So many of you know that I lost my son this past summer. I will never be the same. I lost my husband last year and I wasn’t the same after that. Losing my son is so different and this first year, all the “firsts” are the hardest. His birthday is coming up. He would have been twenty. I cry everyday. I write so that I have some outlet.
I have met a few women who have lost their sons too. I constantly think about all of the parents who have lost children. Sandy Hook. Cancer. Accidents. I cannot comprehend the purpose that losing a child could possibly have. I am told that God has reasons for what happens. I believe that. If He had taken my son first, my husband would have never survived losing his son. But I continue to question, why? Why my son? Why, after just losing his father?
I have a beautiful relationship with my daughter that I cherish more than I ever knew I could. I have a wonderful partner who holds me when I cry, laughs when I do something silly, and just sits and listens to my endless jabbering or story telling. I am thankful for what I have.
I guess the hardest part of all this, besides the pain of a broken heart, is that the rest of the world continues and moves forward while you sit in agony and watch time pass by. I am still trying to live my life, I have to, there really is no other choice. But when someone asks “how are you?”, what am I really supposed to say?
What is twilight but a time between light and dark? Is it twilight all of the time as the world rotates and it occurs somewhere at each moment? Is my twilight the same as the twilight a mile away, ten miles, 100 miles away?
I didn’t realize, until the shock wore off, that it was the damned alarm clock that was haunting my dreams, not the fire alarm I thought I had to respond to or the security alarm at Walmart telling me I was shoplifting!
He came down from the mountains as autumn aged, before the paths could pile with snow and the bridges bowed with ice.
It was not until he reached the surface, not icy just covered with a layer of frost, that he began to realize it would be his last time crossing over to the other side. How many times had he done this in his lifetime? Hundreds, maybe thousands of time.
He recalled the summers he spent with his family up here in the woods. He and his brother would run across this rickety bridge without thinking twice about its safety. From one side of the river to the next, searching for treasures and hidden places. He and his brother would crawl through the the fern and fallen trees in hopes of finding a fairy home or troll tunnel.
But for now he would just cross this old bridge once more. He didn’t think it was strong enough to carry him more than once across. Those days of trips back and forth are long gone. Silly adventures and fairies and trolls were now outgrown. He wouldn’t see this bridge or these woods ever again. How had life gotten so far away from him and all of the simple pleasures he had as a child? Today was the day to say goodbye, to not look back, and to have no regrets for the changes he was making.