So what was year three like compared to the previous ones? I will say that the loss has softened some. The edges of my grief are not as jagged and it’s more of a dull ache.
Cries are most often softer compared to the violent break downs, screaming at windows and fist pounding that characterized my initial grief. The ugly, raw, new grief. Now it just sort of settles over me like a lazy dark cloud.
When I think back, it’s hard to believe I had the wherewithal to plan a funeral (with help), write an obituary, pack up my belongings, and move into a new house. How on earth did we do that? Any of it?
I went through the guest book from Charles’ memorial service this week. So many people I didn’t even get to speak to that day. I do remember that day because it was the first time I truly felt supported. How I had craved that and relished it that day and didn’t want it to end.
June 5 is a melancholy day of remembering my youngest boy on the anniversary of the worst news of our lives. In looking at years and years of soccer pictures, baseball pictures, school pictures, I’m reminded of just how “normal” we were. And how blindsided we were that someone like Charles, a person whom we thought loved life, had been plagued by thoughts of suicide for so many years.
You think you know your own child. The truth is, we don’t really. And we can’t make another human being happy. I could not make Charles love himself, see his talents, or stop doing drugs. That was not within my power.
All I could really do is love him. That I did, and I still do.