Six years next month. Six.years.
The days following his death, my breathing was shallow. It took great effort to breathe, to stand, to be. The surface of my skin was raw, electric. I felt like I would burst wide open if I moved too suddenly. If I breathed in too deep I would collapse from the pain of it all. The shock. The trauma.
He was alive. I knew him. I loved him.
And then he was dead. No warning. He was still...so very still and quiet, so much heavier than the day before...the day before when he had been alive.
I've been writing these past few weeks and every word I write is etched in sadness. I can imagine what these words are like to read.
Painful. Uncomfortable. Tragic. Pitiful. Heartbreaking.
These words... these feelings are not easy for me either... but somehow... somehow in the past six years they have become familiar. As the days turn cooler and the nights come earlier, I feel that familiar ache that reminds me so bitterly that all is not right in this world. Can you feel it? Do you see it too?
I breathe in and the sadness stirs, going further down. I breathe in deep and let the sadness wash over me. I breathe in deeper still and feel the sadness fill the tender ache.
Yes, he was alive. Breathe. I knew him. Breathe in. I loved him. Breathe in deep. I love him.
He would be six this year. He was my little boy. He was perfect. He was here and I miss him.
I want so badly to leave this post alone. Not to add a p.s.
But I'm doing it anyway.
If you worried about us, don't be. We're ok. Really, we're ok. If you pray, you can pray for us...
But pray also for the families just entering this terrible time of grief. The ones who have just lost a loved one. Those ones who feel so alone, who are hurting so badly and who need support and comfort. If you can be that kindness, that support to them... please do. Just be with them, breathe in with them.