Looking At Grief: Right in the eye.

"If someone said three years from now
You'd be long gone
I'd stand up and punch them out
Cause they're all wrong." 
(Pink, 'Who Knew')

In one month, April 9th, it would have been my son Seth's 35th birthday. Even after eight years of his absence, the uncanny way I seem to feel this fact still astounds me. One minute, I'm driving down Prospect Avenue singing to the radio, looking forward to getting home to Chris and the dog. Then the next moment, a song comes on, and I'm reduced to tears. 

But this time, something rose up within me.

A little bit of Pink's rebel attitude maybe, but also a lot of my growing understanding of how to manage my grief. Yes, I said manage, although grief is a bitch that is in a particular category of unruly. I bit my lip and said audibly, "No." Grief, like many of the unruly in life, won't respect you unless you look at it - straight in the eye.

"I'll keep you locked in my head until we meet again

Until we, until we meet again

And I won't forget you, my friend..."

And I refuse to look away.

This morning, Eddy and I determinedly widened our walk to include the very street where we held Seth's Visitation. The first place where I saw his empty shell of a body in a casket. No Grief. I will no longer avoid streets and places because of you. They are just as much a part of my son's history as the place where I first held him in my arms.

"That last kiss

I'll cherish

Until we meet again..."

And I do remember it.

And the secure way he looked back as he headed down the ramp to the plane. "I'll be alright Mom. You just be alright." Then he put his eyes forward and lived his life.

And now, so am I. Eyes forward. Looking life, and my grief, right in the eye. I intend to teach it a lesson and take everything from it that can make me somehow better.

Cheers.

Eddy in front of Morgan Funeral Home, Savoy (great folks btw)