Once upon a time there was a woman. This woman had lost her son under tragic circumstances and was trying to figure out life without someone she loved. Day after day she just tried to do her thing: get up, love the world, miss her boy, go to bed, repeat. A year ago around this same time, she was asked how she managed, how she made it day after day, and the woman decided to write down her thoughts on what helped and gave her hope. She made it a blog and her only wish was that maybe, just maybe, it would help one momma in a moment of despair.
Turns out people read her words. This in itself surprised the woman, but more incredible was the fact that people were reaching out and sharing how they related to each of the woman’s posts. “I hurt, too” they told her and this invisible web of child loss began to surround the woman. The woman felt the importance around sharing what she wrote most when she heard from two families who hadn’t lost a child, but their kiddos were struggling and the parents – well, they were afraid. They didn’t want to walk in the woman’s shoes and they hoped, by reading the woman’s words they might gleam a word of advice on how to just love their child and help them reach another day. Those children still live. It makes the woman’s heart happy.
So each week the woman sits down and writes the blog. This is no small feat for the woman. This is asking her to go deep inside her heart and pull out all the hurt and anguish she has tucked down since her boy passed away. It is asking her to be honest about what really happened with her son and all that that means. It is asking her to relive everything that came to pass and if you think it is hard the first time, it is no less hard the second. But she does it. And she knows that it helps heal not only her, but her little corner of the world.
Still, there are days the woman doesn’t want to write the blog. She wants to curl up in her cream chenille chair in her girls room and keep her thoughts private. She grows weary of letting people know exactly how she felt over each part of her journey. She is quiet by nature and every once in a while she just wants to keep what existed between her and her son HERS.
But then something will happen. One of the lovelies will be at a concert and share a song that reminds them of her son; or a friend will comment on the blog and let her know how meaningful the writing is that she is doing; or more people than the woman can imagine – like 1000 and more will see her blog because others have been kind enough to share it: or, and this is a good or, one of the lovelies will send a moving text at two in the morning about how much they love the blog and how it makes them feel closer to her son and how much they loved her boy, that damn Canadian Princess, and it sits in her heart like a shining light and it is then that it hits the woman: something good is coming from this. Out of this unimaginable horror there is a silver lining, a flicker of hope, a community of love being built.
And so she keeps writing.
For Rylee Xxx