A Ray of Light

It’s been a while.

Far too long.

This blog began as a way through grief. I found the inspiration from a counselor I was seeing at the time. The idea was that writing could (and would?) be a release through the darkest days of my life.  So, I wrote. I wrote for hours on end, and I wrote often. I didn’t share all of those entries because they were mine. Just like My Sweet Boy was mine. Some things are just too private to share.

I began to think that the only way to survive the hand I had been dealt was through sharing my experiences with those forced to endure the same. I thought that, if I wrote enough, I would get through it. If I could get it out, I could be free. I would release the thoughts and in doing so, I would release myself and the unbearable pain I found to be almost overwhelming. I would come out on the other side, scarred but standing. And I did. I am. I am scarred, bruised and battered...and I am still standing. I’ve since realized that grief isn’t something you “get through.” Especially not this particular grief.

This is something that never leaves. A feeling that haunts every moment of every day. This grief is one that wakes with me in the morning, travels with me throughout the day, and is evermore the prologue to my sleep. It doesn’t stop when I do -- even in my dreams, this grief still lingers. But I have learned that it is possible for grief and joy and love and peace to coexist. At present, that is where I’ve found myself.

I decided to return to this blog on the eve of my birthday. This year marks tfour birthdays without my son. It’s almost impossible to imagine I have lived through (and yes, even celebrated) a single one since he left. Those that were around back then knew the struggle that came with waking up every morning in the “after” of losing Camden. You may remember how difficult it was, that first October 16th that came in the months following his death. I found it impossible to reconcile the thought of beginning another year’s journey with the realization that my son would never see his first. I made up my mind that I would not make it through that day. But, here we are. Almost four birthdays later.

In that time, my world has changed in a million different ways. One of those ways is the man I married, and the real reason I made it through that first birthday after Cam took his final breath. But more on that later. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

The real significance of today’s date is that it is the Wave of Light. Some decades ago, October was deemed to be Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month, in an effort to draw awareness to perinatal death all around the world. Did you know that 1 in 4 women will endure the earth-shattering suffering that arises from losing a child? The Wave of Light symbolizes those we’ve lost, denoting the mark they’ve left in our lives and hearts. You can participate by lighting a candle at 7:00 PM (local time) and keeping it burning for at least an hour. This will create a progressive light all across the world.

Camden James was, and is still, the light of my world. He brought joy to many, and his death left far too many in the dark. I’m returning to this blog to continue to share stories of grief, of love, of loss. Of hope and renewal. Of promise. I am doing this not for my self, but for my son. For those who keep him alive in their daily lives, in their conversations, their prayers, their memories. Our lives are short, but our legacies are not. This will be part of his. I will continue to carry his light with me, and to share it with those who may be in need.

Forever Carrying Camden,

TG