Uncaged, we have travelled abroad this week to visit old friends. The shift from home hibernation to European travel is angsty, to be sure, but flying to France actually feels less unnerving than the thought of driving to the Sainsbury’s two miles down the road. The embedded memory of food shopping for Clay and with Clay over his lifetime is laced with a tenderness that still brings tears as I walk through the aisles.
Today we walk through the streets of Arles hoping to encounter scenes familiar to Frank, who studied here decades ago with his alma mater, Dartmouth. That’s Dartmouth College in Hanover, New Hampshire, USA, where Clay was meant to be studying right now. Of course! Clay would have studied with Dartmouth here in Arles, too! He was a French speaker, a languages man and, after all, a European American. Would he have walked up this very street, sat at this very café? Would he have taken his turn with the rasateurs in the Arles amphitheatre, like his dad, to reach for the flower between the horns of the bull? Obviously, yes.
If I screw up my eyes a little as I walk along the curve of the cobbled street, the scene looks like an Impressionist painting—white houses with pale blue shutters, saffron shop fronts with green awnings, and sunlight illuminating all the summer flowers. It’s so beautiful, and I zoom in on a particular feature of my painting. Tiny blue-violet flowers cluster themselves among deep green leaves haphazardly climbing the wall to cuddle one corner of a painted door frame. The whole scene attests to l’Arlesian with the green thumb who has nurtured and tended this life that flourishes for all to see. I am not cut out to nurture life, an unfit mother. He died because of me.
And just like that, the least rational, most primitive spoonful of my brain takes command of the remaining litre of soft mush long enough to let me know that I was responsible for Clay’s failure to flourish at the end of his life. They all said he was capable, declared he was handsome, made much of his promise. He was savvy, easy-going and funny. Kind. He was easy to love and mine to protect, and I failed in the only job I ever truly took seriously.
Hours spent with a talented therapist have equipped me to take this thought captive and pick apart the feeble reasoning on which it relies, but I know that the impending slump in mood it signals will require seclusion. These enemy thoughts have a lot of friends who tend to join forces— a needy lot, they are, and insecure, like a clique of 13-year-old girls. I propose a plan to end the day’s excursion early so I can retreat to our guest room, where I will either succumb to the parade of dark thoughts, or deploy the troops— reason and kindness— against the hostile army parading through. Whether I surrender to or subdue these minions depends mostly upon how much energy I have. At least I will be alone.
So goes the thought life of a suddenly, traumatically, recently bereaved mother. It’s pretty standard bereavement psychology from what I understand. There’s the Loss Adjuster: Clay will never see Provence. He will never drive a motorcycle. Never invent a marriage proposal, etc. Or the Fear Mongerer: You, Gretchen, still have a lot to lose, and there is every chance your daughter (or son, or husband) won’t return home tonight, just like Clay. And not to forget the hospitable host of the Pity Party: The seering pain of Clay’s absence is your new companion for life; this sorrow will never leave you. Happiness was never meant for you. And so on….
Maybe this is a hard read, so thank you. Many who live with such loss report that the friends and family who simply sit with them in their loss, giving witness to their sadness, anger, confusion or whatever, offer the most meaningful support. They, and I, appreciate the willingness engage with such deep sorrow from your place in the sun. The brighter your world, maybe, the harder it must be to engage with this sort of reality? I don’t know. I was pretty ignorant of any of it before. I will live under the sun again one day.
In the meantime, reason and kindness put up a decent fight:
Clay was a beautiful person, and he lived an exceptional life. In his late teenage years, he got involved with drugs alongside many of his peers. He turned out to be adept at hiding it when he needed to. As soon as he told you everything, you and his father did everything you possibly could to support him in getting free of drugs. You’ve learned that the community factors involved in cultivating and sustaining his drug problem were hidden from you, and turned out to be insurmountable. He made some poor choices and then succumbed to addiction. This was not your fault.
Clay’s life was 18 years of sheer joy and six months of utter trauma. You would choose it over and over again. He gave so much love, laughed more than most, developed a love and appreciation for music, and gave meaningful and treasured gifts. He will forever be part of your family. Together, you sailed the Dalmatian coast, saw the London Olympics, cycled to Brighton, watched the sun rise over the Grand Canyon, loved and raised your choc labrador, stood at the top of the Empire State Building, took part in a flash mob, and so much more. By the time he died, he’d eaten escargot in Paris, played in a band to a crowd, and fallen in love. You would choose it over and over and over again. Even the pain, for the love of the boy.
clay fragments 
My dear, dear sister,
General Teddy is here to remind you that you ARE NOT responsible for what happened! I can appreciate how these thoughts come, especially even we are in a vulnerable space.
This is hard, this is so hard. Please lean into the love that sorrounds you. You are loved, and supported! You are being tightly and tenderly held. This is hard but we will breathe, sob, and howl along with you!
Deep hugs,
Teddy+
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It is with tears rolling that I read your beautiful words as you share your pain, Gretchen, A window into your unimaginably painful emotions and thoughts.
Sending much love to you to give strength to reason and kindness. xx
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Oh Gretchen my hearts hurts that you are having to walk this path. I think as parents who lose their children it is hard. Addiction is a demon to a lot of people and one that isn’t always successful. We will never know why Clay was taken so young. Why bad things happen to good people. I promise you you learn to live with the pain and the sun does shine again. It takes time and ai understand the need to isolate when those dark days show up.you will always have thoughts of him not being there. For me it is when there is lots of family around! Or when you granddaughter has a lot of her aunt in her or your new grandson has her hands. I know now what bittersweet truly means. Know that you are loved. Let the grief out when you can and walk in the sun as often as you are able!
