Two Months Since You Left: A Mother's Lament

October 1, 2024

Two months today, and the pain is just as raw as the moment you left us, my sweet Orrie. I miss you so much that it’s hard to breathe. Grief lingers in the spaces between breaths, heavy and suffocating. It hangs over me like a storm I can’t outrun, always there.

I wish I could sleep the day away, buried under blankets, hoping that in my dreams, I might see you again and hold you for just a little longer. I dread this day every month. It looms like a shadow, darkening everything. It’s a cruel reminder that another month has passed without you. Each time it arrives, I am forced to relive the loss, the heartbreak, the ache that I can’t escape. I dread its arrival, knowing it will rip open the wound again, deepening the emptiness left behind.

Healing feels impossible, and if I'm honest, part of me is scared to even try because this pain is one of the last things I have of you. Letting go of the hurt feels like letting go of you, and that’s something I’m not ready to do. Time moves forward, but it feels like I’m stuck, reaching for a piece of my soul that’s no longer here, reaching for you and the piece of my heart that went with you.

The world may carry on, but for me, time stopped when I lost you, and every day since has been a struggle to find my way through the pain. Yet still, I carry on. I move forward, even on days when the weight of sorrow feels unbearable and each step is a struggle against the tide of grief that threatens to engulf me. I cling to the hope that through this journey, I will find a way to keep your memory alive while learning to exist in a world that feels so incomplete without you.

I love and miss you so much, my son.

This is Love. This is Healing. This is Grief.