Having lost David distinguishes me from every parent who has not lost a child. These parents are fortunate and do lack my perspective on life. They do not know how I feel. They mean well, but they just do not know. They tell me to be strong. They tell me that they feel for me. They tell me that the pain will dull. They tell me that my son had gone to a better place. They don’t know that I want David here and not somewhere else even though it may be a better place. I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want people to give me any advice. They cannot unless they have had a similar experience.
There is an absence and a horrible silence in the house. There is a longing for David beyond description. There will never be the same happiness in my life as before until I hold David again someday. People ask me if I am still going to therapy. As if therapy is going to work like magic, which is going to take my pain away. I realize now that nothing works. How could it? How could anything work when my life blood is taken? How could I become whole again? I might reach a stage where I will get better, but I will never be the same complete person as before. I know it. I feel it in my soul.