read it, but my purpose for writing it was to bring awareness to suicide and as to why people commit to do so.  In the show the people found out why.  And came face to face with some bad things, having to live with the regret that they could have done something differently.  We all have a role to play in the life of someone else, whether we believe that or not.  You ARE your sister’s keeper.  Your brother’s keeper.  Be kind.  Smile when you can.  Lend an ear.   Be present.  Open your eyes.  Pain is visible if we are open to see it.  It has a face.  It has a story.  Yes, we have our own issues to deal with, so we certainly don’t want any more.  But realize, that may very well mean life or death.

Please don’t ignore the signs.  Don’t ignore the cries of people who cross your path.  Friend or Foe.  Both of these young people had their whole lives set before them.  Lives that appeared to be full of hope.  Something went badly wrong.  Mental illness is real.  Mental health is vital.  Do your part in whatever way you can.

If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health issues and thoughts of suicide, or if you simply need someone to talk to, please reach out to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, 24 hours a day.    

In the Shadow of Grief,

Joe’s Mom,

Evelyn Fannell

www.intheshadowofgrief.com

I'd Go Back in Time

I'd go back in time.
I'd go back to the moment you walked in the door,
telling me on and on about how your day went.
Back to witnessing the innocence and joy you had in working with your dad.


I'd go back in time.
I'd go back to the morning you came down the stairs to let me know how beautiful I was.
I'd go back to the time you joked about me looking like a banana, dressed in all my yellow.
You liked to match as much as I did... if I remember correctly.


I'd go back to our garage and the driveway,
as you made me watch you shoot those three pointers
until I was dismissed.
I was always amazed how you could shoot like that without your glasses, knowing you couldn't see three feet in front of you.


I'd go back to the time you performed your poetry.
So confident of your ability and skilled at your craft.
Sometimes you would send chills down my spine, as I listened and watched.
Then you'd walk away with this little grin,
knowing you accomplished what you set out to do.
Command attention.


I'd go back in time.
I'd go back to that Christmas morning when you opened your gift of the "Camaro" Hot Wheels, before we walked you through the garage to outside, to the real thing.
It wasn't a Camaro, but it was a car.
And it was yours.
You hopped in that car right away.


I'd go back to that Mother's Day
where you were so excited about giving me a gift
that you dropped it and it broke.
I was so happy anyway and so thankful that you thought of me.
..."But it's green, Mom."
I'll never forget those words, Joe.


I'd go back to our living room, where we sat on the couches
opposite each other, watching Lost.
Or the time you finally convinced your dad to watch Supernatural
and the look on your face whenever he said,
"Sammy."
It was the little things that mattered to you.


I'd go back to when you were just about two years old
and how you would lean across the coffee table to watch Jurassic Park, just to rewind it over and over and over again.
And then you would fall asleep.
We ended up having a coffee table without the glass in it.
It became your favorite spot.


I'd go back in time.
I'd go back to the time we came home from church and you spoke about your wedding day and actually getting dad to commit to wearing white.
You said to him, "I bet you would do it that day."
While dad said, "Yep. I would. For you. Only that day." LOL
(He still hasn't worn white).


I'd go back to when I dropped you off at daycare
and you held onto my leg, not wanting to let go.
To the many days you would give me those great big bear hugs,
vowing never to let me go.
Who knew...
Holding on to my leg was the equivalent to the bear hug.


I'd go back in time.
I'd go back to the night you and the girls and Christian sat up one night watching TV, while dad and I went to bed.
And as I fell asleep, all I could hear was the sound of laughter coming from downstairs.
It made my heart smile.


I'd go back to the week before you left us
and I would hold you a little tighter,
not wanting to let you go,
knowing what was up ahead.


I'd go back in time to all the good times.
To all the times not so good and try to make them better.


I'd go back in time if it meant I would get to see you again.
Even if it was only an hour.

Stop the Ride!

One Summer years ago, when my grandson Christian was just maybe three or four, my daughter Jasmine and I took him to his very first outing to Great Adventure Amusement Park. 

