Sorrow and Love are Comingled

I grieve, I cry, I wail, I scream, I sob, I yell, I pull my hair, I beat my chest, I then sleep. I wake up and the cycle continues. Because I love much I hurt a lot.

There is no end to sorrow when you lose your child. I lost David. The number of years does not matter. Time stands still. Memories continue to emerge. The pain never goes away. The missing increases as time goes by. In time people seem to forget about the loss. They do not mention it. They do not remember his birthday or anniversary. They do not talk about what he did or used to do. They act as is he was never on this earth. Yet as a mother he is daily with me. I see him everywhere even though he is nowhere. I ask him "why did you go away?" Daily he occupies my soul. Daily I look for him. Daily I remember him. He becomes more beautiful day by day.

I don't know

I often ask myself “Why did David die?” I try to figure it out and I always come to the same conclusion that I don’t know, and that I will never know. Yet I keep on trying to know what can never be known.

I will never know why some people die so young and some live long lives. I will never know why an earthquake claims some lives and spares others. I will never know why children die of cancer or why a tree falls and kills someone. Life does not make any sense. Sometimes I think that I do not need to know, but that I need to only trust. Yet something in me never gives up the search for knowing the “why?”

The People that I Appreciated the Most

The people I appreciated the most after losing David were the ones who simply were present when I needed them.It is the people who did not try to enter into my feelings and did not offer me false comfort or false solutions that I appreciated the most. They did not tell me that I need to take something to feel better. They did not tell me that I need to see a therapist. They did not tell me that I need to have more faith. They did not tell me that I need to read my Bible more. They did not tell me that they feel my pain. They did not tell me that life goes on. They did not tell me to be thankful that I had David for 30 years. They did not tell me to be thankful for the memories. They did not tell me that he is in a better place. They did not tell me that it is the will of God. They did not tell me that I am strong. They did not tell me that I should not live in the past. They did not ask me if I had other children. They did not ask me how he died. These are the people who did not invade my privacy. They stood at the sidelines respecting me and my journey through the path of grief and sorrow. They encouraged me just by listening to me or giving me a hug, knowing full well that they were as powerless as I was.