I sit here, exactly 11 months and 1 day, after losing my son Ethan. I wonder if the weight of his loss will ever lessen. Will I ever look at his pictures and not cry. Will I ever look at his tiny little fingers in the pictures and not want to fall to the ground sobbing?
And another thing comes to me. Everyone thinks I am fine. I don’t “look” like I am hurting anymore. I don’t “appear” to be grieving anymore. I have been under this microscope for 11 months and 1 day. Careful on what I say and how I present my grief to those around me. Concious of their discomfort with my pain and my grief. Aware that their silence is their discomfort with my grief. Aware that my smiles are there to help them with their discomfort.
What is the “correct” amount of time to grieve?
Yesterday was the 11 month mark. I hurt all day. I could feel myself wanting to break all day. And yet? I didn’t. Maybe because I felt I couldn’t. Because everyone else’s life has continued to go on and I feel, somedays, that I am standing still. That I am still lying on that table holding my breath. Waiting for the ultrasound technician to say something happy or friendly. And all there is is silence. Waiting for her to say everything is okay. But it isn’t. It wasn’t.
I want him back. I want to hold him in my arms …not in a small cherry wood box but in my arms. Laughing and giggling. He would be crawling now. He would be trying to keep up with his older brothers. He would be leaving his smudgy finger prints all over the kitchen door. He would be throwing his food on the floor and demanding that his brother return HIS toy.
But there is only silence and emptiness where he should be. And in my head and my heart there is only pain.
Does it ever stop?
