Repost: Why I Say, “My Son Died.”

Died.  

It is a harsh word.

I understand completely that some parents don’t want to use it to describe their child and I respect that.

I have chosen to use it often (not always-sometimes I say “left” or “ran ahead to heaven”) because what happened IS harsh. I don’t want to soften it because there was nothing soft about it for me or my family.

It is heartbreaking, lonely, heavy, hard and utterly devastating. 

Read the rest here:  Why I Say, “My Son Died.”

Why I Still Speak About My Son

 

I know it makes some people uncomfortable when I speak of Dominic.

They aren’t sure whether to join in or ignore my comment and hope I change the subject.

I get it-they are wondering whether my continued interest in my missing child is a sign of mental illness (she’s “stuck” in grief) or a delusion or wishful thinking.  They have no frame of reference other than an elderly relative whose passing into eternity was a more orderly and expected event.

But out of order death is wrenching and traumatic and not the way things are supposed to be.  A parent doesn’t stop thinking about or talking about or loving his or her child simply because they have been robbed of their physical presence.

I speak of my son because he is STILL MY SON.

 

 

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