Five years ago, October 1, 2016, my son woke up for the last time. I know through the accounts from his room mates and friends, the broad stokes of his last day. It was a Saturday. My son was a tennis coach. He met one of his clients at 7:30 a.m. to play tennis for two hours. It was a beautiful fall day in a beach town on east coast of Florida. My son’s passion was tennis, as was his client’s. This man shared with me that my son was in an inordinately cheerful mood that day. They left the court with the plan to meet the next morning, same time, same place, to play again. He got paid the day before. He went to the grocery store. His room mate shared that he went to bed in a great mood at 10:00 p.m. He laid out his duffel and his tennis clothes before bed, ready to jump into them early Sunday morning. He went to bed and did not awaken. I will spare all of the details but he died in his...

There are some who believe that after child loss a parent loses a part of themselves in the form of security, trust, and hope. It is a true statement that we are forever changed. I agree that in the beginning stages there is a loss of security, trust, and hope. However, I will say over time, these feelings return in a different form than before. There is no prescribed time for this to happen. For me, at almost five years, it returned at some point in the form of GRATITUDE for the things that do feel secure, trustworthy, and hopeful. As I reflect on this, before childloss, I took these things for granted. I felt like my husband and I were good people, loved our family, and were hard workers so we deserved the good things in our life. I thought that I had the power to keep these things. When one of the important things in our life was removed from our life as we knew it,I felt robbed....

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...