Flashbacks

There are so many memories here at my mom's. Everywhere I turn I see things that remind me of Colby. These are painful reminders that he is not here, not fond memories. Not yet. I go down to the lake and think he should be sitting on the bench on the dock beside me. We had some great conversations there. I notice a weak step on the way back up to the house from the dock. Colby should be here to fix it.

In the downstairs bedroom, the room that was mine as a teen and his when Colby visited the past dozen or so years, I find a few of his things: a portable CD player, a shirt, a book. I am sure there is more, but I stop looking. This is too hard.

When Mom and I go to the store, she sits in the back seat, because it is easier for her to get into the car that way, but Colby should be sitting in the passenger seat beside me. When we stop for lunch, it should be lunch for 3, not 2. He should be here to help unload the car, fix the screen door.

Mom finds some old family photos in the garage. They are wrapped in a mouse-eaten burlap bag, but none of the photos are touched. They need to be moved to a safer place inside the house, I think, then just as quickly I think "who cares?" After me there will be no one to remember these people. No one to be interested in their lives, what they accomplished. No one to care. I move the photos inside anyway.

Colby should be here. But he is not. I have to trust that a higher power has good reason for this. I do believe that, but this is so hard. So very, very hard. My one consolation is that Colby is not longer sad, no longer struggling with this life. I know he is at peace and that is my one comforting thought for the day.

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.