Dear Son,

I don’t know what to say.

My head is so jumbled with thoughts and I can’t seem to sort through them.  I talk to you all the time in my head.  I think about how you might react in given situations or what you might say.  The utter silence is so painful.

I have found a lot to laugh about lately.  I have enjoyed being out with others and talking.  I still avoid situations where I have to talk to someone I haven’t seen since you died.  I know they dread seeing me.  I work really hard at wearing my mask so that no one sees my grief publicly unless it is with someone I trust.  I don’t like the questions they ask.  I don’t like the expression on their face.  They don’t know how much sympathy to express.  Those people who you don’t know well, but reach out and embrace you physically annoy me the most.  The people who know me well don’t offer to hug me unless indicate my desire for a hug.

The weather is brutally beautiful.  Everything is blooming.  Life is overbearing and it is stark in contrast to your absence.  My brain will not accept the fact that you are gone, that I can only see your face in photos and your voice on tiny little audio bites stored on my computer.

I do not come totally undone as often.  Part of it is me, forcing myself to bottle it up.  I don’t know.  Maybe the sorrow is becoming such a part of me now, a symbiotic relationship.  We exist in this same space.

I wonder sometimes if others think I am “getting over it” because they have.  They mopped their brow and sighed their relief that this did not happen in their family and nodding at our grief have moved on.  I would not want to visit it either if it were not a part of me.

It is impossible to explain to anyone unless they have experienced the death of a child.  Even then it varies from person to person how they choose to respond, what they choose to exhibit, how they fill their days.  There is no right or wrong just individual responses to the individuals they have lost.

I want to talk about you, but I don’t know what to talk about.   Your death was so abrupt.  The arrangements for your remains after your death so easily sorted through.  I have nothing to compare it to to decide if this better or worse.  I don’t want to talk about your death.  I want to talk about your amazing life and people look disturbed and I can tell they are not comfortable to listen.  It is okay if I want to talk about my mom or dad, my grandparents.  Somehow that seems proper and fitting, but not you.  It is too sad.

So let me tell you.   You were a hoot.   You had a confidence despite an incredible shyness.  You were too introspective, too analytical at times.  At other times you were frivolous and downright silly.  I know this sounds cookie cutter and I can’t explain the nuances because it devolves my resolve to not sit and cry.

I realize that you made the most of every opportunity.  I did not perceive you as a person who wasted much time.  Your impatience seemed to occur when you were in a situation and knew there were other things that could be being done.  I was always struck by your expectations for other people – your acceptance and ability to encourage.

I am trying to make the most of the days I have.  Since there are no dates posted concerning their expiration I will use them as best I can.  You would have,  if the situation were reversed.   I won’t deny that I have often wished it were.  I think you would be of more use in this world than I am.  That is what strikes me as so unfair.  I think it strikes most older parents  that way,when loosing grown children.

I don’t feel that I have to live up to anyone’s expectations, except yours, your sister’s and dad’s. And even that is limited by what I feel is reasonable.

I am so thankful I had the time with you that I did.   I find that phrase repeating, along with how much I miss you, love you.

Love you.

Forever

Mom