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Open wound or another cut?


Raymond
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Good Afternoon, 

 

I hope all is well, especially with the Holidays approaching.

 

The grief I carry now is more akin to a pocket watch.  It finds itself in my pocket everyday as I venture forth . . .  always there, a gentle reminder.  As with us all, every now and then a memory is delivered and I go about the business of placing one foot after the other as I carry the weight.  Stronger now in the carrying of it.  One hundred bricks rarely slows my pace now.  My open wounds have healed, scarred, etched now as memories and only visible to the one's who know me best.  

 

My children were a tender age when my wife passed, eleven year old son and 13 year old daughter. 

 

I write now because -- as thick as my scars are -- I find traces . .  . evidence of a new cut or an unhealed injury?   They arrive whenever I look over to share my joy and sorrow at an achievement or misstep in my children's life path.  I quickly think my children also are looking over . . . beside me.  A brief stare, almost done out of reflex.  Sometimes I address it with, "I wish mom were here to see this or help us".   As each milestone arises, or lesson I impart on my own presents itself, a new cut is fashioned.  New blood is shed.

 

I see no end to this and I despair.  Surely we all would bleed for our children but I am saddened so that this blood can only be shared with them and not for them.  We bleed together now.  

 

My children are in many ways stronger than their father.  Their resilience, as the cuts come, gives me strength and a reminder of how lucky we were to have the time we had with Susan.  They now sometimes carry my water as their parents did for them.  I struggle to find a way to take their pain into me but this is the nature of Grief. . . . He is selfish in this regard.

 

I wonder now if my scars are really healed, forever festering or these are new wounds? . . . .  new cuts that I'll have to endure . .  . 

 

 

 

 

 

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My daughter was 12 when my wife passed away.  My wife had been sick since my daughter was 5  months old, but we didn't think it was life-threatening.  I feel the same pains you do, Raymond.  There is a part of me missing, part of my daughter's life missing.  I've learned to live with it, but missed her badly at my parents' 50th wedding anniversary, then shortly after when my father died suddenly.  There was no one there to share those intimate, happy, painful moments with.  That's the grief that we feel inside, but isn't seen from the outside.  I know everyone here gets this, that's why I like visiting here.  Hugs buddy

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