As I’m approaching Chase’s sixth Angelversary, I’m reminded how much grief is still a big part of my life. Other days, that don’t hold the weight of so much meaning, are more easily maneuvered – leaning on the distractions of normalcy. Just when I think my relationship with grief has already been defined and that I’ve safely compartmentalized its role, it surprises me once again. The emotions swell up and I’m honestly taken aback by its potential to make what I thought could one day be scabbed over wounds, painfully raw again. Self reflecting in grief is often unavoidable. Time has passed, but a lot of the same questions keep coming up:
Am I A Better Person?
Don’t we all want to be compared to a fine wine…better with age? Or in this case, better the further out from grief we get. Let’s face it, I was a hot mess at the beginning of all of this grief business. For these past six years, I’ve been mourning the loss of my son, but I’ve also been coming to terms with the fact that the person I was before, before he had to leave, is also gone. The person I’d dreamed about being, had her dreams change. But hopefully that girl has dusted herself off enough to not only get back to par, but to achieve more. Have I done something to make my son proud? I don’t have to be the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. And thank goodness, because that sounds exhausting. I just want to be proud of the person I’ve become. Do I listen more to people? Do I have more empathy? Do I try to find compassion when others might be too distracted? I want to be a living example of my son’s contribution to this world.
What Do People Think of Me?
I wish I was one of those people who didn’t ask herself this question, but what can I say, I’m a people pleaser. Yes, even in grief. I know, I hate this about me too. While other parents are posting 400 pictures of their child’s weekend tournament, I’m wondering if I’ll spark pity, or annoyance, by posting a handful of times about my son, over the course of a year. For the record, if I posted as often as I think of him, I’d house the social media account equivalent of 6,258 sport fanatic parents. Note: I’m not calling out judgement (ok, maybe a little). I’ll probably be there someday, but my younger ones aren’t even old enough to make tying shoelaces competitive (can I get a shoutout for velcro). As the angelversary rolls around, do other people brace themselves too? Do they admire my strength (whatever that means) or wonder why I haven’t “moved on”? I definitely have my opinions either way, but I still wonder nonetheless.
What Are Others Going Through With His Death?
In those early times of grief, I was selfish. I admit it. Heck, I still can be. Selfishness goes hand-in-hand with grief. Everyone has their own intimate relationship with grief. And let’s face it, grief can be a total attention hog. But I do wonder what others are going through, even if my articulation of this, well, sucks. Do Chase’s grandparents wake up crying thinking about their grandson? Do they know that I think about their hurt? Do my friends feel sadness for my loss, but also sadness that I’m not the same person they once knew? I know my son touched a lot of people in a short amount of time. What kind of feelings does this day bring for other people? Maybe even people I don’t know that well. I don’t hear from as many people on this day, as I once did. Is it because their grieving quietly, or they’ve forgotten? The passing of time is both a blessing and a curse.
I see Chase’s brother and sister everyday. For this, I am beyond grateful. I get to see their faces and read their expressions. I can ask questions and hopefully, with minimal frustration, get answers. I can’t see you Chase. But I hope, for the most part, you’d be proud of me.
5 Essentials to Rediscovering Your Joy After Loss
Love this. You are amazing and I know Chase is SO proud of You and Marcus ? Love you ❤️
Thank you for writing and sharing your ‘heart’ with us so beautifully. You teach and lead by example and make me better. Love you so much!
People think you’re strong and amazing. Even in your darkest hours, you still try to make others laugh a little. You hide your pain publicly and there are only a select few you let in during your sad hours. You’re a beautiful soul. Chase has to be so proud of his mama. You have the strength of a tiger.
You are amazing my friend. I love you and am so grateful that you share this with all of us. ❤️
You are amazing my friend. I love you and am so grateful that you share this with all of us. ❤️
Laura, your ability to express yourself, your emotions, and all that comes with it never ceases to amaze me. Thank you for sharing. You are an incredible person and the strength it takes to share our most difficult experiences is beyond measure. I love you.
You are not alone in wondering if you are making the world a better place and being the best version of yourself. And through the sharing of your tragic experience and grief, it helps me to remember to be present and grateful and compassionate, which helps me to be the best version of myself. So thank you.
Thank you so much Stephanie for your words. I always love seeing your smiles in our health groups. All we can do is keep trying 😉 I think we’re doing a pretty freakin’ good job of it!
Oh my. Such a gifted woman you are. Beautifully composed. Thank you Laura, you have such a powerful voice.
I think of you all the time. You and Chase have deeply touched me. Laura, thank you for your courage to be vulnerable.