A few weeks ago, a blog member wanted to say that, although she enjoyed my posts immensely, she had not forgotten the tremendous tragedy that had brought me to this point. I so appreciated that comment, because long gone are those earlier entries about grief and loss as we have moved into the uncharted territory of the nonphysical world and the human experience. But not a day goes by that I don’t think about my boy. In the morning when I open my eyes and in the night when I close them. I forger that it’s only been a little over three years.
I know those days are gone when I used to read him bedtime stories and tuck him in at night, fuss at him to do his homework or finish his chores or brush his cheek with a kiss and tell him to be careful as he leaves with his friends to go to a party. Yes, I know he’s alive in another dimension, and he’s happier than he’s ever been. Our relationship is as happy as it’s every been. But I share this for a reason that is not as selfish as at first it may seem, because I speak for everyone who’s lost a child—everyone who’s lost someone they love. It still hurts, because no matter how thin that gossamer veil is, it’s still too goddam thick. But take heart in knowing that at least we know they’re there. They’re alive. They’re happy. And we’ll be together, because we’re eternal beings. You can’t argue with forever, baby.
Thank you for remembering what got me here.
(Arggh. It won’t let me use Verdana or any other font. Just italics vs. plain font.)
On another subject, I’d like to announce a wonderful opportunity for those living in and around Texas. If not, I think the DVD of this documentary will be available soon:
