Move Forward – 2 Years of Grief
Two years in, grief is still part of the family. But for the first time, I am beginning to understand that making room for it does not mean surrendering to it. Maybe moving forward is not leaving him behind.
The Gauntlet of Remembrance
Tomorrow begins a gauntlet of remembrance - two years since I last saw my son alive, last spoke to him, last told him I loved him. Time does not heal this wound. It only teaches you how to carry what never really leaves.
To Boldly Go
For most of my life, Star Trek was an escape. This time, it did the opposite. It brought me face to face with the grief I still carry.
Until I Can’t
Grief does not disappear with time. It simply gets better at hiding while we grow stronger from the necessity to function. But strength has limits, and eventually the weight we have been carrying makes itself known.
The Bow Tie and The Stone
My son got married, and for a few sacred days joy was able to overshadow the obvious. But even in celebration, grief stood beside us - honored, acknowledged, and quietly carried by all of us.
Birthdays, Weddings, Funerals
My son is getting married this weekend, and I should be full of joy. Instead, like so many milestones now, the celebration is shadowed by the one who should still be here. Even in black and white, we could still see the blue.
Grief Takes Aim
Grief never leaves. It just waits. Sixteen months after losing my son, another loss reopened what I thought had settled. Grief took aim - and it didn’t miss.
Resetting the Tens – Lessons from Loss
Loss reset my scale. What once felt like a ten no longer holds the same power. Grief is a brutal teacher - but the lessons it forces on you can reshape everything.
Grief’s Seat at the Table
Grief doesn’t leave when the holidays come. It just takes a seat - in the place where someone you love should still be sitting.
Year 2
Year two isn’t easier. It’s quieter, lonelier, and heavier in ways I couldn’t have imagined. The fellowship fades, and what remains is me, the grief, and the quiet weight of love that refuses to let go.
Ashes in My Pocket
A father’s journey through suicide loss, grief, memory, and hope.
