Grief’s Seat at the Table

We’re entering the second holiday season since it all happened – a little over fourteen months ago.
Thanksgiving has come and gone, bringing a completely new set of emotions from last year.

Last year was actually easier.
That sounds awful to say.

Last year, we were still in shock.
I still find myself in shock some days, honestly.
Back then, we were so hyper-focused on just staying buoyant in the seas of emotional turmoil – fighting to keep our other four kids’ heads above the waves, often with little thought of our own.

I understand now why flight attendants tell you to put your own mask on first before helping your child. But this was different.
No one was breathing.
We were all just falling.

. . .

My wife and I dream very differently.
She rarely remembers dreaming at all… I dream often.

But since fourteen months ago, that’s changed.
Now, she dreams more often – and I dream the same, but the dreams themselves are different.

The vividness of our dreams has certainly increased in these months. For her, she’s been blessed with many positive dreams involving our son – positive at least until she wakes up.

I’m not so lucky.
My dreams involving my son are never good.
They always leave me broken.

I had such a dream last night. Nothing particularly consequential in the dream itself – but he was the central figure.
And we were fighting the whole time.

That face he used to make as a young child when he was mad – that full-face scowl – it was there.
The one that would shut him down completely.

And that was the face I dreamt of.
Being at odds with my son.
Both of us mad.

I don’t even know for sure what it was over – something to do with killing a spider & a scorpion that were inside our cabin.

I woke up and couldn’t stop wiping away tears for two hours. Not sobbing – just a steady flow I couldn’t contain.
Even now, seven hours later, I’m still fighting them.

All my dreams that include him leave me in that same state the next day.
They make me wish I wouldn’t dream – of anything – at all.

Lucky for my wife, hers are often kinder – at least until she wakes up.

. . .

We’re no longer in shock.
The plane has landed.
No oxygen masks are needed.
We are safe.
And we are still deeply mourning.

If I had to guess, this season will be the one where we finally feel the depth of it all.
I felt it more this Thanksgiving than I did last year.

The shock wasn’t there to dull it anymore, and the absence of his presence felt louder – more haunting.

My gut tells me Christmas will be even more so.

Grief doesn’t go away; it changes.
It becomes part of your family – a family member you wish wouldn’t come to dinner, but always does.

They have a seat at the table, after all.
It would be odd for that seat to be empty.

Grief has taken my son’s seat at the table now.

Father of the Stone