It’s always a delicate balancing act when I’m with my living children and missing Dominic. I never, ever want to elevate their brother to a level that says I love him more than them-because it isn’t true.
I didn’t love him more when he was living and I don’t love him more now that he’s dead.
But I do love him differently.
I can no longer DO things for him. I can’t buy him a special Christmas gift, send him a thoughtful text when he’s having a tough day, make his favorite dish because he’s coming home for the weekend.
I can only testify to the love I continue to carry in my heart and to the impact he made on my life.
THAT’S why I won’t hide my tears.
I won’t pretend that some things don’t sting, some moments don’t overwhelm my wall of defense against the grief waves that pound relentlessly against it, some smells or sights or memories don’t bowl me over and knock my heart to its knees.
Because not only am I testifying to the love I have for Dominic, I’m also testifying to the love I have for each of my children.
They can see with their own eyes that death will never sever the ties I have with them nor cut the bond of love that stretches like a silken cord between my heart and theirs.