Still I mourned.
but all were elusive. He was there, but I could not hear his voice. I could touch him and hug him, but many times he did not want me to. There were birthdays and Christmas, Easter and Halloween when I tried to do the kid things with him, but he was not interested. I mourned for a false reality taking place in my head. It was a reality I had envisioned and did not want to let go of. There were parts of it I did not have to let go of for many years. As long as my child was still growing, as long as he was not an adult, there was still hope for some of the life I envisioned; the first apartment, the wedding day, becoming the grandmother. Many of these hopes had to fall away over time. As he grew older, falling farther and farther behind people his age, reality slowly set in and hope began to fade. This hope was how I avoided truly mourning. It was how I avoided truly feeling my sorrow and it is the reason my mourning went on for years.
Grace had something grander in store for me than I could ever have hoped.
We must mourn because life is not only about the good times. When the mourning becomes too much we begin to tell ourselves the stories that fill our spirits with hope. We make our spirits rich with stories to avoid the feelings of pain.