I wrote this originally two years ago-about 20 months after Dominic ran ahead to heaven.
While I continue to grow stronger, to heal a bit more, to find more joy in the every day and the special days, I am can still be felled by a single scent, thought, song or memory.
Truth is, I miss him. I miss my son.
And there is no cure for that.
No matter how tightly I strap on my armor, grief sends arrows through the tiniest unprotected chink and pierces my heart.
There is no defense against the sound, the smell, the wayward memory that sends me back in time to when Dominic was alive and with me.
And once there, to drag myself forward to today—where he is neither—is torture.
Read the rest here: Not as Strong as I Look