The human heart is a funny thing-always working hard to protect itself from grievous injury yet prone to exactly what it tries to prevent.
I honestly believe that one of the gifts of early grief is disbelief. Because if I could have understood at once what it meant that Dominic was really, truly GONE, I would have never lasted the first 24 hours.
Even now, going on seven years, my head plays games with my heart.
Missing my son is very much like bringing him home except in reverse.
I don’t know about you, but each child added to our quiver slipped in and seemed like he had always been there. It was nearly impossible to remember life before he joined us. I knew, as a matter of FACT, that months and even years had passed without him there, but it was so natural, so beautiful, so perfect now that he was here, the before faded in the background of the after.
It’s much the same way now that he’s gone.
Nature abhors a vacuum and so does the human mind and heart. The spaces I was able to keep sacred to Dominic’s memory (or maybe because some part of my heart held out hope he’d return) are slowly being filled in by people and events and things that he’s never met, participated in or touched. They crowd out the Sacred Spaces I have worked hard to maintain.
And bit by bit it’s as if it’s always been THIS way.
Only it hasn’t.
I’m not forgetting my son. That will NEVER happen. But I am losing the daily pathways that once helped me trace his fingerprints on my life, my belongings and my heart.
And that makes me sad.
I’m trying hard to find new ways to keep him current, part of everyday conversation, events and gatherings. I want his name mentioned as naturally as that of my other children. I want the funny things he used to do remembered and recounted. I want my oldest son’s child to know Uncle Dominic as well as his or her other aunts and uncles.
There are still moments, days and even a week here and there, when it feels like only yesterday that Dominic left for Heaven. The pain is as fresh, as intense, as unbelievable as it was when I got the news.
That shocks me every time.
But most days I’m digging deep to tap old memories, working hard to weave his story into our ongoing story and looking for ways to keep his legacy alive for the generation to come.
Time is a funny thing.
Yesterday AND forever.
Share this:
thelifeididntchoose 
I just found your blog. It was 3 years ago last week that my beautiful Sarah, 28, went to heaven. She was my everything, my best friend. She was the middle child with an older sister and a younger brother. My husband died from a broken hear 20 months later. I just posted on Facebook last week almost these exact words… Sometimes it feels like yesterday and sometimes it feels like a million years ago. Thankfully, we know we’ll be together again and, until then, we have each other.
LikeLiked by 1 person
So grateful to read this. It’s the evening before my sons 23rd birthday and I am reminded of that last day of pregnancy, the day you realize the world as you knew it is about to change dramatically. It was such a conscious realization and such a cherished day. Just him and me, still sharing one body. I feel the same now, as if he has returned to me, and it’s just us while the world moves on.
I do feel guilty that at time it is becoming foggier as you say and it’s harder to hang on to the memories. The mind is a funny thing indeed and I try to fight the grey fog of oblivion.
But his friends at times still send me messages saying how he was just on their mind yesterday, and it warms my heart that he is not forgotten though rarely mentioned.
LikeLiked by 1 person
it will be 4 years this coming January 20 that my Lydia took her life. what hurts is that “family” never mentions her, like she never existed
LikeLiked by 1 person
This post so touched me this morning. It makes me so happy to hear someone mention some good memory of my child. Three of my sons died at approximately 2 months old and that is a LONELY road to walk. Everyone expects you to be ok within a couple of weeks. My one son died at the age of 22 but he was sick the last few years. And as normal family, friends and people you were once close to start to vanish from your life. I met a lady the other day. She was talking about how my husband and children would come out and do yard work for them. She talked about watching Jonathan, my son, playing in the yard. She knew he was visually impaired but she didn’t realize he had later went home to Heaven. Anyway it made me feel so happy and sad at the same time for someone to remember Jonathan in his good days. This is such a lonely road we walk.😥😥😥
LikeLiked by 1 person
It is such a blessing to have someone share a memory with us! It happened to me just recently, through a friend of my son’s who I had not previously met.
LikeLike
Thank you Melanie. I’m sitting here tonight in my second year since my 19 yr old Samuel’s death (by homicide). The ache is stronger, the numbness now gone. Reality hovers 24/7. I long for the other side… to see that toothy grin again and feel those oversized hands squeeze my shoulders. To hear him call my name once more.
One day I will… but oh, the wait is excruciating.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, the wait is excrutiating. That is spot on. Sending love and prayers
LikeLiked by 1 person
This second year of loss, following my son’s death by suicide, is still so intense. Some days I have to remind myself to breathe. I catch myself “seeing” him in his favorite chair…I “hear” the sound of his voice… I miss his touch. These holidays hit hard! Time is not my friend in this 2nd year of loss. Your daily thoughts and encouragement get me through the days. Bless you, Melanie.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Not only disbelief, but the denial of their death and the fog it creates on the mind. The other funny thing about time is this : yesterday is like today but forever ago. Hugs.
LikeLike