The Unique Grief of Losing a Stepchild
The overlooked validity of a stepparent's pain
This week’s article was written by my son’s stepfather, my husband, Michael McGreevy.
“My son Christopher died from suicide two years ago. I miss him.”
I wish it were easy for me to say that. I wish I could just utter those words and be ok with it. I wish I did not feel the need to put disclaimers around that statement or nullify it altogether by making the impact of his death about someone, anyone, other than me. It is not that easy, though. At least, it’s not for me.
Christopher is my stepson. He came into my life nine years ago when I met his mother. As she and I got to know each other the fact that we both had children became an important fact in our growing relationship. Shortly after we met, we knew that this relationship was going to Go Places, and as a result we both needed to accept the fact that we were package deals.
Lisa has three sons. I have one. If we were going to be together, we had to both be prepared to accept the fact that our responsibilities as parents took precedence in our lives and all the ensuing chaos that is involved in taking on those kinds of responsibilities. As a result, I never put her children into a different category than mine. As far as I am concerned, I have four sons.
Like many things that revolve around grief, though, society does not necessarily share my viewpoint in this matter. Because Christopher is “only” my stepson, people mistakenly assume that his death was not as traumatic to me as it was to my wife. At least, that is how people make me feel when the subject comes up.
I can even concede that there is some truth to that statement, but it has nothing to do with the fact that Christopher is my stepson. My grief, and how it manifests, is my own. It is unique to me, and it is rooted in my life experiences and world view. It is not less important than the grief my wife lives with every day. It is different, and it is mine.
These are the things my therapist tells me anyway.
My belief in that truth tends to get drowned out when it comes face-to-face with reality, though. I cannot tell you the number of times I have watched the look of relief that passes over the face of someone who realizes that it was not my “real” son who lost his life to suicide, or how many people have asked how my wife is doing without bothering to ask after me.
When people realize that a loved one died from suicide they tend to get incredibly uncomfortable, so I have downplayed my own grief on many occasions to let someone off the hook for responding “properly” to the news. I have also done so to alleviate any suspicion that I may be manufacturing pain that does not exist to garner sympathy. I have even gone so far as to tell myself that my feelings were not valid or appropriate. That I did not have the right to claim grief when compared to the depth of loss that my wife is feeling.
I have spent a great deal of time and energy trying to convince myself and everyone around me that I am fine. I am not. When Christopher died, it was a gut-wrenching loss for me, and the aftershocks of his death have rippled through virtually every waking moment I have had since that day. His death looms over our household. It has changed the nature of my relationship with my wife, the way we relate to each other, the ways in which we consume media, the ways in which we communicate with the outside world, the ways in which we view ourselves.
It also brought up old demons around my friend Beau’s death by suicide, and my feelings that, as with Christopher, there was something I could have done to prevent it.
But I was “only” his stepfather, so I bottled up all of these feelings and buried them deep inside, because I did not have the “right” to experience them.
Fortunately, I had one advantage that many step-parents (particularly step-fathers, whom are caught up in the throes of toxic masculinity and thus unable to accept or express feelings), do not possess. I am a proponent of therapy. I promised my wife in the early days after Christopher died that if things got to be too much for me that I would seek professional help. When that happened, I did so.
I have been in therapy since. I probably will be for the foreseeable future.
If I have learned anything that I would impart to someone dealing with the loss of a child to suicide, whether it be a child by blood or one who you were blessed with as part of a result of a marriage, it is this: Your grief is real, valid, and personal.
You are allowed to feel the losses in your life as a result of this event. If it becomes too overwhelming for you to deal with, and you don’t feel as though your partner can give you the support you need, seek professional help.
Most importantly, do not ever feel as though you need to qualify your loss and the way you feel when talking to others about it. Do not let the expectations of society cause you to backpedal on the facts surrounding your feelings around your loss. Get rid of your asterisks. Throw away your disclaimers. Speak your truth.
My son Christopher died from suicide two years ago. I miss him.
News & Notes
Five Things No One Tells You About Losing A Child
Five of 500 things, if we’re honest. Kathy Roller writes, “the guilt of joy is imminent. The first time I laughed, I was overcome with a sense of betrayal. How could I find joy when I should be grieving? What was the appropriate time frame when I could stop crying in public? When would I want to return to the land of the living? Guilt was a feeling that I hadn’t anticipated.”
Closure Isn’t a Thing in Grief and That’s Okay
One of the most frustrating things I deal with is the assumption that I seek closure. “People think that completing a set of stages or tasks, or just letting time pass in general, will lead to closure in grief. However, this is a misconception, and I’m sorry to say, this isn’t how grief works at all.”
An invaluable, yet uncommon, way to support someone’s grief. “It makes perfect sense to me that [Wanda] would go on to recreate Vision, not only because she loved him, but because Vision was who supported the concept of grief, of not just letting it simmer, but letting it out as a sign of love.”
“What is grief if not love persevering?” - Vison
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Until next week,
Be well.
Lisa
This article was shared with me today, WOW. I’m the bonus mom and my son was killed in a head on collision. As I read this article I felt every bit of what was shared. I’ve put my feelings on the back burner, played defense in order to protect my husband and other children, had those feelings of I don’t matter I’m JUST the bonus mom. At the three month anniversary as the date and day were exactly the same as the day my son was killed I came crashing down. I finally gave in and texted the counselor and said “I can’t fix it”! I can’t fix my it, my husbands, my other kids and whatever else “it” is. Thank you for sharing this article as I looked and looked in the beginning for an article or something for bonus/step parents I found very few.