We had a lot of interesting experiences that day with him.  To begin, the sprinklers at the park were on, and kids were running around playing in the water.  When we encouraged Christian to get in, he quickly shied away from it.  It was something about the water splashing in his face that he just did not like.  I suppose it was anything really getting in his face.  I remember times when my husband and I had him in the car with us and we had to keep the windows rolled up, because Christian did not like the air blowing in his face.  It was the funniest thing watching how dramatic he was, gasping for air as if he couldn’t breathe whenever the  windows were open. 

Jasmine and I continued walking in the park, exploring, and stopping at times for Christian to enjoy the park.  We came to somewhat of a train ride and he dared not venture on, until I told him I would get on it with him.  And so I did, although I am not one for rides of any kind, either.  It turned out to be a smooth and a simple ride, no bumps, no curves, no spins.  Christian enjoyed it and so did I.

As we continued our stroll, we came across a tunnel slide.  Christian didn’t like that either.  Although Jasmine had climbed in before him to show him how much fun it was,  Chris simply wasn’t having it.  Moving on.

It was a few other things that day we got a kick out of for “Christian’s Day Out”.  We chuckled when he was leery about going near employees dressed up as Daffy Duck and Tweety Bird.  Christian was like, nope, I’m not doing that either.  But I suppose the best and most memorable part of our day, was when Christian went on this ride, somewhat of a rollercoaster, all by himself.  We figured since he “conquered” the other ride, this one looked okay to him.

Anyway, he got on the ride.  It went around, once, and then all of a sudden it sort of went up on a curve, just slightly (this was kiddie ride) and that’s when Jas and I, the ride operator and anyone in standing distance, heard the words, loud and clear, “STOP THE RIDE!”

STOP THE RIDE!  Christian yelled from the top of his lungs.  Stop the ride!  That was it, he had enough.   Quickly the operator turned to us as I remember signaling to him to stop the ride.  Christian had to get off.  After slowing it down, the operator stopped the ride and allowed Christian to exit.  After that, it was nearly impossible to get him to do anything else in that park that day.  Christian had enough of that ride and enough of that park.  He wouldn’t even go into the bouncy house.  That was it.  Christian’s Day Out was over and so was ours.

This is how I sort of feel over the last few days.  Since Joseph’s death I have been riding on a rollercoaster.  A rollercoaster of emotions, of ups, of downs.  Of highs and lows.  Of tears.  Of joy.   And I want to stop the ride!  I want this rollercoaster of a ride that I seem to be on to come to an end.

Coming out of Thanksgiving this year, quiet and different as it was, and now entering into my winter season of sadness… Thanksgiving, Christmas and Joe’s birthday, my emotions are all over the place.  I am joyful one moment and later on, become the total opposite as I experience these grief triggers.  And this brings tears to my eyes.  This time of year, I find myself more stressed than at any other time (except for my spring season of sadness, May-June) and my rollercoaster ride continues.

As Christian felt and did not like the wind being in his face, I feel the same way, with things that somehow trigger my grief. That those triggers sort of take my breath away, and I actually have to remember to breathe.  Inhale.  Exhale.  Just yesterday in fact, my hubby Jeff and I went and picked up a tree for Christmas.  I was happy and relieved we got a nice one and so early for us in the season.  But once we got home and actually set it up, it set me on a different course.  Seeing that tree standing, caused me to remember the time when I was decorating our tree and it fell on top of me.  It had to be a 9ft tree.  I wasn’t hurt, but I was hurting and I couldn’t even get to my phone.  It was then that Joseph came home from work and he found me on the floor with a giant Christmas tree on top of me.  We laughed after he helped me up. 

It was a grief trigger that struck me from nowhere.  Like those curves on that rollercoaster ride Christian was on, I did not see it coming.  And it made me sad that Joseph was no longer here.  I was in the middle of rejoicing and appreciating our tree, and then wham, all of a sudden, remembered Joseph and that incident.  Realizing that he could never “save” me again.  Emotional rollercoaster.  Stop the ride, I want to get off.

