For a bereaved parent, loss is a suffering, a burden, a fact of life that will never change. Losing a child is an event that constantly haunts, nags, and weighs on the heart like no other ache in this world.
But the loss itself is something that can be acknowledged, accepted, and even appreciated for how it changes you, what it teaches you, and how it helps you grow.
But for me, it’s not the loss that gets me. I know in my heart that I will see my baby again someday, and in some way we will be together again. The loss, I can accept, it’s the longing that tears at my soul and crushes my heart.
The longing to feel him lay against me. The longing to hear that sweet voice. The longing that I will never know what he would have been like at five, or fifteen, or twenty-five. The longing to have him here, with me, to see that he is good and happy. The longing to understand why it was his purpose to touch my life in the most amazing way, then have to go away.
I long for a day where I find a way to appreciate this longing. The loss I will accept. The longing is what hurts the most because I know there is no way to fill that void and cure the ache inside my soul.