“Feelings, and feelings, and feelings. Let me try thinking instead.”

― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

Grief is labyrinthine at best. There are twists and turns, highs and lows, abysses and moments when you are able to take flight and soar toward the light. On January 22nd, 2019, it will be three years since I lost my only child. He was 32. He was the love of my life, and my best friend. To say grief has been a difficult journey is, quite frankly, a devastating understatement.

There were days I could barely breathe from sobbing uncontrollably, and I cried for nearly an entire year after he died. I must say his name; doing so is important to me. His name is Rikki. Acknowledging my child’s name, life, and death are now adornments I wear like a string of fine pearls, originating from the irritation of a grain of sand, and culminating into a thing of beauty.  If my pearls are admired and inquiries are made about them, I will share a bit about my son. If no one mentions them, I am now content to join the party and shelve the need to speak about my son until a more opportune time.

People think grief is something that dissipates after a time on its own. This could not be further from the truth. Grief does become less intense after time, but the grief journey is a process that requires a tremendous amount of  work if one is to begin healing from the loss of a precious loved one. The work can be grueling, and there are days when the prospect of a sunny day seems inconceivable; it is exactly then the decision must be made:  to heal or to continue hurting.

I miss my son more than there are words to convey from any lexicon. Please, don’t think I have chosen healing easily. I pushed that burdensome stone of grief up that mountain only to roll back to the bottom of it into the pit of despair, and I did so many times.

I decided one day that the fetal position does not accentuate my best side.

Grief is a journey that can be traveled alone, although I don’t recommend it, or it can be accompanied by others who have incurred life-shattering losses. I don’t presume to judge how one navigates his or her grief journey. I can tell you only how I have traveled through the muck and mire of the visceral effects of grief, into the promised land where true healing takes place.

I was told by some people early in my journey I would never heal, that it was impossible to heal from the loss of a child. I don’t accept that. I will never accept that. I am healing in great leaps and bounds, despite the triggers that still moisten my eyes and clutch at my heart from time to time.

It’s been a long time since I doubled over in pain, and I choose to not live my life in that manner.

I choose life. I choose joy. I choose peace. I choose me.

And so we begin.