Many of us may like rollercoaster rides, old and young.  For those that do, you can recognize and appreciate where it goes, what happens, the curves, the ups, the downs, the spins and turns, and are just thrilled at the prospect.  Screaming at the top of your lungs, with cries of joy and excitement.  But when you’re a kid like Christian was, or even someone who is on this grief journey, you don’t know where the ride is going.  You do not get to see the twists, or the spins, or the going up or down, before they happen.  You simply  have to believe that the ride will be smoother than it’s been.  You may be able to handle the slight curve, like that on a kiddie ride, but those other ones you don’t see coming, will trigger something in you to want to get off the ride.   To want to stop the ride.

This grief journey is a ride that will never stop.  As much as I want to stop the ride, I know I can’t.  I cannot yell stop the ride, like Christian did and expect the operator to stop it.  But that does not stop me from not wanting to be on a rollercoaster of emotions.  It doesn’t stop the tsunami of tears  and the great sadness that follows, it doesn’t stop the grief triggers.  But I yet want the ride to end.  At least for a little while so I can catch my breath.

In the shadow of my grief,

Joseph's mom

Copyright ©2020 EvelynFannell

 

 

ThanksGrieving

Thanksgiving is upon us… just one week away and most of the country has gone back to lockdown.  Quarantined.  Eight months into the year and COVID-19 still has us out of whack, alone and separated from one another.

This time of the year is already usually hard for so many.  Especially those who are grieving the lost of a loved one, in particular, the anniversary of  a death that happened during this season.  For myself (and my husband) this would be the first year, the first time ever, in the 40 plus years we’ve been together, that we will be spending Thanksgiving alone.

For us, like others I’m sure, this will be a major adjustment, not being able to at the very least spend time with our daughters and our grandson.  And most of all, missing Joseph, yet another holiday, yet another year.  I suppose we should be somewhat used to being alone, after all we’ve been on lockdown for months.  He kept his office closed and I was already home.  So we’ve been here alone together already.  But this time, THIS holiday season, is like no other.

For others, those who’ve lost children,  those who lost loved ones to COVID or anything else, those who are generally alone, and even those who have been struggling to make ends meet, this Thanksgiving certainly presents a whole new and different challenge on so many levels that I could not even and don’t even know where to start to address.  I don’t claim to know everything or even want to know everything.  But I do know that this is an extremely complicated time and season we are in.  Trying to find words to satisfy or comfort someone, even myself is a struggle.

But if I could offer one piece of advice for anyone who might be grieving loss this year, of any kind, financial, job, personal, death, or even activity, I would say as God has been telling me, “Focus on what you have.”

I know this might be hard, for some.  As it was for me.  For a moment.  But as I begin to dwell on those things that I do not have, that I won’t have, that I could have, God simply spoke and said, “But what about the things you have.  Focus on those.”

It might not be much.  You may not be able to visit with people in your life or change  your surroundings, but you can focus on the things that you do have.  The things that you can do.  The people you still have.  Even if it’s only you, I suspect that if you know God, you have at least three more. 

Focus on what you have.  Celebrate and appreciate and give thanks for what you have in your life.  For whom you have in your life. 

When we take the time to appreciate what we have, what we don’t have becomes less important.  It doesn’t mean that a loved one is less important or that their life did not matter, I would never say that.  My Joseph mattered.  All your loved ones matter.  But if we focus on our losses, we will miss the blessing in what we have.  What we have right now. 

When we focus on things we don’t have or don’t like or whatever lack we may be missing… we can cause ourselves to lose hope.  We can become depressed and lonely and sad and dejected and so much more.  But if we focus on what we do have, we’ll see the hope.  We’ll see the promise.  We’ll see the tomorrow.  We’ll see that this too shall pass.

