Sympathy after the sudden death of a loved one is nice; heartfelt embraces or a card of condolence do not go unappreciated.

Empathy is different. It is hours of sitting in silence with someone who understands. It’s not saying, “He’s in a better place.” It’s preparation for the darkest journey a human can undertake.

On April 28, it will have been two years since 13-year-old Matthew Hubner fell to his death while hiking around a cave near Deception Pass. The child’s mother, Heidi, was never able to give her youngest son a proper burial, as his body was not recovered.

A dedication ceremony for a bench overlooking Deception Pass served as an emotional goodbye for the family.

“During the dedication of Matthew’s bench we all walked across the bridge and dropped flowers in the water,” Heidi said. “That day was rainy and cloudy, but when we walked across the bridge the sun appeared and was shining on us. We looked down and saw a seal in the water and we all thought it was Matthew telling us he was OK.”

The unreconcilable grief bludgeoned Heidi and her family, and the months have only slightly softened the blows.

“The closer I get to April, it all seems to come right back to me as if it was happening all over again,” she said.

The cave was sealed last October to prevent human access, but “closure” for the mother remains elusive.

Heidi, until recently, has internalized her grief, attempting to find reasons to wake up in the morning. Those reasons ultimately took the form of her 17-year-old son Robert and Randy, her husband.

“I couldn’t even look at Matthew’s picture for a long time,” she said. “I struggled with my faith, but I realized that it was the one thing I needed.”

Heidi finds solace in a daily devotional that helps her persevere and recognize beauty or fleeting moments of contentment, where after April 2006, only ugliness or numbness existed. She realized that she had to channel her personal suffering and anger over the death. Matthew would not want to see his mother teetering on a dark precipice.

“He was the happiest boy and I finally realized that Matthew didn’t want us to be sad,” she said.

Karen Lewis, supervisor for Island County Probation Services, has also experienced the pain of losing a son. A sign just outside of Oak Harbor on Highway 20 pays tribute to Michael Lewis. As a result of her friendship with Heidi, and their shared pain, Lewis finally convinced her to help form a support group specifically for people struggling with the nonsensicalness of a sudden death.

“I wasn’t ready for it yet when Karen first asked me about it,” Heidi said. “But she got it going and took care of everything.”

The mother now understands why Lewis was so emphatic about the group’s formation. As much as Heidi needed the support herself, other people were in need of her empathy and love.

“We’re focusing on healing,” she said. “I relate best with parents who have lost a child.”

Impact, started in November, is held every third Tuesday of the month from 7 to 8 p.m. at First United Methodist.

“People can come and ‘just be,’” Heidi said. “There are no expectations. It’s so valuable to share with other people what has helped in the grieving process.”

Fellowship is a necessary catharsis for grievers who feel that their pain is wholly personal and not to be used to burden others. When Matthew died, Heidi was floored by the community support her family received.

“It was a ripple effect through the whole family and the community,” she said. “That’s why we named the group Impact.”

Heidi has watched her son Robert, who will graduate from Oak Harbor High School this year, immerse himself in sports as a distraction from the pain. Over time, though, the senior has learned vulnerability.

“He and Matthew were inseparable,” she said. “They had ESP. Matthew idolized Robert. And Robert joined wrestling just because of Matthew. Their relationship was so special.”

Through the mourning process, Heidi has emerged far more compassionate. She said the group helps foster communication in a world that has changed markedly since Matthew’s death. For a couple weeks after the tragedy, the television would change channels by itself.

“It would change to Nickelodeon,” the mother said. “And I’ve heard Matthew’s voice so crystal clear. I can feel him hugging me.”

Matthew used to visit Heidi in her dreams to make sure his mom was surviving. He has now moved on, a clear sign that he is confident she is ready to do the same.

“I know that he’s okay,” she said. “I don’t believe everything happens for a reason. People always say that. There’s no rhyme or reason. But we have to go on living.

“There are never endings, only beginnings.”

Heidi has learned to live with the realization that some of the best people, like Matthew, will be frozen forever at the age of their death. But she said the memories are treasures that she will never relinquish.

“He had the most contagious laugh and a big, beautiful smile,” she said of her blue-eyed, flirtatious son. “He had a very caring side to him, he would always want to help our neighbors and recently volunteered at the Living Word Church with his stepdad. He was so loving he stayed with his great-grandma for short periods of time so that his grandma Terri and grandpa Don could go on short outings. He had a charisma about him that you just couldn’t ignore and will never forget.”

Kim Rose, Heidi’s sister who resides in California, was present when Matthew was born and she was there for the standing-room-only memorial service held at Oak Harbor Middle School.

“While we continue to live our lives, Matthew will always be in our hearts and thoughts,” she said.