The storm has finally moved ashore. I must have been in shock for the past three weeks, but the numbness has lifted and all that remains is the pain. Someone said it’s feels like your heart is breaking…and now I know where that expression comes from. My heart is broken, as is my spirit at the moment. All I can do is go through the motions and hope “this too shall pass.” When it hits, I am awash in misery. I often feel as though someone has let all the air out of me. My energy has reached a new low. How low can it go?

For those of you out there who want to know the age at which someone died…I have to warn you of the pain you can inflict by your question. What does it matter how old anyone was? Why is that so important?

I have to admit, that was a question I always asked when someone died of cancer. It seemed if someone was young, it made me and mine all the more vulnerable. But now that I’ve lost Max, I can tell you in all honesty, I have come to abhor that question because it’s inimitably followed by, “he was so young.” Every time I hear those words it’s as if a proverbial dagger has been stabbed into my gut and twisted. Yes, he was too young to die…but he did die…young or not.  To be reminded everyday that it was unfair…well, I really don’t need that reminder. As it is, I’m trying my best to live with the injustice of it all, I don’t need constant reminders, and I imagine other family members don’t need those either.

Please be kind, don’t remind.

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