So while I do not have my girls and my grandson, and extended family physically here with me; while I don’t have my Joseph… we will yet have each other.  I’m thankful that we have phones, we can communicate, we can see one another.  We can eat together if we want to.  No, I cannot do that with Joseph, but I can remember him and continue to honor him, by living and appreciating others who are still here.

And right now, in this season, that is reason enough to be thankful.  In spite of my grief.

Once I start there, I can think of plenty of other reasons as well.  I have my life. I have my strength.  I have the ability to move, to speak, to hear.  I have a roof over my head.  I have my health.  I still have my mom.  I have people who love me.  I have my husband.  So we’ll be alone, but at least we’ll be TOGETHER.

In the midst of my grief, in the midst of grieving, for whatever reason it may be, I can and you can get through this season, although it may be difficult, if we focus on what we have.

Focus on what you have.  You will find that you will also have HOPE for tomorrow.

Because God is real, I am thankful, even in the shadow of my grief.

Evelyn Fannell

 

 

Copyright ©2020 EvelynFannell

I'm Still Angry

 

I’m still angry
Don’t want to be
It’s made me into this person
That I don’t recognize
And suppose that others don’t either
My Joe was stripped of his life
Taken and returned
Back to the Master
The One whose hands I entrusted him
Still wonder
Was it part of His plan
All along
To give me a son to love
And to watch grow up
And grow through
So many growing pains
And life altering procedures
Only to die before his
Next phase of life
Was just beginning
Leaving me with only the memories
And the thoughts of what
Shoulda
Coulda
Woulda been
 
I’m still angry
Even find myself bitter
Sometimes
If I’m honest
As I look at who I am
And remember who I was
The smile, the joy,
The hope I so readily had
The encouragement so ready to share,
to give
Now replaced with
Unchartered feelings
And misinterpreted intentions
Leaving me in tears
Always
 
I’m still angry
Because of relationships that were so familiar
That have become past
tense
People, friends, who I once knew
And once knew me
Seemingly forgotten
My address,
my name,
my number
My existence.
 
Yep, I’m still angry
But not at the man who
killed my son-
The God that let him.
I know
you say
Wasn’t His fault
It was Joe’s time.
Each one of us are given a set time
On this thing called earth
A time for everything
The Psalmist said
A time to be born.
To plant.
To cry.
To laugh.
To speak.
To be silent.
To flourish.
To die.
Death has no name
Has no age
Seeks no appointment
It just comes
Unapologetic.
Yet I still can’t seem to wrap my head around it
As much as You try to explain it to me
Share with me
So I’m still angry.
 
But this,
This too shall pass
Because You said
There shall be glory
EVEN after this.
And in spite of my anger
I believe You
Still.

In the shadow of my grief,
Sis. E and Joe’s mom

Copyright 2020 ©EvelynFannell

 

 

To You

To you, yep you.

The one who takes life for granted.

Who thinks everything is supposed to be handed to her (or him).

Who counts everyday more as a luxury, something to take advantage of,

Rather than to be grateful for

To you

The one who thinks things can’t happen to them

Or are not supposed to happen to them

Because they’ve already been through the worse life has to offer

(and that not of their own doing)

It was somebody else’s fault (and you let them know it).

Or when the challenges do come

think of them lightly

As just another mountain to climb

just another stumbling block to jump,

Just another badge to achieve

For YOU To brag about

Not giving God the glory

You didn’t do it.

To you

The one who appears to be friendly

To so many but heartless to those in real need

Do you really know what it’s like to be alone?

Would you even know what to do if you were alone?

But you’d rather not find out.

Takes too much time.

To you

Living the life, your best life

Careless and carefree

Receiving whatever life has to offer

And only giving back what the spotlight allows

You might have been hit

But life goes on.  It has to, right?

 “I have my own life to live---

My own struggles to get through.”

Don’t we all.

“I mean, I don’t know her anymore,

“I don’t know her directly

“This doesn’t affect me

In any way shape, or form”

To you---

BUT IT DOES.

You see.

We are all in this world together

Oh, we may not all live together

We may not all know each other

But in some way, what one experiences

Shape the experiences of someone else.

