I’ve hit that empty space of loss again. It’s like a wave that never subsides, only diminishes in shape and form.
Seems I’ve been writing about spaces a lot lately, in-between spaces and sacred spaces. Now, another kind of space has emerged. That empty space of loss where I’m reminded of the awkwardness of life without Michael.
I’ve come to accept these empty spaces. Yet, as we near the anniversary of his passing, I still hunger for the sound of his voice, the touch of his skin, the smell of his hair.
There is good news. After almost six years, my joyful memories of Michael, once overshadowed by the nightmare of his last seventeen days, are now resurrecting.
Still there are moments. . . there will always be, empty spaces.
Our son Michael’s birthday was last Wednesday, and even though it’s been over five years since his passing, my husband and I still haven’t quite figured out how to honor this most important day of our lives.
Something is over, and it feels a bit awkward celebrating a new beginning when it’s already past and gone. When something is over, it’s not just different or changed. It’s done, complete, final. Never to be again.
I woke this April 3rd wondering, when life and death intersect, what, then, are the rules?
September 1st marks the beginning of a 17-day journey down memory lane. Memories I wish I could erase. Memories about the last 17 days of my son Michael’s life.
The loss of a child is one of the hardest things that any parent endures. It’s been four years now. Some things are easier. It’s true what they say about time. I can’t say that time heals all, but it does toughen the scar. Yet, every year, on September 1st, I begin the day by looking at the clock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. I remember the exact moment in time when I received the call that Michael was in trouble. And the moment of his words, I love you and dad. The shock of code blue/red, whatever. And that final black hole I fell into when he took his last breath. All those horrid memories flooding in, and my wishing I could have stopped time, turned back the clock. If only I could have done or said something different that would have reversed the circumstances. Even still, I have these thoughts. Not only through the September days of mourn, but each and every morn.