First Day Home

My sorrow threatens to overwhelm. I vacillate between sobbing, that grief that only another parent who's lost a child would recognize; actively working to help my daughter deal with her own loss in the only way I know how; and functioning with a numbness that borders on the edge of crossing over.

My grandsons don't understand, only that their routines are non-existent and their elders are sad and quiet. Owen asked me how long I was going to cry about Uncle Brandon. I did not have an answer for him.

The ward here is ready to help however they can, with childcare, meals, and anything else we need. One would think the first days are the worst, and certainly I have experienced moments--making funeral arrangements, seeing Brandon's lifeless body, the closing of the casket--but now that we have done all that our Mormon and American cultures require, it feels that I am expected to carry on as before, but I do not know what that looks like or how I'm supposed to feel. I don't know for sure, but I think the real grieving is yet to come, something I both welcome and reject. I had a very strong son in every way and his passing has left a hole larger than the man that he was--and that's saying a lot.