And that someone else

May affect someone else

And eventually in some way, that experience of that someone else

may come back and have an effect on you

Or affect you.

Directly.  Or indirectly.

So to you…

I pray that it is never your child that is stripped from your circle.

I pray that it is never your child you have to witness to take his last breath.

I pray that you never know the pain that accompanies waking up learning that a child you gave birth to is no longer on the earth.

I pray that you never have to realize that the physical birth, that physical pain when you gave birth is nothing in comparison to the pain that you will feel when your child is separated from you on the earth. 

I pray all this for you. 

And write this to you.

In the shadow of grief,

Joseph’s mom.

Copyright ©2019 EvelynFannell

Different and the Same

Hubby and I have been watching this special on TV called, “Serengeti.”  What it is, is a dramatic look into the lives of the animals in the Serengeti region of eastern Africa.  The mini-series gives viewers a front row seat to witness how the animal experience isn’t so different from our own and features animals in their natural habitant year-round.  Who they are, how they survive, (how dependent they are on one another for food, even as rivals)… it’s amazingly the circle of life.  Everything that God created serves a purpose.  Humans, animals and even bugs, namely, the annoyingly little gnat, each have a purpose.  But anyway, the show narrates how they hunt, how they relate to each other and with the other habitants of the land, and most importantly I found of interest, the genuine love and care the “mothers” have for their “children.”  It’s really an interesting show.  Very enlightening to see their daily struggles and how they face them.

We can learn a lot from the animals.  Even though I am not one who wants to get up close to any.  My family and I have had a somewhat long-standing debate on making one of our Christmas vacation trips a safari.  But I don’t think I’m ready to give up the beach life for that of one in a jungle, amidst the animals (and the bugs, whatever purpose they might serve).  Although to watch on TV I am rather intrigued at the prospect, if only for the scenery.   Some of the scenery in the Serengeti is absolutely breathtaking.

Anyway, in watching the animals, there came a point where a male lion, rival to that particular tribe, killed a lion cub.   All the while, the mother of that lion cub had done everything she possibly could to keep her cubs safe from harm.  But this particular day, the cub was chasing after a rabbit and wandered away from the rest of the cubs and the mother’s protective care.

You could sense the fear in the mother as she was hunting for her cub. She was breathing heavy, calling out for it, frantic with worry.  Frantic at the thought of what could happen, knowing she is unable to protect it from the unknown. Realizing she is unable to protect it from harm.

I have certainly felt that fear, and might you have as well, if you’re a mother.  Knowing that you have done everything in your power to protect your child from harm, but could not keep them from what was coming, or perhaps what was somehow “meant” to be.

As the mother lioness continued to search, the lion cub was spotted by the male lion.  Quite a dangerous thing.  Lupito Nyong’o , the actress who we have come to know from “12 Years a Slave,” “Black Panther” and most recently, “Us;” who narrates the show tells us that male lions will kill cubs immediately upon sight.  They do this not only to destroy the line of that tribe, but also so that the females will want to mate and have other cubs.   The female lions are somewhat forced into starting a new tribe with the male lion as her protector.  Even if he has killed her cubs.  It is important to note just how much a mother yearns for her child.  Especially if she has lost one.
So the male lion sees the cub in a thicket of the grassland, where the cub who has also seen the male lion and tried its best to hide.  I cannot imagine the fear that poor little cub felt, lying there, away from his mom, without protection.  And the rest was history.  The show did not have to fully televise the gruesomeness of the scene and truthfully I was glad not to see it.  But with one swipe, as the camera showed, the cub was killed and left lying in the field.

The mother lioness who was searching for it, almost instinctively knew that something wasn’t right.  And she walks in on the scene and discovers her cub, dead. With really no time to grieve, she lets out a wail and purposely walks away immediately looking to protect her remaining cubs, Lupito continues to narrate.

