What Does a Mother Do When She Loses Her Son?
There is no playbook written for this part of life
I wanted to call this story, “You Haven’t Seen Ugly Until You’ve Seen a Grieving Mother.”
My son would have laughed himself silly over that title and then helped me write the story. He would have made fun of my rat's nest hair right now, he would have cracked jokes about how I look like I’ve been punched in both eyes.
He’d tell me to stop scaring people and go take a shower.
That was just him. Always the clown in any crowd he was part of. One of his friends just wrote something similar on Facebook the other day: “When Curtis entered a room everyone knew he was there.”
It feels a bit insulting to want to open a laptop and write words so soon but it’s what I do and it’s how I will get through this, one painstaking day at a time.
A mother will never, ever forget where she was when she got the call.
I was on a personal retreat at a cabin in the woods. The sun wasn’t yet up when an unknown number rang. I rejected the call. How dare someone unknown interrupt my retreat time so early in the morning?
