If you have a child later in life, like I did, it only increases the likelihood that you will be parenting without your parents. I never had that maternal advice, and my son doesn't have my mom as a grandmother.
The truth is, being a mom hasn't removed the part of me that was also a daughter, and sometimes Mother's Day is just a painful reminder of her absence. So what can one do to make Mother's Day less painful and a lot more joyful?
From his unique perspective on the "other side," my son has become our "inside man" in the afterlife. In the following channeling session with psychic medium Jamie Butler, Erik shares what death is like.
It doesn't take much to get me to talk about him, to think about him, and to try to accept that he is gone from this physical world. It's the intimacy of a companion that I miss. Coming home to him or welcoming him home. Saying "I love you" and snuggling to share a good night's sleep.
What makes it so difficult to grieve our children is that when they are lost, we are lost. Hope waning, so, too, is our wonder, our gaiety, our reveling in the miracle of life, the promise of tomorrow.
It seems both sad and paradoxical to me that so often we sabotage our desires -- our forward propulsion -- with the need to feel deserving of what they might yield before we allow ourselves to accept or act on them.
The unsaid truth about grief is it never dies. Yes, the shock eventually subsides, and, sooner or later, each day gets easier to face. But part of me left with Brent, and it is a part of me that can never be found.
Since Kenny's death, I have become two people. One goes to work and concentrates on work matters while the other comes home and takes care of the business of wrapping up my husband's life here on earth.