I wasn't much into celebrating my birthday, what was the purpose, I'm just another year older, or as one person put it, another year closer to being reunited with my child. Jim's birthday was however a big one, you know ending in "5" or "0" and it deserved celebration. Not only because it was a big birthday, but because he is a wonderful and kindhearted man and we decided Wyatt would want a celebration. We had a wonderful party, friends from all segments of our lives shared in the joy of the day. We ate, drank, chatted, took photographs, hugged, cried and laughed. The day was filled with life, love and friendship and we relished every moment. Then the door closed. The people were gone. We sat together and quickly realized without words how very alone we were; how Wyatt's absence from this day, this celebration, cut into our very souls. He should be here. We yearn for him. We cherish the person he was and the man he was becoming. We want him in our lives, we want to share the joy of our lives with him. There were lamenting tears, wails of sorrow, mournful hugs and the overwhelming anguish of absence so heavy on our hearts. Our love for each other tenuously balancing comfort and agony at the same moment. To experience the torment together is almost more arduous than to cry alone, it's as if the pain becomes exponential in intensity, absorbing the suffering of the other, feeling their pain, knowing their heartache and sharing their torment. I would have it no other way, for love is to be shared, felt, known, worn on your heart and stained on your cheek, spoken in word and shown in deed, given freely, without question of yourself. Love is sharing our burdens and our joys. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.
I was thinking of when I created this blog and named it.... Living with Loss, I knew I would have to live with this loss, but at that time I wasn't living, I was surviving. It was a goal of sorts… but also a mission to keep breathing. It is only now, over six years since the death of my son that I have begun to know how to live again. The sharpness of those first months and years have softened and the pangs of grief strike less frequently, though when they do they rage with vengeance. What a journey of emotion these past six and half years have been from overwhelming and consuming grief, disbelief and shock, depression and fear, finally acceptance and the incorporation of the loss into our lives. I remember in the first months after Wyatt's death, I would walk through the house and tell myself he had gone on a very long trip to a place far, far away. He was unable to contact me and I unable to contact him. I later learned counselors think this is a poor method for ...
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