As I saw this I was reminded of the day I (we) lost my son, Joseph.  Like that mother lioness, I know I did everything in my power to protect him.  I know I loved on him, kept care and watched over him from the day he was born up until the last day I saw him at 22.   But of late, I had been struggling with the idea, “Did I?”  Had I done everything I possibly could to protect him.  Was there something I could have done, should have done, to save Joseph.  And I had been wrestling with the thought, “I could not protect him.” The Lord has been and continues to reassure me what had happened to Joseph, was far beyond my power and way beyond my control.  And that there was nothing I could have done to prevented it.

Side note: For those who have lost a child.  Please don’t beat yourself up.  Treasure the memory you have of your loved one.  Cherish it.  And release yourself.  There is nothing YOU could have done to protect your child from that dreadful day.  If you know that you have loved your child to the best of your ability and even beyond, know that you have done all you could.  There is a freedom unlike any other, when you release and forgive yourself.

I never saw the danger, so I could do nothing about the danger that would come his way.  Unlike the lioness, I wasn’t fearful about what was coming Joseph’s way out there discovering things on his own (as the cub did with the rabbit), but I certainly tasted that fear when I learned about that accident.  And how, no matter how hard I tried, I could not protect my Joe from what was to be.  And then in that moment when he breathed his last breath and the doctor made that dreadful announcement, l had the intense desire to protect those who were remaining.  My girls.  Christian. My husband.  They gave me the strength to carry on.  They gave me the strength to breathe, albeit crying, wailing, on the inside.

But you could see, I certainly could, and hear the pain in that mother’s cry, in her eyes at the death of her cub.  I’ve witnessed it in other animals too, as the TV show continued, a hyena lost her cub, a zebra stood far off as her cub was attacked and killed.  The show also told of a female monkey who lost her infant and she was grieving, so much so that when the mother of another infant was killed, she stepped in and become that infant’s mother.  Again, how strong is the need to mother, especially after the loss of a child.

Although I didn’t need a reminder of the difficulty and grief in losing a child, in watching this series, I got one through the eyes of an animal in the Serengeti.  And with that also came the revelation that grief is a never-ending walk, in which we will always be reminded of those we have loved.  And we will always experience the triggers.  The pain is both overbearing and overwhelming (no matter who the mother is, human and animals).  And it is one that we all share.   We may be different, but we grieve just the same.

In the shadow of my grief, from Joe's mom,
Evelyn Fannell


Copyright ©2019 EvelynFannell

One Reason Why

I watched or should I say binge-watched, “13 Reasons Why” on Netflix, just over the summer.  At the time when I was watching it my emotions had been all over the place.  But this time, THANK GOD, I was in an UP period.    

As the show begins it gives you an out.  A waiver.  A disclaimer.  A strong advisory.  ‘This show deals with suicide, and thoughts of suicide.  If you or anyone you know have these thoughts, do not watch it or do not watch it alone.’   I think it is a great advisory and truthfully all shows on TV should come with some sort of disclaimer like this.  Warning the viewer of what they are about to see.  Without going into detail, some things we need to be warned about.   Especially these days.  Since “everything” has to be included.  Moving on….

But the show sends a warning to the viewer that what they are about to see, deals with suicide.  And that it does (spoiler alert).

The show is centered around a teenage girl who committed suicide and prior to doing so, lists  the 13 reason why she felt the need to do it.  Without going into it too much, certain people (including friends) find out that they were one of those reasons.

What a terrible thing to find out, to discover, that you were one of the reasons that someone would choose to die.  That someone waited until they took their own life to tell you how they really feel.  How you really made them feel.  Not that you are responsible for what someone feels, but yet I beg to differ.  You.are.

God has placed each one of us into the life and/or lives of other people.  You’ve heard it said often enough, I’m sure… no man is an island.  God allows our paths to cross with the paths of others for various reasons.  Sometimes they are simply to cross, just so someone can see a smile, feel a touch, hear a friendly voice.  Other times people are in our lives so that we can make a difference in how they think, how they process things, how they interact with others.  Sometimes it is so that we can learn valuable lessons or speak of shared experiences.  And sometimes it is so that we can just show that person some love.  Some kindness.  Show them that someone cares.  Most times that is all that people need to know is that.  Someone cares.  That they are important.  That they matter.  To someone.

