In the silence of the long, warm summer days that lack the hustle and bustle of all the activities, there is a person clearly missing from the picture. As I watched my children play along the shoreline this week I could almost see the shadow of my sweet boy playing alongside them. It stopped me in my tracks and took my breath away. I so miss his squeals and his snuggles.
These moments happen more frequently without the busyness of the regular schedule, when taking in the moments of silence. The pause that summer offers is seemingly healthy. Yet the space opens a hole where grief and loss appear in stark contrast to the events going on around you.
Grief is isolating, even surrounded by a crowd. As a bereaved parent I feel like something is missing and wonder, “Am I the only one that notices that someone is not here, that someone that should be in this moment is missing?” But I don’t ask. I don’t reach out to mention this profound loss. I wonder alone.
Perhaps others notice, too. Is it possible that if I spoke his name a head would turn, our eyes would connect, and in that moment we would acknowledge a little life gone too soon? With a tear drop or two a bridge between broken hearts would help carry the load of grief. Yes, Hudson, you should be here now.
