Oh, you’re back. A birthday letter to Justin.

“Oh, you’re back.” Me speaking to grief as I find myself in a trifecta of events. Your 30th birthday is next week, Easter hard on its heels. And then Mother’s Day with all its weirdness will confront me. Your birthday has crept up on me, settled itself on my shoulders, my legs feel like they are moving through molasses. If only I could see you for a minute, one last smile, one last time to catch your eye.

Grief doesn’t ever leave, but it can pull back like a wave on the sand, and you have some breathing space as smaller, gentler waves ebb and flow. And then the storm starts to form, it starts small, like a small pool of black ink, and then it spreads, little inky tendrils spin out and touch your heart. Your birthday, still have not figured out what to do with that day. I try so hard Justin, I re-invest my energy into positive outlets, I challenge myself to make new memories, I try to focus on having a purpose in life – but then a picture of you catches my eye, and I am undone. I have to be honest with you Justin, I am tired of waking up to this everyday, everyday it is new, every morning my brain has to process that you are dead. I do a good job most mornings, but this week before your birthday, too many memories.

I am frustrated and confused. There are good things happening, exciting avenues opening up for me, a new found confidence, your dad and I even laugh now. I didn’t expect to feel like the early days of losing you. And yet, here I am, no colors, just grey and brown. Your dad and I are working on your legacy website, could have a lot to do with getting thrown back into this sharp edged grief. Going through pictures, story boarding your life, trying to form words and ideas without crying, wanting to give up on the project, but that does not feel any better – so you just keep working, right? Do the next thing, whatever the next thing is. But it is hard, hard to see pictures of you and Ryan together, it just makes it all so real and in your face.

I know you didn’t mean to die that night, you would have never wanted us to be in such pain, I wonder if it grieves you, do you suffer because your heart hurts for us? If love never dies, then the capacity for suffering with and for the ones we love does not die either. Love and suffering intertwine together so it is impossible to say where one begins and ones ends. You are heart of my heart, we are forever bound.

Frustrated and Confused. Bewildered by grief. I will try and visit your grave before or on your birthday, what a strange thing to say. I wish I had Frodo’s cloak of invisibility, I could place it around me and visit you unseen. Thanks for listening this morning, I can breathe again. I will never understand all there is to know about grief. Grief is neither friend nor foe, more like an uneasy alliance, not exactly traitorous, but it arcs and twists like a serpent.

I think of what C. S. Lewis said, so true:

“First, I do not sit down at my desk to put into verse something that is already clear in my mind. I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand.”

Miss you Justin, love you forever.