Hope

It's been a year and a day since I found out my only child had passed away. I still look toward the door each evening, thinking he will be bounding through it any minute now. Sometimes I pick up the phone to call him, to tell him something he might find interesting or amusing, only to realize when I begin dialing that he is no longer here. Each instance of recognition is like learning of his death all over again.

A year is a milestone. As a society we celebrate birthdays, anniversarys, and holidays on an annual basis. As I think back with a year's worth of perspective to those terrible early days of shock and disbelief I realize now that they will never fully leave me. Those days will always be with me, as will Colby's absence. But his life will also be with me. The good times, the memories, will be there. I continue to be amazed at all the people he touched, the lives he changed for the better. Not a week goes by that someone lets me know Colby made a difference in their life. I am so proud of my son because I know it was often hard for him to stay positive when he was hurting inside so badly.

Two days ago, on the first anniversary of his passing, some of his friends and my friends planted a tree in Colby's honor and memory. It was a peaceful, communal effort in a quiet spot by a creek where Colby played as a child. After, everyone stayed to visit and catch up, and some placed personal mementos on the tree's branches. It was good to see everyone. Good to know Colby is still remembered. Good to know others cared about him, and his life. Good to know how much he was loved. Is loved.

Some friends, both his and mine, were not able to be there and while I missed their presence, I understand that grief is an intensely personal journey. This past year has taught me that I have no idea from one moment to the next what I will be feeling or thinking. Sometimes I might be up to facing a group of people, more often not. Those who were not there know where the tree is planted. Several have told me they have already visited it privately, as I will also do.

Many parents who are ahead of me in this process of grief tell me the second year is often worse than the first. This is because the shock has worn off and the finality of the tragic loss has set in. I don't see how anything can be worse than this past year, but time will tell. Today, I can see that I have progressed in my journey of grief. I have not come very far or very fast, but I have had movement. All I can hope for is that a year from now I can look back and see that I am further along the trail than I am now. That's all I can expect. Hope.

Reality

Today I awake with incredible sadness. This is the day I officially recognize that my precious son has passed. How can I possibly do that? I still occasionally think he will come bounding in the front door, that when the phone rings he will be on the other end of the line, that I will have just one more hug, that just once more I will hear him say, "I love you."

Facing reality is part of the grieving process and I know in my heart that Colby has moved on to a better place. I do feel in many ways that this was meant to be, that Colby was only supposed to be with us for a short time. I also recognize that I am not the only parent laying his or her child to rest today. Hundreds of parents across the country, the world, will say goodbye to their son or daughter today and each of them is grieving just as much as I am. For some, this is not the only child they have lost. To each parent I say, "Bless you. Bless your child. Stay strong. Remember the good times and know that your child would not want you to be sad."

I very well know these words are easier said than done and that none of the parents who are having services for their children today will get to this point tomorrow or even next month. But we will eventually. And while we will never forget, while there will always be a huge hole in our heart, while we will always have a fierce love for our children, I also know that somehow we will each get to a place in our hearts and souls that we can live with. Without minimizing the importance of the grieving process, I greatly look forward to that day.