This is how a grieving mother feels Losing a Piece of Me Imagine someone has opened your chest with clawed hands, grabbed your heart in a crushing grip and torn it from your body. But you do not die. You remain alive, in agony. Agony that will continue for days, weeks, months and years. This is what it feels like when your child dies. This is how I felt when my son Dustin died, one month after turning 11 . To hold the limp body of my precious child in my arms and feel its emptiness was pain that defies words. I sat cradling my beautiful child, knowing that I would never again see his smile, hear his laugh or feel his hand clinging to mine. I would never again hold his warm body close and breathe in the scent of his hair. I would never know the person he would have grown up to be. I walked from the room knowing that I had seen and held my child for the last time ever. I wonder why I still live, and how am I suppose to keep going. I want to die; I'm not suicidal - it's just that the only way to end my pain is death, and I ache to hold him in my arms again. Never again will I feel 'whole'. My whole future is flavored by the loss of my son. A part of me went with him, and a gaping hole exists that his warm presence once filled. I ask questions that no one can answer; Why did he die? Why not me instead? Death has struck close to me once - what if it happens again? What do I do now? How will I manage? Why am I still here? I ride an emotional roller coaster. One moment I feel I am managing well - the next I am curled up in a corner pleading with God to take me, right now. I go for periods where I do well and think, "Okay, I've accepted it." Then out of the blue, it hits me anew - "He's dead. God, he's really dead." And I began a new round of grieving.