I miss my son. I keep myself so distracted and so busy, that sometimes I forget that I do.
Do I mean that I REALLY forget? Of course not…. But I like to keep my brain busy with other things so I can’t dwell on how much I miss him, how much of a hole there is in my heart, how much fear and anxiety and grief fills my life.
Grief is exhausting. There is this silent weight sitting on your shoulders, pressing on your heart, holding you hostage. And it’s tiring. It’s always there even when it seems that it isn’t. Sometimes you just find yourself driving down the road singing along with a tune when a sad thought will pop into your head. At this point, you will either let it all out (if you are alone) or you will make sure your sunglasses are hiding your eyes whilst you try to swallow it down. Either way is exhausting.
I find myself tired all of the time. But you know what? The average friend of mine will never understand why I’m tired. They won’t get it. They’ll just think, “What is Jill’s problem?”
My problem is that my son died. That is my problem.