Living With Grief and PTSD | A Story of Trauma, Healing, and How Others Can Help | by Madison Lorelli | Inspiring Story #211

People mean well when they offer advice—‘Go to counseling,’ ‘Take medication,’ ‘Join grief groups.’ I mean, what do you say to a mother who found her child lifeless on his birthday?" How could anyone understand the depth of my grief and PTSD unless they’d experienced what I had?

I’d returned from a doctor’s appointment. I walked into his room, expecting to give him a hug. Instead of celebrating, I found him lifeless.  I spent the day in the critical care unit, keeping his organs alive through life support, though there was no brain function.

When you’ve been through something like this, I get it,  people want to help.  They rattle off advice. What I really want is empathy, care, and understanding.  That’s why I’m sharing my story - to help others know the long-term effects of trauma and understand how deeply it shapes everyday life.

Living with Grief, Trauma, and PTSD

Since losing my son, my life has been consumed by fear, anxiety, and trauma. I’ve reached points where I’ve experienced hallucinations, sleep deprivation, sleepwalking, and sleep paralysis. It leaves me exhausted, where I can’t think clearly, and every day feels like a struggle just to keep going.

The trauma of losing my son has left me with a deep-seated fear for my other children, particularly my 4-month-old daughter. Despite logically knowing that her transition to a crib has nothing to do with how my son passed away, I’ve developed a habit of checking on my daughter constantly.  I have a constant fear that she might stop breathing.

Traumatic events are characterized by the fine details that remain with us. The incident happened while my son was being cared for by a babysitter. As I prepare to return to work, the thought of placing my children in daycare fills me with dread. I anticipate this will be another hurdle in my journey, as I know I’ll be in constant contact with the daycare, making sure my children are okay.

After the trauma, I was temporarily relieved from work duties because of flashbacks and panic attacks, especially while driving. I relied on delivery services for errands because I couldn’t leave the house. Despite trying doctor-recommended methods, my nervous system would shut down, leading to panic attacks severe enough to hospitalize me.   

The trauma even affects how I feel about doctor’s appointments. I get dizzy and nauseous because I’d left my son with a babysitter to attend a pregnancy bloodwork appointment. The what-ifs still haunt me, making every appointment a source of anxiety.

Over time, my body and mind has adapted, but it hasn’t been easy. I experienced multiple episodes of depression, which led me to keep busy as a way to cope. This need to distract myself developed into obsessive-compulsive behaviors like checking if doors were locked or appliances were turned off. Some days, it feels like my brain never stops racing.

Finding Small Moments of Control

During the worst of times, I’ve learned that distraction is the best way I cope. Cleaning my home gives me a sense of control in a world that feels chaotic.

I can’t cope with silence anymore.  So the constant music from my Google Home or the amusing chatter of my two-year-old, Dallas, sets a positive tone for the day. In the evenings, watching videos helps calm my mind when things feel too heavy.

Writing has also been a powerful tool for coping. It allows me to process what I can’t always say out loud. Through writing, I’ve been able to express emotions that would otherwise stay bottled up inside.

I’ve also started researching mental health in hopes of helping others facing similar challenges.

Support, Acceptance, and Finding Meaning

Having a trusted friend to confide in is invaluable, and my best friend Katy has been a constant source of support during the hardest times. I’m also deeply grateful for my children, friends, and family—they’ve provided the strength I’ve needed to keep going, even when I felt like giving up.

I’ve learned to accept that trauma is a lifelong journey of adjustment. It’s not something that fades or goes away, but something I have to adapt to each day. This acceptance hasn’t been easy, but it has helped me navigate the complex emotions and challenges that come with grief and PTSD.

Through this process, I’ve found ways to turn the pain into something that feels meaningful. Losing my son led me to create Windmills for Waylon Sam, an initiative to promote organ donation in his memory. It’s a way to honor him and ensure that his life continues to make a difference in the world.

In sharing my story, I hope to help others understand the ongoing effects of trauma. It’s not something that just goes away with quick fix solutions. It’s a part of life that reshapes everything.

My journey will always be one of learning and adjusting, but through it all, I’ve found strength in the people around me and in creating a lasting impact in my son’s memory.

If there’s one thing I hope others take away, it’s the importance of empathy. Offering advice without understanding is not helpful. We never know the full weight of someone’s trauma, but by listening and showing care, we can lighten their load.

Sometimes, that’s all someone really needs.