I buried my 9-year-old son ten years ago. When new neighbors moved in, I brought over a pie to welcome them. Their teenage son opened the door… and I nearly collapsed. He had my son’s face! And when I told my husband, he whispered something that changed everything.
My son, Daniel, died when he was nine years old.
He was playing with a ball near the school gate, and then a car turned too fast off the side street, and that was it. One moment he existed in the world, and the next he didn’t.
The grief of losing a child never goes away. It’s a wound that scabs and leaves a scar in your heart that you feel forever.
When I saw a young man who looked exactly like my boy, it felt like that wound tore open all over again.
The grief of losing a child never goes away.
For years after Daniel died, I still turned my head when I heard boys laughing down the street.
I still expected, for half a second, to hear a ball bouncing in the driveway.
I was advised to have more kids. “It will help ease the pain a little,” I was told, but I didn’t have the heart for it.
So, Carl and I turned into quiet people in a quiet house, and mostly that was okay.
Then the moving truck showed up next door.
Carl and I turned into quiet people in a quiet house.
Leave a Comment