So why am I, a layperson, writing a column for an audience of educated, credentialed professionals? I am not a therapist, a grief counselor, a physician, a nurse, a hospice worker, a funeral industry professional, or clergy. I am only a parent. But I am the parent of a young man who grabbed a high voltage line early one July morning in 1996. I am a mother who answered the telephone at 2:40 am and met the ambulance carrying my son to the hospital. I am a mom who three hours later watched the emergency room doctor say "I'm sorry...." but didn't hear the words over the jet engine roar in my head. I am a mother who had to choose to either start my life over or call it quits. That is why I am writing this column. I can offer you guidance in an area that is fraught with fear, misunderstanding, and confusion.

When Jason died, his dad went to a trusted friend and therapist and inquired about counseling. This wonderful therapist said it all in his conscientious response. He told Dave that he could not possibly offer counsel in regard to Jason's death because as a father himself, he simply couldn't "go there." With tears in his eyes, he explained that with no life experience of such a traumatic loss, he felt totally incapable of guiding another person through such a tragedy. He offered to listen at any time of the day or night, a proposal that turned out to be exactly what Dave needed.

All of you will some day confront this issue. A sobbing father or a hysterical mom will tell you that their daughter was killed a few months ago and that the pain seems to be getting worse. They will ask you for advice, for medication, for answers to their "why" questions. Their eyes will tell you of their sorrow. Some of you will say, "I'm so sorry...it's just not my area..." while scribbling down the name of a colleague, the hospital chaplain, or a new counselor in town. Some of you will recommend a book you've heard about or a grief support group that meets at a local church. Many of you will treat their problem as "grief" per se and begin talking to them about the stages of grief you learned in college. But few of you will feel adequate and knowledgeable of what the couple is feeling, thinking, and needing.

Based on my own experience, and on the experiences of other bereaved parents I have talked with, I am going to offer you an inside look at the mind and more importantly, the heart, of a bereaved parent. No one should have to "go there" to know, but perhaps a guided tour will increase your comfort level and give you some tools to work with. Over the life span of this column, I am going to go from my ground zero to where I am now. I am going to talk about the stages that I went through and make it very clear that they are only MY path, not everyones. I am going to share with you the things I believe can help as a parent goes through different stages or skips over them or returns to the same one over and over again. I am going to talk to you about spirituality and the part it plays in grieving a child's death. I am going to write about what to say, what not to say, and when to just listen. At this point, I am not sure how long that will take, how many columns or how many words, but I know it is a much needed process.

I can not be there when the ambulance slowly leaves the scene. I will not be there when the viewing is about to begin. She won't have my phone number when she wakes up at 2 a.m. for the fifth night in a row and he won't come to my office to ask about the "whys" on Friday afternoon at 4 p.m. It will be you who stands beside them, you whom they call, and you who writes their treatment goals.

The loss of a child is an unexpected death, out of sequence with what we expect from life. There is an almost contagious feeling, based on fear, which only amplifies the grief and pain that a bereaved parent feels. At a time when what they need most is support from their loved ones, they instead find themselves misunderstood and isolated. No one wants to spend their time thinking or talking about a dead child. And so they stay quiet, they stuff their feelings, and they wear a mask for the rest of their lives.

It is my hope that this series of articles will increase your understanding of child loss so that you are able to be present for bereaved parents who come to you. It only took one person to pull me out of the pit of grief. If someone reaches out for your hand, I want you to have every ounce of strength available to assist you. Let my journey be your strength.

Next issue: "The First Six Months....After"

Sandy Goodman is the author of Love Never Dies: A Mother’s Journey from Loss to Love (Jodere Group, 2002), and the founder and chapter leader of the Wind River Chapter of The Compassionate Friends. She has presented at national conferences for The Compassionate Friends, Bereaved Parents of the USA and the Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors.