To most folks, Aug. 6, 2005, was an ordinary day, but for me it became the worst day in my life.  I woke up that morning expecting to celebrate my birthday; instead, I learned of my youngest son’s death.  Despite the fact that I had many loving family members and friends, I found myself feeling isolated and numb.  It took so much of my energy just to make it through each day that I had nothing left for anything else.

I drifted through my days in a fog of pain over Clint’s death. There were moments that I was sure I would never find my way back. But earlier this year, I began to feel the dark clouds part. I even dared to anticipate the warm rays of hope again. The tension was leaving my body; my strength was growing and my mind was clearing.  The smiles I had faked for four years were beginning to feel real again.

Just as  I was beginning to think about my new normal, I was hit hard by the reality of the outside world. First, Clint’s cat became sick and died. My neighbor’s kids accidently caught my back yard on fire. Then I had a couple of minor medical issues. The last straw was multiple problems with the house. There was a major plumbing problem in the bathroom, a foundation situation and then a water leak in the kitchen.

All of this left me longing to run back into my world of fog and numbness. I suppose I was experiencing the beginnings of self-pity.  The realization of my journey came to me; I had reached a crossroad in my grief. I knew that somehow I had to find a way to continue forward.

Inside, I wrestled with the feeling of unfairness. A large part of me wanted to run and hide.  It did not seem right to lose a child and then be expected to deal with everyday problems. I did not want to handle the ordinary things of life, but I knew the truth was that it was time for me to acquaint myself with the real world again. I knew I could handle this transition the same way I handled my grief – one step at a time.