We never really know how or will never know why someone chose to take the route of suicide.  Just the thought that someone could be so lonely in their thoughts, in their heads, at best, scares most of us.  At worst, makes us feel vulnerable.  So we often run from it.  Shirking the responsibility off on someone else, or worse, to themselves.  The lonely (or depressed) individual who simply needs affirmation.  “I am not responsible for how someone feels,” I hear.   No you are not, directly, but you are responsible for helping them to continue to feel that way (or not).  You may be responsible in changing a thought or opening an eye to someone’s pain.  There is a reason God expects us to be our brother’s keeper.  

Kate Spade, the designer, had a husband and nine-year-old daughter when she committed suicide earlier this year.  A note was found , although the police never revealed  (to the public, anyway) what was in it, as to why she did it.   Why would a successful woman whose business was thriving, who had a daughter that I’m sure loved and depended on her, and a husband … why would she commit suicide?  From what I’ve learned, she and her husband had a few marital issues, but they were nothing to consider suicide you would think.  Or maybe they were.  To her.  

We don’t know what captures the mind of a person.  Why they respond the way they do to things.  Why some things hurt and others don’t.  Why it matters.  There are so many factors to consider.  There was a part in the movie, which I won’t share in detail, where things someone else wouldn’t even be moved by, troubled her.  We are all wired differently, but we yet connect in so many aspects.  Even if unhealthily. 

Certainly, problems in marriage, a lack of communication, someone not feeling attractive or wanted, having low self-esteem, could be more than enough for someone who battles with depression to consider suicide, but as I thought more of this, why wasn’t the love for her daughter enough?  (But that’s my thinking).  Maybe suicide is a selfish thing.  

And I suppose in some ways it is.  It is taking an easier way out for yourself.  But it is a permanent escape from a temporary problem.  I believe people who battle with depression and suicide, don’t really want to die, they just don’t want to live with the pain they are going through, no matter what the cause may be. No matter the reason(s).

In my walk in this shadow of grief, I have come across quite a few mothers who have thoughts of suicide, who have actually attempted (and succeeded) suicide, because the pain in losing a child is a far greater weight than one can imagine.  I know this for a certainty.  Many times, medication is a MUST to escape the pain and the thoughts that come along with this grief.

There are people who suffer with depression, like I often have and do, like the girl in the movie, because they want so much to be loved.  People who are searching and longing for someone to notice them.  To be a friend.  To talk to them.  To see them.  To love them.  And because they don’t get the attention they crave, they feel non-existent, as if their life does not matter.  And eventually they believe it so much, it becomes real.  And there is no way out to them, but suicide.

This is the holiday season and unfortunately as we get closer to the day, it will bring a whole wealth of emotions for many who battle with depression and thoughts of suicide.  And so I appeal to you all today. Pay closer attention to those around you.  Look a little harder and a little longer in someone’s eyes.  They truly are the window to the soul.  

We really never know what people are going through.  Many do not share it, choosing instead to fake it.  Wearing a smile on the outside, when inside, that smile and everything they know are turned every which and what way.  Give a little more these days.  Stretch yourself a little further to help somebody.  Smile more.  Speak words of kindness and affirmation.  Somebody needs you.  You.

In spite of what people declare, especially those who are “self-acclaimed”, you are responsible for someone else.  It’s selfish to believe otherwise.  Ultimately yes, they are responsible for the decisions they make, but you can make a deposit in that decision process.  You can have a say in what they decide.  In what they hear.  In what they feel.  

Somebody needs you.  Somebody needs to know that their life is worth living.  That they are loved.  That they are accepted and that they are not alone.  And you can be a part of the ONE reason why they choose to live.  YOU may be the only reason they need.

In the shadow of my grief,

Joe's Mom 

Copyright© 2018 EvelynFannell