It has been five months since my son, Tony, was ripped away from my life. Each moment has contributed to the worst event I have ever suffered, and there have been a few. Words are totally inadequate in describing the unbelievable emotional torture; the deep agonizing pain.
In the early days, as sympathy cards arrived, I often refused to open them. I didn’t want to add to the agonizing reality that Tony was gone for ever. As if keeping the envelopes sealed made it better to endure. As each card was opened – usually by my husband, Jim, it would be placed somewhere in the living room. I still could not bring myself to read any of them. I was angry and hurting beyond belief.
As the numbers of cards increased, space was limited, so I decided to place them all into an attractive basket beside a photograph of Tony.
Fast-forward from March to today. I decided I might manage to read them and so brought the basket into the sunroom (my favorite morning place). I wasn’t sure that I would be able to handle the emotions that this action might incur, but felt I must try, after all, many caring folk had taken the time to convey their love and support.
In reading all the messages, it hasn’t made me feel any better, but it hasn’t brought forth tears either. I guess, one might say that is a good sign. Me? I still feel the emptiness that the death of my youngest son brings. It isn’t just that he is no longer physically present, I also miss his messages. We used to text each other often, updating each other on daily family happenings.
Despite many mixed emotions, what this action has done is cause me to be thankful to have so many thoughtful, caring people in my life. Each message, in each card, has now been read, and I want to thank each of you for taking the time to show your love, and concern. You all know who you are. Thank you, for taking the time to come alongside us, as a family, in this time of grief.