Grief Punches Just Keep Coming

They say grief comes in waves and can hit you out of nowhere.  Well, that was certainly my experience more than a few times this weekend. 

My stepson is turning 20 in a few weeks.  He’s now the age that Connor was when he passed away.  It’s very surreal to think about how time hasn’t stopped…and how it never will.  How everyone will continue to get older, yet Connor will forever be three weeks shy of his 20^th birthday.   I don’t know if my stepson has made the connection and I sincerely hope he doesn’t because that’s a feeling I don’t want him to have to deal with. 

I was in the grocery store and was about to leave when I needed to go see if they had something in stock.   On my way out, a young man walked in with a similar build as Connor.  He had on a motorcycle helmet so all I could see were his eyes – Connor’s eyes.  Same piercing blue. Same almond shape.  Same eyebrows.  And he stared right at me making me feel like he was boring a hole into my soul as he walked by.  If I hadn’t forgotten to check something, I never would’ve seen him, but here he was so I’m guessing it was meant to be (which feels cruel).  But, let me tell you that it took all I had not to break down right there.    

And then, my husband and I went to dinner Saturday night at a place right down the road from the restaurant where I last saw Connor alive.  I prayed we wouldn’t pass it because I wasn’t sure if I could hold it together.  That restaurant was where we celebrated my younger son’s birthday four days before Connor died.  I hugged Connor goodbye thinking I’d see him again that Friday night for dinner.  I had no idea it’d be the last time I talked to him, hugged him or saw his beautiful smile. 

The grief punches just kept on coming. Man, this is so freaking hard! 

They say the second year is the hardest because the shock has worn off and the reality has set in.   I’m not sure it’s been harder than the first year, but it’s definitely not been easier (especially this past weekend).  It’s just different. I’ve learned to fake it more easily.  When people say, “how are you?”, I simply reply with “good” and a smile because who wants to hear that I’m constantly pushing back the memories, the feelings and the heartache that is all consuming most moments of the day?  The answer is nobody.  Nobody wants to feel awkward and unsure of what to say next, so I don’t bother putting anyone in that situation.  

I’ve struggled with why I have to be the one to shove down my feelings to save everyone else’s, but I guess that’s the way of the world.  People think by now I should be “over it” or in a better place, but until you’ve lost a child, you’ll never understand that you’ll never be over it or in a better place. 

As the holidays approach, we’ll see how I do. I’m already dreading them, but trying to put on a brave face for my son that’s still here - who still wants to feel like a kid and celebrate.   So, I’ll do that for him but also find time to cry and grieve and mourn the son that’s no longer here. ∞