July 3 will be 4 years since we woke up to every parents worst nightmare. I have been protecting myself from the painful anticipation of another upcoming “anniversary”.
In previous years I’ve seen myself becoming trapped in the grief as the weeks approached that day, unable to see clearly through the fog of longing, trauma, and ache. And the day would come and the dark, heavy emotions it brought out would leave me brooding or resentful over unexpected things, like whether I felt enough people even remembered, or whether every detail of that years memorial went exactly as planned.
In the past I’ve carried the weight of things I either could not control, or that trauma had kept me from processing “appropriately”. I don’t want that for me this year. I don’t want that for him, for us.
I miss him so much that sometimes, the lump in my throat feels it could suffocate me if I acknowledge it. And so, I’ve been quiet here, as I focus my energy on healthy coping mechanisms and letting my sadness coexist with my gratitude. Because, while my son is dead, the world did not stop spinning, and the cosmos did not stop weaving their magic.
Instead, his magic is now a part of them too. That is what I want to focus on this year.