not perfect, not imperfect, but somewhere in-between: My pain, my loss...

not perfect, not imperfect, but somewhere in-between: My pain, my loss...:   Since the death of my son, I’ve felt detached with the exception of a few moments. It is my way of dealing with my grief. It is deeply tro...

My pain, my loss...

 

Since the death of my son, I’ve felt detached with the exception of a few moments. It is my way of dealing with my grief. It is deeply troubling. Almost always unbearably painful. Oftentimes people say, “Well, it’s a nice day. Let’s get on with it.” Is this the way to behave or to let myself drown in the pain, embarrassed that I have let myself go too far?

My son’s death has somehow separated me from the outside world. I’ve become more introverted. I did not, I do not, know how I can describe this loss in words. So often I don’t. I made a promise to myself that I would never forget him. I just made a promise.  I largely live my life secretly, for both of us.

 

                                   

                                         My love for you

I remember, Q. The day I had you. You were such a gift. The one that I cherished, the one I adored.

Many times it was just us. We sometimes fought, we frequently Laughed. I miss that.

Losing you has brought me to my knees. People say that as time goes on the grief will be less.

I am not sure this is true. My heart literally hurts. I don’t tell people this because they often don’t know what to say. Some say nothing.

So here I am alone. I had so many plans for us. Grandchildren. A happy life. I have some anger and some sadness that surrounds So I’m living as a ghost. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m really here. I want you to know my love for you will never end.

Thoughtfulness and Other Things

I went to UPS today to return some Amazon things. I had an armful as I approached the door. I young girl in front of me just went in without holding the door.  This reminded me of Q. He was taught to hold the door for anyone. He also opened the car door for me and his grandmother. He always said please and thank you. Q placed his napkin on his lap before eating.  When we finished a meal he would get up and help loading the dishwasher. Q always said, “I love you” once a day. People ask me how I am now that I don’t have Q. These are the small things, sweetness and thoughtfulness that I miss most. You raise a child to a young man and suddenly he is gone in the blink of an eye. Despite this you will always have the memories that are imprinted on your mind.

Thankfulness

 I've cried tonight. Not because of sadness but of gratitude of my friends and family who have reached out to me. Of course it's my 60th birthday but is underlayed with the loss of Q (anything always will). I am thankful though, to family and friends reach out to me sometimes despite not knowing what to say. Anyone who has ever experienced this loss never will (and I pray that they never will). Knowing that people you love will reach out in someway to just say they are there for you means the world to me.

 3 weeks until the first leg of my trip (this will be to the UK)! Q used to joke with me when I became almost giddy planning a trip then getting on a plane. I used to tell him that there was nothing equal to that luggage wheeling along then those airplanes taking off. He used to just laugh and shake his head. The thing is, I wanted to expose him to different cultures, different ideas and different people.

This is the first time I will be traveling without Q. I am a little bit shaky and a little bit afraid to do this without him. I know though that he is still laughing and shaking his head.

I worked on organizing the garage today. I came across a black and yellow bin. I use these to signify Q's stuff. Like a typical mother I have loads of these bins. Admittedly I have many bins of Q's time in the military. Dress uniform, fatigues for time in the US and time overseas, boots. I also found these. I was surprised and felt a love for him that was overwhelming. I do believe I am healing though. Instead of a wave of losing him I started to feel gratitude for the 27 years I had him in my life.