Walking in the Light
Love
Sandy
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Gretchen. You are so brave to share so deeply and for me I am honoured to see the glimpses you share. Keep your head up and know you are wonderfully made, valued and treasured. Love and prayers Rachel xx
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Dearest Gretchen your shared pain has become a special healing gift for me, a mother who
who is walking this journey too. May it give you some peace to know that you are touching so many lives. Trust that God will bless you in new and remarkable ways. You are greatly loved . Thanks for sharing the love with all of us
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We’re sitting with you now, bodies afar but hearts close.
—Barbara and Sam
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Dear Gretchen, I think you are a very special person, mother and you write with your raw honesty and feelings which bare your soul, and hopefully will heal a little in time to smile each day for the joy of Clay. I think if you a lot and my wish for you is to be kind to yourself and have some peace in the days ahead. Love Kate xxx
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🙏🙏🙏
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There is no way you are in anyway responsible for this.Please give up that thought.I love you so much,Gretchen, and I pray for your healing.
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Oh, Gretchen, how beautifully you write and I sit here with tears pouring down my face. These blogs will touch many and will help many others. My heart aches for you. Much love, Kate B xxx
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You are such an amazing mother. Never doubt for one moment that the job you took most seriously, you excelled at in every way possible. Kids grow up and make choices that are beyond any parents control. They must be independent. We know this yet we still feel that deep responsibility for them – it’s in our DNA as Mothers. One thing is certain, Clay wouldn’t have wanted this pain for any of the loved ones he left behind, but especially he wouldn’t want it for you Gretchen – his rollerblading, marathoning, piano playing, fun loving, opportunity making mother. There is no better role model for living (for Clay and for all who know you) than you Gretchen. I mean that from the bottom of my heart. Clay LOVED his time on this planet largely because YOU showed him the joy of living. Tears once again reading your clay fragments – beautiful imagery, true love and raw reflection that is incredibly powerful. 💕
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Oh Gretchen, your pain is tangible and so understandable, but please, please put away all thoughts of your being in any way responsible for Clay’s decision to follow the drug trail to his death. There is no way you could possibly be responsible, it was sadly a road with an inevitable and tragic ending. He will always be in your lives, just out of sight, but still there, and Frank, Chas and Grace all need and love you. They are who they are because you’re such a brilliant wife and mother. Trust them, trust yourself and I pray that, day by day, the pain will lesson and the happy memories of 18 fulfilling years will soothe you. I’m here, as are so many of your family and friends, with a hug, a shoulder and an ear to listen. X Tricia
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Dear Gretchen your words are so powerful and beautifully written You know you were the best Mum there could be. Sending much love your way. xx
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Gretchen, I’m just gutted, reading this with tears streaming down my face. I’m so sorry…..JCP
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Gretchen.
I imagine sitting next to you as I read this, and all I want to do is hold your hand and listen, and to pray for grace to be bestowed upon your heart and your mind, and to pray for barriers to be erected to keep out the malicious lies that serve only to add gasoline to the fire. You are beautiful and human and grieving beyond anything I can imagine. I send my love to you, and promise those prayers.
– Renata
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Hi Gretchen,
I live in Henderson NV and I’ve been attending New Song Church. Living in the hippie generation, I’ve lost some dear friends to drugs. My life turned around drastically and I’ve been sober for more than 30 years. I pray for a hedge of protection to be set around you. Don’t let the lies from the evil one seep in. It’s absolutely not your fault. My heart goes out to you and yours. Wish we could talk face to face. Deborah
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I too am in tears for you dear dear Gretchen – a mother’s tears – deeply, deeply connecting. I empathise with all the feelings you have described and shared so eloquently and openly. Guilt… yes, so natural but such a robber of the truth…. hear the kind, true thoughts… know you are so, so loved and you WILL be in the sun again. xxx
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Dear dear Gretchen. I’m writing this with tears pouring down my face. You articulate your grief so well and as you’ve told me, your battle is going to be a long and tiring one. So keep strong dear friend and allow kindness and reason to win more often. Addiction is a skillful enemy not least because it is so secretive. You can’t fight what you don’t know about. Focusing on what you DO know is in contrast so affirming and positive. And what you KNOW is that you Loved Clay with every fibre of your being- and you shared many many incredible life experiences together which have given you so many beautiful memories to feed on in your heart xx
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It’s true Gretchen, the guilt can catch you unawares. It’s almost 19 years later and I still blame myself.
Colin was my 3rd child and 20 years old when he died. He went to bed and didn’t wake up again. He had taken drugs the night before and just never woke up again.
In another 18 months he will be gone longer than he lived.
But I failed. I failed at my job. My job of being a Mother. I took my eye off the ball. I don’t how or when, but I did.
Maybe it was because my 2 older children were making their own way in the world. Or maybe because he was no longer a teenager, and was a bright, engaging, handsome young man with lots of friends. I thought every thing was fine in my world.
Yes, we have gone on with our lives and the sun still shines and the pain has retreated. I like to describe it as a cut that has scabbed over. And every now and again the scab is knocked off and the pain is there.
In the dark of the night, I blame myself. I know I failed.
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Gretchen, beautiful, raw, so perfect….tears flowing….thank you for your brave words and wisdom…sharing a small glimpse of a mother’s grief and torment…I wish you we here to hug.
I shared on my SOFA Page💙💔💙💔💙💔LB
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Dearest Gretchen , you write so powerfully . You clearly articulate all that we , as mothers ; fear , dread and celebrate about our children . You are the shining light in the darkness xxx
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Dear Gretchen,my heart aches for you.Your grief is so strong.I have no advice. I will pray that God will start to heal you.
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