Today is my son’s birthday. Lucas is forever 25. What should have been a happy date–lifelong, his and mine–is now a roller coaster of emotions from love to despair. It’s been almost two years since the tragic accident that claimed his life. Each day brings its own challenge, as the loss of a child is not something we ‘get over’. I celebrate the tiniest progress; maybe I was able to open a box of his things, or look at his childhood photos, maybe laugh over a tender memory. The tears are a given.
Confronting loss is like being caught in an ocean current, tumbling along with no way to know up from down, sky from sand, life from drowning. Hopefully you will surface for a few gasps of air. Maybe even float for a while. ‘Don’t fight it’ we learned in swim class. Flailing, struggling against the current will surely tire you and possibly seal your fate. Tread water. Let yourself float. Even if you were a Type A, go-getter, high achiever, ‘paste on a smile and grin-and-bear-it’ mom. Float.
Today I will spend time with my two sons, one living, one dead. We will celebrate the awesome, thoughtful, maddening, light-and-big-hearted son, brother, grandson, friend that Lucas was and somehow still is. We will remember moments and memories. Maybe we will laugh. We will be grateful for each other. For life. For sky and sand and sea. For second chances.
But first I need to get out of bed, out of my bathrobe, out of this floating capsule of my thoughts, of my solitude. Sometimes those small first steps lead to others.
Everlastingly, Be
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