My husband and I went nowhere yesterday, sticking close to home and each other. Some days just can’t be shared. June 28, 1976, our son, Robert Lee Logan, was born. He was not healthy and died the next day, June 29. You’d think that after all these years it might be a distant, less painful, memory, but every year his death comes rushing back with full force. We lost our child; now we are faced with the loss of his never-to-be family and other grandchildren, as well. Grief morphs; it never goes away.
I don’t pretend to think that grief is mine alone. There are millions of parents whose children have died, as well as women who have lost their spouses. Grief comes to every life some time along the way. The most we can do is to not let it stop us from living, choosing instead to keep trying our best every day to embrace what we do have.
Tomorrow will be a better day.