My Boy

For a very long time now, I have wanted to tell what happened to my son, to tell our story of grief, to explain how losing him has left our family incomplete, but each time I feel like I can't find the right words.  I know that many thousands of other parents have lost a child, or children.  I did not begin this tale to claim that my sorrow is unique, or out of the ordinary.  That losing OUR son has stopped the earth on it's axis and darkened the sun.  That my pain is in some way more severe than that which another mother felt after the death of her infant, or toddler, or teenager, or adult child.

I can only relay to you, my reader, that which I felt, which I feel, which I now know.  That losing my son has brought an irreversible emptiness to my once very full and happy life.  Never again will I sit at our dining room table with all of my offspring surrounding it, laughing at silly remembrances, teasing each other relentlessly, arguing and forgiving,...a family complete.  Never again will I watch my son scoop up his child, lay his head gently on his strong shoulder and stroke his sweaty curls while kissing him on the cheek. 

If, as another grieving parent you have come here to seek out answers, I have none to offer.  There are days when I am strong, rising with determination to turn things around, organize, catch up, conquer.  But more often come days when as I roll from the bed, his face crosses my vision, and I remember, I'm the mother of a dead son.  My son is dead.  He is not coming back.  His body is under the soil in our woods, buried among the trees he climbed, near the fences he tightened, a short walk from the house he helped build. 

But I also didn't begin writing to gain sympathy, or to gain answers of my own.  I have become wise enough to know that only going through the grieving at grieving's pace will get me further down the healing path, though I know a complete recovery is unattainable.  I read once, that losing a child is like losing a leg.  You are bed ridden for a while, but slowly you are able to sit up, then maybe walk a few feet with crutches.  You are fitted with a prosthetic leg...you learn to shuffle, then walk.  Eventually you may even learn to run...but everyday you will be reminded, that your leg is gone,...you will get used to the new "normal"...but it will never be the same.

In 2 days my son would have been 24 years old.  This small corner of the internet will be my present to him, to his memory.  It will also be a gift to anyone who loved him, a place of refuge to cry in private, a place to advance their own grieving process, a place to share and remember.  And to anyone who stumbles across our hiding place, know that my son's death does not solicit sad cliches and typical condolences,...our lives will never be the same....but we can move our paths in ways that just might make a difference, in his name.