The death of my son Elijah is a pain like no other. It shattered any beliefs and assumptions about how life should unfold. The intense emotions that flood my days are overwhelming.
The pain is so intense as I try to digest the fact that I will never see him again and the loss of all future hopes and plans for him are all just memories. Some of my emotions can be shared with others, while some feelings can't be put into words. There are some days I may need to talk a great deal about him and the pain, while other days I am quiet and withdrawn. Although it's painful, I understand expressing grief is very important. I don't see it right now, but I know the pain of my loss will become less intensive in due time.
Nothing prepares you for the loss of a child, whether sudden or expected. The grief journey has many emotional peaks that a lot of people won't understand. I have been told by several people, that it's something I will never get over, I will just learn to live with it. My son was a part of me in a way that no other human being can ever be. When my son died, it feels like a part of me died with him.
I find myself preoccupied with thinking about Eli every second of the day. Not only that, but I go to sleep at night with him being my last thought and awaken with him being my first thought.
Lately, I've found myself disorganized, having difficulty concentrating, not able to keep track of appointments, and my usual household tasks piling up. However, my actions aren't uncommon, and I know they will get back to normal over time. I find it comforting to write down my grief journey, since grief is discomforting to talk about. Society tends to give a grieving person the impression that strength consists of hiding their feelings. Like "Look at how well she's taking it" is what's often said about someone who might be suffering quietly and hurting deeply inside. This is why I will not allow others' expectations to be a guideline for my progress.
I might be grieving a lot differently from others. Just like we all have different fingerprints, so is our grief journey. My son died June 3, 2022, but he also lived 30 years. Soon, I know I will have 30 years of his life to talk about. I'm just taking it one day at a time