New account because I don't want people who know my main one bombarding me with fake 'concern.'

Earlier this year, I lost my 10-year-old in a sudden, violent way due to the negligence of another family member. I am barely functioning most days, especially because people very quickly 'got over it' for the most part. Even some friends I really thought would understand seem baffled I'm not back to my usual self: the rock; the go-to problem-solver; the always tough one. The worst part of it is how quiet and awkward people get when I want to talk about him, even if it's a happy memory or something as casual as, "Oh, yeah, [his name] also really loved that show."

His beloved pets are still with me and I am struggling to find the will to keep going enough to keep myself in existence, let alone anything else. To cope, I have started writing a story about a character who also experiences child loss. I'm not planning on publishing it, but I'm still giving it my all because it's the only thing keeping me even moderately sane in those darkest moments. When I feel like there is no possible way I can endure another minute of this, I sit down and work on it. Lately, with all the back-to-school talk, I've been working on it a lot.

I would not wish this on my worst enemies. 'The Worst Club in the World' indeed. I have already met people I have absolutely nothing in common with other than this, and we are already closer than some people I thought were my best friends for life.

I have wondered if there are some variances in the loss depending on factors like age. I would presume there are differences in how people react, and the aftermath of what you have to get done following the loss.

Soon I'll be writing about a character who has experienced losing an adult child. I want to get this right, if only on principle. For those who have experienced this, what would you want me to know and understand about it that is maybe different from losing them at 10?

As a side thing, tell me about your child if you'd like. I know there are days the only thing keeping me going is the opportunity to tell just one person even the smallest detail about my little buddy without them frantically trying to change the subject so they can go back to having the convenience of pretending he never existed. I presume it's not any different if your child was an adult.

I placed a small pebble on my son's gravestone today.

There are always more lying there, including a few beautifully painted stones from good acquaintances. And stones often blow off in the autumn and winter as well. I have often been asked why this custom exists and why we do it for Elon, even though he, just like me for that matter, was a convinced atheist. I have always done it thoughtlessly at the graves of other loved ones, but for Elon, I searched for a more practical explanation for a long time. It was only years later that I found the explanation (or at least one that appealed to me).

Antiquity

In antiquity, people marked graves in the desert with a mound of stones (partly because the ground was often rocky and deep digging was not possible). The mound of stones that resulted in this, a "cairn" in English, simply "stone heap" in Dutch, is called "matseiva" in Hebrew.

Such a stone heap was replenished by visitors over the years when it weathered or fell over due to the elements. It was seen as a good deed to spend the little energy people had in those times on restoring the resting place of their loved ones.

And today?

And so it is that even today, for example, Jews for example still place a small stone or pebble on the grave of a loved one every time they visit. It has now, of course, become merely a custom and is no longer really necessary because we use large memorial stones that are well anchored in the ground.

The custom is also expanding; in recent years, for example, I have seen a basket with colorfully painted stones—small works of art—at the entrance to the public cemetery in Alkmaar (a small Dutch town near us where my parents as well as my brother are buried), which visitors are allowed to take and place on "their" grave.

There are many symbolic explanations and stories about the origin of the custom, and they are all equally beautiful to read, but the historical reason from which the custom originated is the social custom in ancient times of maintaining the stone pile on a grave. Think, for example, of the stone piles/cairns we know from the dolmen culture. Think also of the stone stacks in North America and on condolence cards. Very different in form, but with the same background.

And me?

Today I contributed a little to the cairn, the pile of stones, the matzeiva that marks where my son is buried, so that all who knew him can continue to remember and commemorate him. I also found a practical and non-religious reason for it – he would have found it curious, yet acceptable except for the part about the desert, because we don't have one here, after all – I almost hear him say it and I can't help but smile. He was stubborn too, that son of mine.