An unusual occurrence happened in my life over the course of three years, three horrible years. My youngest son Joey, my Father, Mother, Uncle, Aunt, two cousins, my BFF Judy, my hermit friend Vern, and my little dog all died. I became a different person, in many ways, over those three years. Grief for my parents, relatives and friends seems to be going through proper stages and moving along; however grief for my son never quiets. It seems to live in my mind, body and soul, active and on the edge at all times. It is a wonder to me that I did not die with my son. It seems so cruel that parents suffer this pain; and then I think how cruel it would have been for my other three children if they had to mourn a brother and a mother. No, better I grieve the rest of my natural life than have them hurt any worse. Life goes on each day and I live it in moments, walking in both worlds, this one and the next. I seem to find my way ok, stumbling now and again but surviving. Writing and sharing helps me along my way, so thank you for reading this and sharing a bit of my story.
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