Because my son is in a box on my shelf, I no longer give a shit about how I appear to the outside world. I do not care that I am misunderstood. I do not care that I am offensive or seem selfish.
For once in my life I have no desire to explain myself. I want what I want out of this dense experience, and I am tired of defending that. I will attempt, here, perhaps in vain, to do so one last time.
The only difference between myself and any other woman on this planet is that I fully embrace that this is all temporary. And so, if what I desire doesn’t hurt anyone, why shouldn’t I have all these things?
Should I punish myself with the label of “bereaved”? Am I not allowed to want for something more?
Oh, but I do. I want to learn everything there is about yoga…and I think I want to speak French…and I want to read books that make me blush. I want intense friendships and experiences with like-minded people. I want to talk about science and spirit and passion.
Then in the same breath I want to laugh at mindless humor, get drunk on a bottle of expensive champagne and eat frozen pizza rolls until I pass out.
My son is gone. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right but it happened and I, I am still here. For reasons unknown, I am still on this bizarre plane and I choose to embrace every beautiful piece of it that I can. I encourage you to do the same.
I am so very sorry for your loss. Please accept my sincere condolences. I have written a book title “Extraordinary Comfort”. It is about my mother’s near-death experience where she met the son she lost before he was born many years earlier. It was written with the hope that it would bring some level of comfort and healing to all who have lost a child. Please visit http://www.extraordinarycomfort.com and watch the 3 min video. I wish you all the best. Thank you for sharing your story. Dave