What about that beer?

I wrote this on July 27th, about a week before Wyatt's Birthday...

As time moves forward, Wyatt never changes. He continues to be the young man of 20. He hasn't changed in two and a half years, but all his friends have. Grieving through time is like looking through a cloud that obscures the beautiful view of change. All the others have changed as children should do at such an age, they have married, had babies, changed jobs, moved to new places, gone off to college...Wyatt is 20, forever 20. Wyatt is dead.

In a week, if life had been what I thought it would, I'd be celebrating and wishing my son a happy 23rd birthday. Knowing that I will never experience that joy, that I live my days without my son living, that I will never see him grow into who he was to become...this time has weighed heavy on my heart and my body. I am tired, tired as if the weight of the world rests on my shoulders. Is that grief? Is that sorrow and longing for what I can not have? Is that just life? I don't know; I just know that I find living to be a chore.

I struggle to find the joy or passion in life. I want to sing a song of praise...truly I do, but I'm too tired to do it, I'm too filled with sadness to dance to life's music.

I thought the other day, I never shared a beer with my son. I wish that I had.

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