Since my son died . . .

What a horrible thing to write.

But that’s what life is now: before Jack died and after.  It’s a dividing line.  Things will never be like they were.  That unending fact is always there, no matter what else is going on.  It flavors everything and, even if my mind temporarily lets it go, really focuses on something else, it’s still not really gone.

That doesn’t mean I’m morose: I don’t mope around, silently trying to trap someone into talking to me so I can make them uncomfortable.  Bwaahaahaahahaaaa!

No, I go about my day.  If someone who doesn’t know meets me, chances are they would never guess.  Most times, I can make it not show.  And that’s good.

So if you see me at the store or in the halls at the office, don’t be afraid. I already know that my son is dead.  It’s with me every moment.  And I realize this makes everyone uncomfortable so I do my best to ease that, if I can.

I will laugh and smile and make jokes sometimes.  But that doesn’t mean I’m like I was before.  It just means I am still alive and doing the best I can.


I am going to recreate this blog as a way to help me deal with my grief and, maybe, to help others who are suffering similar trials.  I’ll also sometimes include other things.

I’ll post when the mood strikes me and I find something I feel needs saying.

BTW – the picture in the header is a cropped version of this one.  It shows Jack running around gathering Easter eggs in our yard in 2012. I put it there to remind me that despite my pain, things keep moving.  He never stopped.  I can’t either.


He was so happy.  God how I miss my little guy.


5 responses to “Grief

  1. It’s good to hear from you. I was so sorry when I heard about your loss. Grief is a difficult thing, something we don’t really teach anyone how to walk thru it. I always repressed mine, I just didn’t realize it…I thought I was being strong.
    ANYWAY, I love that you stepped back from the blog and took care of what was important. I love that you are addressing the uncomfortableness people exude when faced with other people’s loss. I love that you are bravely transparent. I know it’s not about me or for me but thank you nonetheless.

  2. What a beautiful, beautiful boy. I’m so sorry for you and for your family. Believe me, I know just saying the words “my son died” feels like it belongs in an alternate universe. It’s a difficult thing to say, an even more difficult concept to get your mind around, an even more difficult journey to walk. Take care of yourself. I will be thinking of you. You are not alone.

  3. I am more sorry than I can every say; as you know, I lost my son the year before, February 23, 2012. I go weak in the knees when I write things like, “Since Philip died.” In some way I still don’t believe it, some way I’m still sometimes shocked. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

  4. Writing your blog gives strength to others as well as yourself. Awesome post. Very sorry for your loss. Can you imagine the playing happening in heaven’s garden right now? I miss my boy beyond words, even so many years later.

Leave a comment if you want . . .

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s