Matt,

I wake up every morning to make a cup of tea and wait for the return of the light when the sun comes up. This morning, I’m grateful for your words. They feel like the biggest, warmest, most genuine hug I’ve had in a good long while. Thank you.

I appreciate and I honor the time I had with my son and I remain hopeful that there will be times ahead for us, too, once the struggle of who he is going to be has passed. I try not to sit in a pile of grief and carry the heartache on my sleeve but sometimes- some minutes- it’s right there and it’s so palpable and sharp and awful all at once that I don’t know what to do with myself. I have sought therapy thrice in the past six months- all three times I have been dismissed. The first time I was told that I have exceptional coping skills and that I’m okay. The second, I was told that I should have never let my son go – and I questioned this so loudly to everyone who had ears- because that’s my responsibility as his parent: to let him be who he becomes. And that disagreement made the therapist decide that I was “un-helpable.” The third tried to help me grapple with the second’s wounds and agreed that I have good coping skills, that these things happen and that I’m okay.

While it’s great to have a pro write down “Hey! You’re okay!” the knowledge of full-on awareness that this grief is altering me is powerful and frightening. It seems lonely, this- and trying to share it has only caused me to be looked at funny, or to be dismissed. But not today, not this morning: thank you again. This morning I was heard.

I’m busy finding shelter in myself and in my husband and daughter. The Irish say that it is in the shelter of each other where the people live. We’re laughing, we’re living, we’re making memories and walking a new walk. I try not to look back over my shoulder but I’m only human.

I was a good person before this happened, and though I’m being challenged, that woman is still me. I don’t want to shut the world out just because of a little bit of hurt.

I’m off to watch the dawn, Matt, and I’m raising my cuppa to you this morning for the glimmer of peace you’ve so freely given to me.

Namaste,
Sarah