Wednesday, January 11, 2012

My Boy

I miss my boy so much today. 

I miss his dimples, the brightness of his eyes.  I miss his funny little laugh.  I miss seeing him climb into his little arm chair to watch a movie.  I miss chasing him around the living room.  I miss holding him close and dancing with him.  I miss taking him to the park and exploring our yard.  I miss seeing his eyes light up when he saw other children, or animals.  I miss him handing his blanket to me each morning before I pulled him out of his crib.  I miss Jordan's joy in holding his little boy.  It is all too much to miss.  Today life seems so unfair.  The grief and longing is too much sometimes. 

Today I feel like I'm treading water.  Waiting to drown or to be rescued.  I continuously kick to keep my head above water, and at the same time try to conserve my energy, because I don't know how long I will have to tread.  My grief feels as endless and lonely as a vast ocean. 

Most days I can look for a silver lining.  I can find things to be grateful for.  But some days, days like today, I hate the impulse to try to find joy in such pain.  There is no way around the pain, no sugarcoating it.  I am left with the constant jolting realization that I have experienced something so traumatic.  It can only be felt.  I can only go through it. 

I share this with you because I don't want grief to seem easy.  A friend told me a few weeks after Jonah died that I was making grief look good.  I understood that she was trying to compliment me for handling the situation well.  I appreciated her kindness.  But grief is a horrible messy business.  The compliment would not have been given today.  A day when I quickly left the house, unshowered, with crinkly bed head hair, no makeup, rosy puffy cheeked from crying, seeking the comforting arms of my mother.  Even when my outward appearance is pleasant, the grief is still messy inside me.   

I don't ever want to make you think that losing a child is easy or manageable.  That would be a lie.

I'm sorry there is no hope in this blog post.  I don't want to give the impression that I am hopeless or desperate.  I am neither.  But, today all I can do is tell you how much I hurt, and how much I miss Jonah.  Maybe tomorrow I can return to finding perspective and truth and beauty amidst the heartache.  But today I will just miss my boy and continue to do just enough to keep my head above water. 


  1. Sometimes that's all you can do. Handle grief the way you need to, Julie. Let the tears come, even if it's in a grocery store or all alone or in the middle of a gathering of friends and family. It's the only way to work through the horrific pain, and you deserve your own personal timetable to grieve and miss your beautiful baby boy... Just make sure that when the Comforter comes to embrace you, you let your heart rest in that peace. Don't push it away.

  2. Those days will come. Let them. Sometimes it is those days when I feel my Bennett the closest. I think those may be the days when he is missing me extra much too.
    Your aching comes from a beautiful place. Your boy. So this pain - thought anguishing - is beautiful, in that sense.
    Hold on, Mother Heart. Tomorrow will come. God is with you. And so is your Boy.

  3. I would be worried if you never had days like this. You're in my thoughts and prayers.

  4. Those days still come 27 years later but they are further apart and less intense. Keep treading and keep sharing. You are helping many who are suffering.

  5. This might sound selfish but one thing that scares me about death, about my own death, whenever that will be, is that I will be forgotten. In some ways people will need to not dwell on me because they'll need to move on, but it'd just be natural that being gone, people wouldn't think about me as much. So I see your difficult you said in a previous blog--does moving forward mean not thinking about him so much? Nothing will replace that void in your heart, but you gotta find something else to add to your heart to help you feel a little fuller. It's just too sad and lonely. My heart aches for you. I hope you can find that job or that person. Someone or some situation needs you, and it'll be good for you when you find it.