The three years from 2013 to 2016 were the worst of my life. I am still recovering.
In June of 2013, I had a mental health crisis, diagnosed as an acute psychotic event and eventually bipolar 1 disorder. The loss of my mental health was crushing. I was fifty-two years old and married with two amazing young adult children. I had a great career as a physical therapist and was seemingly thriving in a master’s program. After a manic weekend with little sleep, racing thoughts, compressed speech, grandiose plans and euphoria, I was hospitalized in the psych unit. After a week of acute care, I transitioned to a two-week partial hospital program. Unfortunately, two months later, I sank into the other “pole” and struggled with a clinical depression. With a lot of support, love and compassionate psychiatric care, I gradually resumed working and carried on.
About a year later, breast cancer was detected on routine mammogram. Another loss: this time involving my physical health. Thankfully, it was stage 0 and treatable with lumpectomy and radiation. Compared to my mental health challenge, the cancer was easier somehow.
Through both my mental and physical health losses, I was fortunate to have compassionate, caring providers, as well as the ongoing love and support of my family and friends.
In September 2016, my life changed forever. After a frantic morning of trying to reach our twenty-seven-year-old son Liam, my husband found him, dead from an apparent drug overdose. The world stopped for me, hearing my husband’s voice on the phone: “He’s gone. He’s gone.” This will forever be my greatest loss.
Losing a child is not supposed to happen. It’s against the natural order. There is a word that represents this concept: vilomah. It is from Sanskrit, a term used to describe parents who have lost a child. Somehow, this acknowledgment of the depth of my loss brings a small measure of comfort.
I will continue on my journey of healing, although I know I will never be fully whole again. The natural order has been broken, and it can never be restored.
Susan Cunningham
Plymouth, Massachusetts
4 thoughts on “Vilomah”
What I find fascinating is that there is no English term to describe a parent who has lost a child. I’ve always thought it was because the loss was too painful to describe. Children who have lost parents are orphans but there is no inverse term. Thank you for teaching us the Sanskrit word, Vilomah.
Thanks Diane. You are right in that there are no words in English to describe this loss but “Vilomah” is helping me navigate and understand my life now that Liam is gone.
Thank you for sharing your story, thoughts and feelings. I’m so deeply sorry for the loss of your son. You’re correct, I’ll never be the same person again either. I’m sorry for that. It’s a cruel reality to experience and endure, this horrendous pain. I am grateful that we’re not going through this alone, even when it feels like I’m all alone, I thankfully know where I can turn to.
God bless,
Stevie’s Mom, Nan
Abington, MA.
Thank you Nan. I am so sorry for your loss and hope sharing my journey after the loss of my son helps you somehow. You are right, it is so helpful to know we are not alone trying to navigate our lives marked forever by this excruciating grief.