Right after our son died other people who had lost children told me “your son is with you.” I was incredulous. He was gone. Life was empty. Other meaningful relationships were blunted and dulled to gray. The world with its color and vibrancy mocked me.
Most days now, for whatever reason, I feel like he is right beside me. Please understand I am not speaking in some mystical way. He was so much a part of my life, my thinking, my concern that it seems in the most mundane and typical daily circumstances that he is here.
I shed tears daily. I have become accustomed to it. I don’t dread or fear it. It annoys me when I am driving. I try to make it stop then for safety’s sake. Afternoons and evenings are the worst. The close of another day makes the sadness well up in tears.
I hate not being able to see him and talk to him. Fear and doubt like to taunt me with the idea that I will never see him again. I block people on Facebook with their canned poster statements that infuriate me with assumptions about God. I am working through my beliefs as hard as I can, thank you.
My daughter said it best. ” I think, how can this be? How can it be almost a year? And then I think in ten years I will be thinking the same thing . . . ”
It helps when other people express how much they miss our son. Since my husband, daughter and I think of him daily perhaps we assume others do too. I know that is not possible. Life has been moving forward for them. It has moved for us too. The road it very rocky.
Thinking about him doesn’t hurt all the time now. His dad and I laughed today about one of his friends crediting our son with his ability to slay others at a game of chess.
I stay busy. I have been physically busy. I have resumed walking the dogs for an hour a day. I have been painting. I look back over the past year and wonder over the things that have been accomplished. Our daughter, his sister has accomplished so many things. Good things. I don’t know that I have ever stopped to view a year in retrospect quite the way I have this one. She and I talk and marvel that anything has been accomplished at all.
Depression still stalks me. It blunts joy. I plan things and then as the event approaches I find myself wishing I had never committed to it. I want to stay home. But staying home is hard too. I loose focus and wander around without accomplishing even the most menial tasks.
I make myself go. At times it still takes all the strength I can muster. Thankfully the people I come in contact with know my circumstances. They lend me a bit of their energy and I muddle through.
My daughter and my husband give me space. We give each other space. We each miss different aspects of the man. We each contribute to our mutual appreciation of having had him in our life.
Some feelings are stronger now. The incredible yearning can be very painful.
We are quickly approaching the anniversary of his death. Just seeing that written is hard.
I have missed other people during my life. Thus far there is nothing to compare this to.
The man ,once you had gained his favor, loved unconditionally. He quietly would gauge how far he could push. He was eager to share, to watch others learn, to see things click and did so without expecting praise or credit. His shyness was endearing. His wit quick and tongue sharp when necessary. He was a student of nuance. He appreciated the natural world. He loved a puzzle. He allowed me to be who I am prodding me at times to work past fear and self-doubt. I miss our time on the trail, on the road, on the couch shoulder to shoulder.
It will never seem possible that he is gone. Never.