I feel Will in every happy/ joyful moment. I do long to hear his voice as it was before he passed. “ Hey Mom. How’s it going?”
I long to hear his laugh. He suffered from depression from age 12- his passing at age 29. So when he laughed it was the most beautiful sound in the world. His siblings, his dad and I would instantly feel lighter when he laughed. I remember his laugh as a baby and toddler. It was infectious. When I hear my toddler granddaughter with her blue eyes just like Will’s laugh I am transported back to his laugh.
I do feel him when the humidity curls my course hair and it looks just like his hair.
I feel him when I read words that make me feel like I am straddling heaven and earth.
I feel him when I am with another bereaved parent. I feel him urging me to use my gift of encouragement to offer hope. The dichotomy of simultaneously feeling bereaved and hopeful is one I don’t understand but yet I feel it.
I used to worry that if others saw me feeling joy and hope that they would think I was Over It. Although I no longer worry about expressing joy, I still feel like I wish people could understand that a big chunk of my heart is broken off. I sometimes feel the pain of the rough edges of grief while marveling at the smooth edges of hope and joy.
When others want more from me than I can comfortably give, I do feel anger because I feel misunderstood. These are the people I feel unsafe around so it has forced me to build a wall between me and them. They call me selfish. I am merely in self preservation mode.
I do feel my son in the the joy, hope, pain, longing. I see his blue eyes in the front of my mind like the flash of a camera. I hear his laugh in a toddler. I catch a whiff of his cologne pass in the breeze. I look at the vivid blue sky and feel the barrier between us become thinner.
She writes about life, death, grief, and recovery.
- Seven Years - September 16, 2023
- Healing After Child Loss - June 19, 2022
- “You Are So Strong” - March 11, 2022
