I’m on week 21. There are times that I laugh, smile, feel happiness, and even look forward to things. Some bereaved parents say they feel guilty for feeling happiness. I don’t have that. I’m thankful for every minute that isn’t spent in anguish.

I do best when I keep my days busy with non-pressure activities. I enjoy when people drop by for a short visit. Pulling weeds, planting flowers, going for a ride in the woods. I’m living by my own schedule, not accepting many invites that require me to be at a certain place at a certain time.

Anything that requires me to plan and execute is difficult. I’m not yet in control of my grief. Adding pressure to “perform” tends to make me short out. Then I feel like a failure when I can’t get up, get my mask on, and get to a certain place at a certain time. I already had that tendency, it’s just magnified now.

I’ve found grief support groups helpful. It’s helped me knowing I’m not alone in some thoughts and feelings. Like wanting to die. Nearly every grieving parent feels exactly like me. It’s comforting to know my thoughts are not extreme, they’re “normal” for this stage.

My anger at God, also normal. The depth of my despair and inability to grasp the finality is also shared by most of us.

I met another mother, Rosemary. Her son died of a heart attack two months after Ben. We text every day. She doesn’t expect me to be chatty, happy, and interested in small talk. If I text her “I want to die.” She texts back “Me too, wait until after supper.” It makes me smile.

She came for a visit and we enjoyed an ATV ride. She seemed to take as much sustenance from nature as I do. It was easy and comfortable. No mask required.

The Facebook grief groups are less helpful, I’m not sure I’ll continue with those. Many parents in there are quick to say they feel as bad thirty years after their child’s death as they did the first day. I can’t bear that thought. There are also a lot of mothers in the first weeks. I would like to help them but just can’t. I feel their desperation and it makes me cry to hear their stories. So many lost hopes and dreams. Shattered lives left behind. There are murdered children, cancer children, abused children, drowned children, suicides, overdoses, and on and on. When I look at their faces I search for clues… can I see death in their eyes? Sometimes I think so. I look back at Ben’s pictures and think I can see it in his too. Why couldn’t I see it when he was alive?

Beautiful children, now at peace. But leaving a wake of destruction behind them.