The Days After: Planning a Funeral for Your Child

What happens after the shock… when reality starts to set in?

In this episode of Grieving Greatly, I share what it was like in the days after losing my son, Harry—when the world expected us to start making decisions, planning a funeral, and somehow keep going while completely falling apart.

This is the part of grief no one prepares you for.

The practical reality.
 The conversations.
 The unbearable weight of making choices for someone you love who should still be here.

I talk about what those days felt like for me and my family—how we navigated saying goodbye to Harry, and how grief and responsibility collided in ways that felt impossible to carry.

If you’ve been through this, you’ll know how disorienting and surreal it can be.
 If you haven’t, this episode may help you better understand what someone in grief is truly experiencing beneath the surface.

You don’t have to have the right words.
 You just have to be there.

🎧 Listen now.

Jen Connors - Harrys Helping Hands Counselling 0431212575

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:01

No one tells you that days after losing your child you'll be asked to plan their funeral, to make decisions, to answer questions, and to somehow function when you can barely breathe. Hi and welcome back to Grieving Greatly, a space for the parts of grief we don't always say out loud. In the last episode I shared the shock of losing my son Harry and what those first moments of grief felt like. That feeling of the world continuing when yours had completely stopped. Today I want to gently take you into what came next, the days after. When the shock is still there, but reality begins to set in. And somehow you're expected to keep going. In those first days after Harry died, everything still felt surreal. Like I wasn't fully inside my own life. But very quickly things started happening. Phone calls. Questions. Decisions. Things that needed answers when I didn't even understand what had just happened. No one prepares you for the moment you have to plan your child's funeral. You're still in shock. Your body hasn't even caught up yet. And suddenly people are asking you questions. We were suddenly in a position where we had to plan a goodbye for a life that should have still been lived. There is nothing natural about that. Nothing that makes sense. You're being asked things like what music do you want? What clothes will they wear? What casket do you want? What photos should we use? What do you want people to remember? And you're sitting there thinking, how is this real? You're being asked to sum up your child's life, or your heart is completely shattered. And inside you're thinking, I don't want to be here. I don't want to be making these decisions. I just want my child back. There's this strange thing that happens. Part of you is completely broken, and another part of you just keeps going. You answer those questions. You talk to people, you make decisions, but it just doesn't feel like you. It feels like you're watching yourself from the outside. I remember going back to work the Monday after Harry died as if nothing had happened. I got shocked looks, but I remember saying I just have to be here as normal, but I can't answer the phone. I remember calling people, my family and friends, and telling them Harry had died, almost casually, just to protect them from finding out another way. I was in shock. I remember turning up to his swimming lessons and his music classes, seeing his friends, not understanding why I was there without him. Where's Harry? It felt like a dream, but it wasn't. Nighttime was the hardest. I couldn't sleep. I would wander around the house. I thought I could hear his voice. I read books about spirituality, trying to understand where he was. I was angry with God. It all felt so unfair. Why me? Why my child? Why not me instead? Bes becoming someone known as a bereaved mother was excruciating. I did not want this life. I wanted to be with him. And in the middle of all that I was planning his funeral, sitting up at night, writing every detail, even writing him a poem to say goodbye. I'll give you a shortened version of that here and you can have a look at the long version in the show notes. Goodbye, little man. Our Christmas tree will stand this year, so beautiful and bright. But oh how I wish we could hear your laughter tonight. You let up our lives more than words could ever say, and without you here I don't know how to get through the day. You are our joy, our cheeky beautiful boy, always laughing, always running, bringing so much light and noise. What I wouldn't give to hold you in my arms again, to hear your breath, to watch your little chest rise and fall as you slept. Goodbye, our little man. We love you, and we miss you. And at the same time, your whole family is greeting too. Harry's dad, his brother, his sisters. We were all falling apart in our own ways, trying to hold ourselves together and each other at the same time. But there's no guide for that. No roadmap for how a family survives something like this. How can you be there for others when you can't even be there for yourself? I would talk and talk, trying to make sense of it. He would say nothing. And I thought maybe I was grieving more. But now I know he was grieving differently, and probably felt just as alone. I couldn't be the mother I wanted to be. I felt useless. Like I couldn't function, like I had nothing left to give. Looking back now, those days weren't about strength. They were about survival. Not doing things well, not getting it right, just getting through. If you're in this right now, it's okay if you feel like you're not coping. Because this is not something anyone is meant to know how to cope with. But what does help is connection, support, being held by others when you can't hold yourself. You don't have to have the right words, you don't have to make perfect decisions, you don't have to hold everything together. If all you can do is get through the next hour, the next conversation, the next breath, that is enough. If all you did today was get out of bed or have a shower, that is a huge thing. You cannot expect yourself to function the way you used to when you've been thrown into trauma. This is physical, emotional, mental. It is exhausting, it is overwhelming, and it can feel impossible. Even breathing can feel like work. And then the funeral happens, and everything changes again. People go back to their lives, the calls slow down, the messages stop, the world keeps moving, but yours doesn't. And that's when it really hits. The silence, the absence, the permanence. I remember snapping at my best friend when she asked if I was having a better day. Because in that moment it felt like I never would. You wake up and for a split second you forget. And then it all comes crashing back. Every single morning you relive it. Because this is real. Simple things feel impossible. Getting out of bed, eating, showering, even breathing can feel heavy. Your body is exhausted but your mind won't stop. The what ifs, the if only's, the replaying of moments. Grief isn't just sadness, it's trauma. It's shock. It's your whole system trying to make sense of something that makes no sense. If you're in those early days right now, where everything feels overwhelming, where you're being asked to do the impossible, I want you to hear this. You don't have to do this perfectly. You don't have to hold it all together. Just getting through the day is enough. We were never meant to carry something like this, and yet somehow we do. And as we finish today, I want to leave you with something I hold close. You will always be enough for me, and you'll never be too much. This episode is for Harry and for every family learning how to say goodbye when they're not ready. Thank you for being here with me. If this episode resonated, I'm really glad you found this space, and I'll be here with you in the next one. And just a gentle reminder: if today you brought up anything difficult, please reach out for support. You can contact myself or you can contact Grief Australia on 1 00 642 066 or Lifeline Australia on 13 1114. You don't have to go through this alone.