“You are the strongest person I know”
Of all the things that have been said to me since the death of my only son, this is the most confusing.
I am not sure what that means.
Was I supposed to fall down and not get back up?
Was I supposed to drink myself to death?
Or hang myself from a rafter as my only child did?
Was I supposed to quit my job and live under a bridge, earning my living begging in the streets?
Was I supposed to let my dogs starve and my house fall apart?
Was I supposed to climb into that deep dark hole of depression and despair that calls to me every day and live there until the day that I die?
Don’t you think I’d like to?
Don’t you think I would like to just lie down and rest?
It would be so nice if I could just tuck myself away in some lovely padded room and be taken care of while my heart has time to heal and I can see in color again.
But this is reality and this is real life and there is no escape from the horrors of it for any of us.
You included: You who looks at me in awe and claims that you couldn’t do it if it were your child.
Is that to imply that you love yours more than I love mine?
The silly things you say.
How dare you tell me I am the strongest person you know
When the only thing I look forward to is the day that my service here is done and I can finally and gratefully close my eyes and walk into the light with my arms around my son.