A New Year
Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, and I've made a resolution to post more to this blog. But what should my focus be? I don't know, but I'll find out as I begin to put pen - or keyboard - to paper.
This is our second Christmas season without Lacy. It is harder than the first, because now this is final. My greatest fear is forgetting him - his voice and his personality. My heart aches when I realize how long it has been since I held his hand or hugged him. I miss his voice and his love. However, even when I feel this way, a memory will come to me, or I'll be reminded of a funny story, and I am comforted.
Kenny and I have begun to explore interests we had put off for many years. We are both getting involved in community theater, and we are becoming more involved in church and volunteering. We are looking at retirement in the next (very) few years. We are traveling and planning travel. In July, we celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary with a trip to Canada.
At last, I am ready to re arrange Lacy's room so that it is not a static memorial to him. I want to distribute the pictures and artifacts around the house, and create a more neutral space for our guests. While I can go in his room, shut the door, and see Lacy everywhere, I'm ready to scatter those sacred objects around our house now.
There is still a sort of survivor's guilt that wells up. I'm alive, living, moving on, and Lacy is getting smaller in that rear-view mirror. Still, he's always with us because he's always in our hearts.
There will never be a time when I won't feel that lump in my throat as I think of my son. I'll live with this grief for the rest of my life, but I will still reach for life, and try to live in a way that honors Lacy's extraordinary capacity for joy, for life, and for happiness.
See you soon on the computer screen.
This is our second Christmas season without Lacy. It is harder than the first, because now this is final. My greatest fear is forgetting him - his voice and his personality. My heart aches when I realize how long it has been since I held his hand or hugged him. I miss his voice and his love. However, even when I feel this way, a memory will come to me, or I'll be reminded of a funny story, and I am comforted.
Kenny and I have begun to explore interests we had put off for many years. We are both getting involved in community theater, and we are becoming more involved in church and volunteering. We are looking at retirement in the next (very) few years. We are traveling and planning travel. In July, we celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary with a trip to Canada.
At last, I am ready to re arrange Lacy's room so that it is not a static memorial to him. I want to distribute the pictures and artifacts around the house, and create a more neutral space for our guests. While I can go in his room, shut the door, and see Lacy everywhere, I'm ready to scatter those sacred objects around our house now.
There is still a sort of survivor's guilt that wells up. I'm alive, living, moving on, and Lacy is getting smaller in that rear-view mirror. Still, he's always with us because he's always in our hearts.
There will never be a time when I won't feel that lump in my throat as I think of my son. I'll live with this grief for the rest of my life, but I will still reach for life, and try to live in a way that honors Lacy's extraordinary capacity for joy, for life, and for happiness.
See you soon on the computer screen.
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