The question then becomes what happens next. It is evident that your life is never going to be the same. The internal monitor that checks where your kids are and if they are OK is always going to be wrong. Time doesn't heal all wounds.
For a while, I didn't do anything other than the brushing the teeth, showering, breathing part of life. I don't remember much about that first several months, except that I could be counted on to cry unpredictably. There was no job to go to, and no demands on my time. So much time to think. That was probably the mercy of God. I watched old family videos and looked at pictures. I read some books. I suppose it was good that I had uninterrupted grieving time.
Grieving time. The name seems to imply there is a beginning and end. "Aren't you over that yet?" Nobody actually said that, but the sentiment was conveyed on several occasions. I would think to myself, "Is he back? Can I touch him and look at him and hear him again? No? Well then, I guess I'm not over it."
I didn't want my grief to be fake. I read in "A Grief Observed" by C.S. Lewis that he was afraid of being too romantic or inaccurate in his memory of his wife. Making her more angelic or perfect and not remembering how she actually was.
I wanted to remember every little thing. I had the last voice message that Jason left for me on my phone. I played it occasionally and played it for other people so they could see what he sounded like. "Hey, mom, this is your son...Jason. I don't have anything new to say...give me a call."
One day, instead of pressing 9 to save the message, I pressed 7, for erase. How stupid of me. It felt like I lost him all over again. And it was my own fault. That bit of him, a proof that he had been thinking about me and made the effort (he didn't have a phone, so it was always tricky getting in touch with him) to contact me, that part that I carried around in my pocket so that I could have it when I wanted was gone.
Eventually I could add other things to my day. Some visiting with people. Some church. And I got a job being a school bus driver, so I had to get up and get trained. It was a very good thing for me. You can get too much inside your own head and get trapped there, and then you are no good to yourself or anybody else.
My husband still wanted me around. My other kids seemed to as well. OK, then, I guess I'll just keep going.
