When We Meet Again and Again
#2… This is my second article on life, death, grief, and signs in a series whose quantity of writings is not quite clear at the moment. I use the numbering sequence so I may keep track of the progression on the items I wish to share on these topics.
Note: I wrote the following first entry to The Grief Tool Box over a week ago, before submitting it. Last night, I found a letter I had written 24 days after the death of our son. My tone and attitude were quite different than that of the following message. Back then I hated God… His “Plan” was godless and if it was a reflection of His/Her way of having some form of resp
Spring awakens with the dawn of a new day. A new day that I get up and try to feel for my existence. It doesn't come. I'm here but I am not. Twenty eight months. I've come a long way but yet not so far. My needs are small in comparison but simplistically impossible. I want to see your beautiful face. Your twinkling eyes. Your quirky smile.
Muted darkness has given way to lightened shapes of distant colors. Today, I can see through a tunneled kaleidoscope of prismatic, disarranged but softly spoken whispers of change. Today, I stepped beside the hole. The black hole, the one that ingests you till you bleed blackness, the blackness that tears your soul into mortifying shards of glass. Cocooned.
I have always wanted to be a mother and encourage our children to be honest, caring, empathetic and great communicators. All the parenting books never prepared me to help my three children grieve the unexpected loss of their father. His death was a shock- all three children helped thousands of searchers try find our Travis.