I haven’t written much this month. May is not one of my favorite months. Although I love springtime at the farm, it tends to be emotionally draining for me and my family (I think I drain them…). You see, my youngest son, Jeremy died on May 29th, 2020. It’s been six years and I still have a hard time with every anniversary. I miss him every day, but the 29th is the most difficult of all.
You would think I’d be better at figuring out why I’m suddenly distracted with day-to-day work, forgetful (more than usual…), and feeling overwhelmed. It’s usually the week before the 29th that the light bulb comes on and I have to go and make amends to those I’ve been short with. Fortunately, I have some wonderful people in my life who understand I’m why I’m not handling everyday interactions very well, showing me much more grace than I feel I deserve.
One thing I’ve learned over the last six years is that grief has no expiration date. Well meaning friends have given me the space to grieve but they don’t always understand why the feelings are so strong after six years. They don’t come right out and say it, but it often feels like they think I should be “over it” by now. Grief has a way of distorting reality. I’m sure no one (well, at least most people) really thinks ill of my grief. I often must remind myself that feelings are not facts.
Last year I started writing a collection of stories about Jeremy and I. I’ve shared the first couple of them with my friends and readers. The others have been slow in coming. Writing time is a prized possession around here. My wife, my home, and the farm fill my cup to overflowing, leaving little room for the reflection honest storytelling requires, especially when it comes to being honest about my own demons and an often turbulent, yet tight, relationship with my son. They’ve been full of ups and downs, joy and despair, but I hope to share more of those stories as the coming year allows.
Just for today, I’ll let the feelings come. I’ve been told that grief becomes easier to bear as time goes by. I’m not sure it gets easier, but I know it gets different. I’m often reminded of all the joy Jeremy brought into the world – my world – but there’s always a deep sense of loss underneath the surface. Maybe that’s a good thing. It’s also a reminder that I get to honor Jeremy and the God who loves me by how I celebrate each day through my family and my work. Moreover, I’m constantly reminded that the loss is only temporary in the grand scheme of things – that one day we’ll all be together again in a world free of the tears that this world so often has.
So folks, if I’m a bit melancholy and irritable today, please allow me my feelings and know it’s a hard day for me. Maybe if we could all remember that everyone has difficulties in life we may not see, we could all be a little more patient and loving towards others. That would sure make living easier for all of us. Please remember too, that sometimes the greatest gift one can give to a grieving person is their simple, silent presence. There are no words of comfort, only the reminder that we are loved.
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