Losing my son has made me appreciate my other children even more. I understand that life is not guaranteed, even to the young and wonderful. I understand that every single moment is a moment that will never come back, so I have to enjoy it while I can.
You are trying to pretend that you are on just another mother-daughter shopping trip. But the stakes have never been this high. Prom? Hah. Wedding dress? Who cares. This is about life with a capital L. You are terrified.
With little outdoor experience and a tendency to run as anxious as my daughter, at the time I had researched what to do if you encounter a bear in the woods.
Telling my young kids their father had died was probably the worst thing I have ever had to do.
In the depth of my grief, I found poignant gratitude for the opportunity to have experienced such deep love for a furry friend.
We discuss, we talk, we make a plan to apologize for mistakes, to ask for forgiveness. It’s all he can do.
Last week a friend of mine sent me a picture of her 16-year-old son’s grave. She finds comfort in visiting and what struck me was the dirt.