Gone.

The world has gone on. The phone has stopped ringing, the friends have fallen away, the co-workers avoid the topic. Only the family must endure the unendurable. For everyone else it's like watching a really sad movie. When it becomes too much, you stop the movie and stick in a comedy. Not because you don't care, but because it's just too much to subject yourself to voluntarily. Trust me, if I could turn it off and avoid it, I would.

I feel unable to explain the sense of isolation I feel even when surrounded by others. When I am around those who are ignorant of Josh's death, sometimes I just want to scream with frustration.... How can anyone not see the putrid gaping wound I bear? How can they not smell the stench of my rotting heart?

If they know my son committed suicide they treat me differently. I'm powerless to stop people from wondering what I did wrong. It's not about particulars or facts, it's about protecting themselves from fear. It's entirely too frightening to believe I didn't do something to cause this because that would mean it could happen to them. To you.

My world no longer has insulation. There is no buffer. The worst can and has happened to me. Could happen again. Gone is any illusion of control.

And still, I would do it all again. If this crushing grief is the price I must pay for the glorious love I shared with my child, I will try to suffer it gladly, with thanks for the time I had with him. I will do my very best to always remember his life instead of his death, to not denigrate the beautiful person he was by only recalling the sorrow of his death. The cost is steep, yet worth it.

What can I say? I love him.

I miss him.

I ache for him.

He is gone.

My greatest hope is to learn from this loss. To become a better person. To honor his life.