Twenty-one. He’d be 21 years old. For years after you lose a child, you are so numb. You are lost and confused, trying to move on, trying to be happy, trying to be OK with it and the way life is. You are trying so hard to enjoy life once again while every piece of you is not. Just trying to do the day-by-day and survive without your child is emotionally & physically exhausting. When it becomes several years, the grieving and darkness set in. Seasonal depression becomes longer and harder. The emptiness, loss and heaviness of it all are very real and you realize exactly what happened because you are no longer numb. You are aware of everything, and you are trying to find a new normal, which you don’t want a new normal. And everything around you is a memory of your child. The years go by and before you know it your child would have been 21 years old. And you wonder, how could this be? This horrific thing just happened to me. But it didn’t. It was 12 years ago. And it hits hard for how long it’s been. And then you wonder, how did I do this for so long? And the youngest sibling in the family is also grown up. But I still see them as my little boys. I see them as a 9 year old and 5 year old. And the longing to just go back. To just go back for one day. To see them together. To hold the both of them like I used to. To have them both on my lap, my naughty, stinky, giggly little boys. To have one day with them again at 9 and 5. To just hear their laughter. And such a dream to let them grow up together, which never happened. The loss gets overwhelming, the sadness get overwhelming and the grief is overwhelming.
I do trust and I do believe that I will see him again. Because we have a God that loves us more than we could ever imagine. And to think someone could love Carter more than me? Impossible. But He does. And that’s my comfort in this broken world.
