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Let's Talk About Death
episode • Insight • news and current affairs • 52m
episode • Insight • news and current affairs • 52m
This story contains distressing content.
It’s said that the depth of grief is equal to the depth of love.
If that is true, I'm glad that I loved my baby so deeply.
My youngest son, Darcy Alexander, was the loveliest boy with a cheeky sense of fun and a penchant for snuggles.
He was the most joyful, peaceful, content little boy you could ever hope to meet. I feel truly blessed he chose us as his family.
He slotted right into our tribe, making us a family of five, enjoying walks with his big brother Nat (five at the time) to school for prep, spending days playing with Jamie (two), cuddles with Daddy when he came home, and many, many snuggles with Mummy as I cherished bonding with my little boy.
Danielle's son Darcy. Source: SBS
Until the day that changed our lives.
The day tragedy struck
It was a typical hot summer's day, and after attending a family gathering, I started to pack the car to put Darcy in. I remember the temperature being in the mid-30s and decided to turn the air conditioning on before putting Darcy in his seat so he was more comfortable.
It's so hard to forgive myself for what happened next. I’d parked the pram near a tree on the footpath to give him some shade. I thought the car was in neutral but I'd accidentally knocked it into second.
I turned the key and suddenly the car lurched backwards, dragging me with it as I lost my footing. The only thing I had to grab onto was the steering wheel and as I grabbed it the car turned and ended up on the nature strip, stopping in the local resident’s fence.
As I looked behind me the pram was nowhere to be seen. The next moments were a blur of ambulances, emergency rooms and doctors whisking away my seven-month-old boy.
After what felt like an eternity a doctor came and spoke to us, a serious expression burdening her face.
Darcy was gone.
How music helped me cope
The role music played in this season is the role music has always played for me, which is comfort and release.
When I couldn’t cope I listened to songs that soothed my heart. When the pain got overwhelming I took to my piano to play and sing my heart out, usually a familiar worship song so that I could release tears and seek strength from God.
I started singing as a small child and sang in choirs from early primary school. I've been writing and performing songs ever since - finding solace in making music as I navigated dark periods in my life.
As I was approaching the end of my senior year a friend encouraged me to attend church again and once there I met God in a personal way through the music, also known as worship music.
After that, music was the way I accessed God's presence at a time when I was helpless to do anything else.
Danielle has been writing and performing songs since she was nine. Source: SBS
My complex relationship with grief
It's easy to get lost in grief.
You lose your grounding and for me, it came packaged neatly with the trauma that came from the ordeal of the accident.
There was no separating the two, though at one point I thought I was supposed to. I tried to, until there was no denying that many times they are inextricable, and tend to have the same effects.
In the days that followed the tragedy, it felt unreal. The shock and realisation kept washing over me, 'He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone!' over and over, like waves overlapping, a deluge sometimes.
I discovered the meaning of mourning, and weeping. I wept heavily, wailing, bargaining and begging for his safe return - to no avail of course.
I could barely get to sleep. It was so difficult, as though even laying down my head was dishonouring his memory.
I needed worship music playing, it was like a balm of peace that guarded the atmosphere of our home.
It helped, if only a little. Once I found sleep, I dreamed I woke up to him in his cot and felt relief, but that was short-lived, as I awoke for real this time, to an empty cot, with no little face peeping over the top asking to get up for the day.
I started my day with yet more weeping.
I wanted so desperately to write a song but the reality was that my brain fog was so thick that life itself was chaos and I could never line up the time to sit down at a piano with a clear head to unravel the tumult and chaos inside.
But, I’m slowly starting to pen the songs in my heart in the hopes that someone else can be helped along the road of overcoming great loss and know they're not alone, and that there's hope.
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