Two

Today I go to a visitation for one of Colby's friends who passed away earlier this week. This is the second friend who has passed since Colby. It's just been a few months. Two is two too many. Death is always hard for those of us who are left behind, but it is especially hard when the person is young. Why can't we all live out long and natural lives? Learn about being old? Pass our wisdom to the generations who come behind us?

I hope to stay for a time, to visit, but it is all I can do to pay my condolences to the young man's mother. We talk of the numbness, of the dream-like quality of burying your child. She already has a support group lined up. I am glad to hear that. So many parents do not. So many try to get through this by themselves. I do not think that is possible. Not for me, anyway. I leave not too long after I arrive. This scenario is too raw, too fresh. I feel a panic attack building so I quickly walk out the door. Then I sit in my truck and cry. It is 16 weeks today since Colby passed. 112 days. I pray he is at peace, that he is happy. I know in my heart that he is, but I'd gladly give my own life to have one more hug, see one more smile. Then I get mad at myself because my wants feel selfish.

I hope Colby was there to welcome his friend. There are now four young men who look down upon loved ones. One went about a year before Colby. All went differently, for different reasons. All left grieving parents whose hearts will never, ever, be the same.