Thawing

Tomorrow will mark three weeks since Oliver's death. I haven't been able to write, except for his eulogy. I have feared writing would open up a gaping wound and bring emotions to the surface which I feel I am much too ill equipped to handle. However trying to stymie my pain is proving to be difficult.

Shock dominated the first week. Along with a hyper focus on preparing for Oliver's funeral. We attended church and Ollie's absence was pronounced. His space was empty and I couldn't find my way.

The holidays are complicating grief - people are festive, friends are traveling, there is a busyness to the Christmas season. We are grateful for friends who invited us to join them for Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas Day lunch.

Oliver is missed. Deeply missed.

The shock is slowly wearing off. The tears are beginning to fall. A friend who has been through her own loss of a son said it is like a thawing of a heart which was frozen to cope with sorrow. I found the poem below which beautifully expresses that image.

Ice Storm

by Robert Hayden

Unable to sleep, or pray, I stand

by the window looking out

at moonstruck trees a December storm

has bowed with ice.

Maple and mounting ash bend

under its glassy weight,

their cracked branches falling upon

the frozen snow.

The trees themselves, as in winters past,

will survive their burdening,

brown thrive. And am I less to You,

my God, than they?

Please continue to keep us in your thoughts and prayers as we begin to navigate life without both Oliver & Waverly. We didn't realize what a comfort Oliver was after Wavey died. Now that we are without both of them, we feel quite lost.