top of page
Forest Sunrays

The Cave

It has been three years, four days, and 13 hours since the crash that changed our lives forever. This year the anniversary fell on Thanksgiving Day which brought about its own strange circumstances, not to mention that we are also in the midst of a pandemic. How do you grieve out in the open on a day intended for thankfulness while feeling even more claustrophobic than ever? Especially, me. I feel like this might be a strange admission, but I do not grieve openly. I can discuss grief all day and I obviously write about it, but I do not cry on shoulders often; not even on my husband's enormous ones. I cry privately. I also do not regularly walk around like a living zombie (although I often fight the urge to do that very thing). I tuck my pain away into a treasure trunk placed in a dark closet in my mind and I unlock it when I have the energy to face that monster. I have been quite the coward as of late. I walk around in this shell of a body and I can feel the rapid current of anxiety rushing just below the surface. It threatens to bust through the cracks and crevices as I constantly fill the holes with mud and empty prayers. I'm only off one more day and then I must go back to work. I am not ready. Can we just be like bears and hibernate for the winter? I want to sleep through it but the cave that I live in does not protect me. Nothing can. This year's season is the most difficult one that I have faced and I believe I know the reason. Forgetfulness. Resilience. The desire to move on. Renewal. All of these reside in everyone else around me and many feel helpless in making a difference in my grief. It's only been three years and almost no one shares the boys' stories anymore. Honestly, very few people even talk about them. I am fully aware that most people more than likely believe they are saving me from further heartbreak. I also know that it is in our human nature to try and make things better. To rebuild. I am even guilty of this for I do not want to burden others with my grief. To this my circle will say "BURDEN US" because I have a freaking incredible support group. Here's the thing. Burdening you is not what I need and I also do not need a shoulder to cry on. What a grieving parent needs is for you to remember. We need you to tell their stories and laugh at their jokes. We need you to not be afraid to include them in your life's big moments and we need you to recognize their lives’ big moments. We need you to help us share them with the world. Bring decorations and strands of lights and photos and memories and glue them to the walls of this place that I now call home. Bring your new brides and jobs and babies and dishes and music and hearts to this party. ​Help me keep them alive. I cannot do it alone. Today, I sat and watched the boys' memorial video. For the first time ever, I have decided to share some of those moments with you. At the end of this post, please feel free to click on the Facebook page link to watch some of the precious highlights from that day. Some of you might think it's a little morbid to go back and re-watch the service, but it's really dark in this cave and sometimes I need to be shown the way back to that treasure box I mentioned earlier. It's pretty incredible how the lights you all arranged during that day three years ago have slowly started to glow dimly in the blackness. Our stories carry us though the toughest of times. They weave themselves together as they create their own walls of wonderment, providing a fortress where there was once a hovel. Tell their stories. Weave fairytales. Help us light our way when the cave is dark. - The Graceseeker

bottom of page