Talking about the death of my daughter detonates every parent’s worst fear.

“That’s the ultimate loss,” they say. “I can’t even imagine it.”

Telling people you are a bereaved parent is like telling them you have cancer. In the early years of grief, I felt like a pariah if I revealed Maya’s death. And yet, I desperately needed to talk about it even when I could see people wanted to flee.

I quickly learned when – and to whom – it was safe to reveal my loss. Now that Swimming with Maya is newly available as an eBook and paperback, I am coming out of the closet all over again. I’ve spent the last 20 years learning how to live with Maya’s sudden death. I’ve stopped trying to protect others from my grief – or from their own.

And, after the massacre in Newtown, two long wars, ongoing gun violence in our cities, random accidents, and malevolent cancers, I believe that we must all face and talk about the death of children.

After Maya’s accident I was exiled from the fantasy world where we control our children’s safety or their destinies. Losing that illusion of control was one of the hardest things I had to face. I plunged into a hell of despair. It took a lot of emotional heavy lifting, and many episodes of backsliding, before I could learn to live without Maya – or accept that I was not in some way responsible for her death.

In the early days, grief weighed on me like an anvil.

I would be the last to minimize the suffering that grieving parents endure. But I am also the first to celebrate the miracle of human resilience. After two decades of recovery, I can honestly say that my life is more joy-filled today than it has ever been. Maya’s death was the “ultimate loss.” But it was also the ultimate opportunity for spiritual and emotional transformation.

I quickly learned that grieving was work; other than parenting, it was the most demanding work I had ever done. Grief waves overtook me in the grocery store, driving on the freeway, even at my office. I learned to cry everywhere.

Trying to comfort me, some people fell back on the old bromide that it was “God’s will” that Maya had died. Even worse, some said, “She’s in a better place now.” I had to stop myself from screaming, “Are you out of your mind?”

Ultimately, I found safe places where I could talk about my loss and get support, chiefly The Compassionate Friends (TCF). An organization for grieving parents, siblings, and grandparents, TCF showed me that I was not alone, and that other parents understood my grief because they were living it too. In addition, I saw a therapist, someone who had also lost a daughter and who understood the depth of my grief. And I attended a grief support group at my church. But writing Swimming with Maya has been the ultimate “talking about it.”

Riding the roller coaster of grief all the way to the bottom taught me not to sweat the small stuff. Writing the book helped me take that journey.

All of us must learn to live with loss as an integral part of life. Anyone who develops the courage to grieve, reaches out to give and receive support, and lets go of limiting beliefs can grow whole again. I had to make up my mind to heal, and a huge part of that was learning to talk about my grief and trusting that others could handle it.

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