Originally written Jan 20, 2014
As I sit in my bed in the wee hours of the morning, I'm thinking how I have spent nearly every night for the last 384 nights like this, wide awake.
Awake and heavy-eyed, I am pondering grief. Grief affects every person in a manner unique to themselves. My husband and I have grieved very differently from one another since losing our son a year ago.
He's very private; I'm very public.
He doesn't want to cry in front of the kids; I have cried many, many times in front of the kids.
He doesn't talk about his feelings with his friends; I want to talk about my feelings with my friends.
He feels the need to go to the cemetery often; I feel like I should go to the cemetery, but I don't really want to go.
He has turned to God because our son's death makes no sense; I have turned away from God because our son's death makes no sense.
He trusts God; I fear that I can no longer trust in anything.
We both miss him so much that it hurts. We have both felt like running away since Nolan's death. We both have aged probably five or ten years in the last year. We both have shed innumerable tears. We will both love our son until the end of time.
