Pacing

It is a heavy email day today. Lots of Facebook messages, too. And calls. Lots of phone calls. I can't possibly answer all the email or talk with all who call, although I want to. Very much, I want to even if it is just to say how much I appreciate the few minutes it took to call or email. That's because just when I think I can't bear another second of life without my son, a call or email comes in. So even if I don't pick up the call or answer the email, please know I got the message, and that I am so very grateful for it.

I get email, too, from parents of other children who have passed. Those emails today are mostly angry. Other days they are sad, but today a simmering rage is at the forefront. I wish I could get there. I wish I could feel their anger because it means I am moving along in my grief. I would be that much closer to the end. If there is such as thing as an end to this. By "end" I mean reaching a place of acceptance, where I can move on with life, such as it will be.

But I am not there yet. I have written that so many times. I want to be there. I yearn to be "there." But grief comes at it's own pace, as do anger, sadness, denial and all the other feelings that come along for the ride. The pace is its own and I can neither hurry it or delay it. It will all come at the right time. Meanwhile I want to thank you all for reading this blog. Thank you for thinking of me, thank you for remembering Colby.