Monday, May 30, 2011

It's been a year

And I'm not sure how I feel about that. I feel like the feelings have faded and then I feel guilty because I don't want anyone to forget you. This is all so new to me, and so awful. Thanks Benj, for being the one to make me do this.

I wish you were a baby again and I could hug you and kiss you and you were so cute and snuggly.  You were so cute, with your bravery and your curly hair and big smile.

I just want you to know I miss you, every day. There are a thousand things I want to say to you. But mostly that I love you. I always have. I always will.


  1. The faded feelings you describe isn't faded love. It's a gradual learning of how to cope with the loss that's making it sting less on a daily basis, so that you can continue to go on living your life. The love is still there in all its glory.

    It's like a canal. The waters will rise behind the barrier and when the time is right, you'll release the river. Then you'll be level and calm. The barrier will close and again will continue to build up pressure till you again need a release.

    Grief in this later stage is much the same way. You're not forgetting him; you're remembering how to live. And that's very good.

  2. I found a book, at the library. The title is "About Grief". I cried when I read the prologue, I cried when I read the first page. I am probably about 7 pages in, and I have quit crying. In the first few pages there is a poem:

    "You think that the worst thing that can happen to you is their dying. Then they stay dead"

    There is a monument, from a Mom who lost her son. Dark Elegy. I googled it, and cried some more. I can't remember what I did when I found out he died. I can only remember thinking it couldn't be real.