It still hits. Those grief lightning bolts of loss since Charles’ suicide. They are different 3.5 years later, however.
When it first happened, I could not escape those unrelenting waves of grief. I lost one third of my hair, screamed at the walls, blamed the carpet, broke out in hives, wrote two blogs a day to manage the hurt, and sank to the floor in sobbing wails of despair and loss.
The grief has softened into something like a vignette around a picture.
No longer do I run from my grief but towards it.
When it hits, I embrace it like a soft blanket and allow myself the tears and moments of remembrance. I let the journey take me back to a time when Charles was happy and allow it to remind me the last five years when he was not. But most of all I embrace those moments because that grief is the only tie I have with my son who killed himself.
This will never pass. I will never “get over” this part because I don’t want to. I don’t want to forget him. And I need these moments and honor the hurt as part of the fabric of my life.