A Single Mom’s Grief Weight Loss Journey by Michelle Ferris

I think my grief journey started on some level at the beginning of Corban’s life with my divorce. My life was turned upside down. Everything I had known for the last 10 years was torn apart. But there was this new life, the sunshine I needed. I had no idea what I was doing or what would become of my life, but I just knew that my son was my everything and I would do the very best I could for him, be the best mom I could.

I hated sharing him then, being a split family. That wasn’t how this life was supposed to be. And yet, it’s what I had in front of me. And all the things that might have been hard for me along the way, I always operated from the intention of what was best for Corban.

I never realized that not only did I have to share him with his dad, but that Corban was really only on loan to me from God. I did not realize I’d have to “return” him so soon, that our time was limited. Whoever thinks that you’ll outlive your child?

My son, Corban Ferris, is my only child. I was his single parent for almost all of his 19 years. Corban was kind, loyal, respectful, funny, faithful, and just had a gentle smile and soul. Corban liked to help people and didn’t care to boast about it. We had a cozy home and life, just me and him, and our newly adopted rescue dog.

On July, 4th, 2020, everything changed. My world stopped. We were enjoying a long weekend away in Northern MI, had a great day the day before, kayaking down the river, and spending time with family and friends. Late morning on July 4th, we hiked a short trail to Lake Michigan, the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. It was our intent to just visit briefly and go back to the cottage to enjoy the rest of the day.

Shortly after we got to the beach, Corban swam to a sandbar. On his way back, he struggled and drowned. That was the last time I saw Corban alive.

How could this be real?

I paced on the beach, repeating “this can’t be happening”. That became the dividing line of my before and after life.

Corban’s absence is loud. Adjusting to life alone without him has left me with many questions. Like, what will become of me?

What will become of me?

What is my purpose now?

My life was being Corban’s mom, caring for him and loving him, being there for him. What now?

How do I do this life by myself, without him?

Grieving as a single parent adds extra layers to the already complicated layers of grieving your only child. The realization that I will never be a grandmother or a mother-in-law adds to the heartbreak.

I often wonder what it would be like to have a spouse, the other parent of my son, to grieve together with, to reminisce about memories. It was just Corban and me living our life in our house, and all the memories, silly things we shared, are left to me to recall. I have tried to write things down so I don’t forget, but not having someone to relive those memories with just isn’t the same.

My grief of losing Corban, losing my only child, often has this undertone of feeling like an outsider in life. Corban was my family, me and him, and without him, this world can feel pretty isolating. It often feels like I’m an outsider, an island. An outsider, looking in and looking back. Others can expand their families and create new memories. I’m reminded I can’t. Trying to fit in can be exhausting. It can be uncomfortable and awkward.

People will say, “You’re so strong,” “You’re an inspiration,” but it feels more like I’m enduring this life I never asked for. My sense of home was left with Corban's death.

Grief is this big, heavy backpack I now carry forever. In the early days, it took all my energy, and I had to carry it with both arms in front of me, leaving me little left to do anything else. All I could see was this heavy grief in front of me.

Slowly, over time, I developed some strength as I did “grief work” and was able to move the grief backpack to one side and carry it with one arm, and was able to give attention to other things with my free arm.

As time has passed and I've done more “strength training” in grief, that backpack has moved to my back, giving me greater freedom in my arms to do other things and participate in life a little more easily. All the while, that grief is still there. I’ve just developed the skills and strength to carry it and integrate it into my life.

There are times when it gets extra heavy and intense, and I have that backpack on my side or right out in front of me again, and it’s all I can give attention to. And that’s okay. But I know that won’t last. I have the strength to get it back on my back.

There are many things that have helped me in my grief of losing Corban. The overwhelming one has been connecting with other bereaved moms. Connection and community have helped me feel not so alone, feeling free to be who we are, share our feelings, whether it be tears or laughter or both at the same time, and not be judged for it.

It has also helped me do things that carry Corban with me moving forward in this life, honor him, and still make him proud.

Every year on his birthday, the day I became a mom (I call it my “Mother’s Day”), I hand out several birthday cards to strangers in the community. The cards include a note explaining who Corban is and why they are receiving this gift, and they also list the amount for each year Corban will turn. It’s Corban’s Pay It Forward Birthday Card project, and it blesses me while blessing others, and keeps Corban’s memory alive.

The other project I do with and for Corban is at Christmas time, and I call it “Making Movie Memories.” We loved going to the movies and did so quite frequently.

Honestly, since Corban has been gone, I have not been able to go but only one time, and that was out of state with a few bereaved mom friends. But I want to give other families the memory of a fun activity together, something Corban and I enjoyed and can no longer do.

I ask my family and friends for donations on social media and partner with a local elementary school to identify families to receive movie-theater gift cards and bags of treats. This is my new Christmas, and when I assemble these gifts for other families, it feels like I’m wrapping presents for Corban. He’s with me, and I know he’d be smiling about it.

After Corban died, I discovered that Romans 8:28 was an important bible verse to him. It reads, “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose”. Corban’s purpose continues to be fulfilled even though he is not physically here, and I continue to work on finding my own.

In the first days of my grief, I could picture Corban in my mind saying these words: “Mom, it’s amazing here, you should see it. Just hold on, and you’ll see.”

I am doing just that… holding on.

Corban’s Mom Forever.

In the next blog, more reasons why people struggle to talk about grief.

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