July 29, 2026

Shock

I was thinking about shock and whether you ever 'get over' the actual shock of the loss of your child. I think not, but, as I write in Hand, it's not because you come to 'terms' with the unthinkable, but rather because of the fear, at least my fear, of forgetting. However illusory, it gives you some control when you really have had no control.

On the ground, when I think about Zoe, or say her name, or somebody else says her name, there is still always a brief, sometimes indiscernible , but clear breathless nano-second when shock appears unexpectedly, almost as if you have to reconstruct it given the senselessness of it all. (I think some people naturally sense this and may avoid using her name - or do so in a way that underlines their respect for your process) If I were to be honest, it's always there.

There have been a few books written by parents who have recently lost a child. They are very powerful and moving. I recently saw a podcast of one set of these parents, who are quite public about discussing their loss. To my perhaps distorted but certainly more experienced (in the sense that I've lived with this longer than them) view, it was clear to me that they were still in incredible shock. It was there dripping from their faces, in their emotionally laden tearful words and in their attempts, their brave struggles to self-therapise and to make sense of it all intellectually.

So clear.

So painful.

I thought to myself as I cried with them, that I've been there. Such a difficult process! It's clearly the shock weaving uncontrollably between the lines and smothering their thoughts and feelings in ways they can't yet, or are not ready yet, to confront.

I realized upon reflection, that I'm no different now twenty years later.

It's just more muted.

Shock