|Lighting candles for my departed beloveds|
I was only 22 when my son Stephen died of spinal meningitis. It was inconceivable to me back then that some day I would not only recover, but that I would be grateful for those thirteen months he was with me. And when my son Chris died at the age of 40, I was almost sixty and had a much easier time of it. Not easy, just easier. And now I think of those parents and grandparents of these lost children and wish there were words that could ease the pain. There are no words.
How many mornings I would wake thinking that I had just awakened from a bad dream, only to find that the bad dream did not dissipate with the dawn. I had to go through every single hour and day with only my broken heart and the daily act of living to get me through. But even though when you are in severe pain the thought that it will get better is no relief at all, it is true: time softens and changes the loss until you can smile and laugh again.
And then something like this makes me wake in the night, crying and feeling the breaks in my heart as if they happened yesterday. It did happen yesterday... didn't it? Crying again... but I do know I will recover, and I wish I could tell those parents and grandparents that although they will be permanently changed by this loss, they will find joy in life again some day.