In four days it will be four years.
Four years since I woke to the news that my son was dead.
Four years since what I thought was going to be my life was shattered.
Four years since I was forced to walk a road I do not want to travel.
Four years into the life I did not choose.
I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately which won’t surprise any bereaved parent reading this.
We think. A lot.
About what might have been. About what is. About what it might be like to live for years or decades still carrying the weight of missing.
One thing that surprises me about life as a grieving parent is how ordinary it remains. My world was shattered. But THE world was not shattered.
My family is a tiny drop in the sea of humanity and our up-close tragedy is…
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