Define me

On one strong, determined day (or part of a day) after Greg died (there was probably some "Greg-anger", too, mixed in with the "strong and determined"), I remember saying that I would not allow Greg's death to define me. How naive.

Greg's death does define me. Of course it does. I'm a different person than I was the day before he died.  It's not a choice - it's a fact.

I will forever be the mother of a child who died - a child who took his own life.  Forever.

My heart will always be broken.  It won't heal.  It won't be "okay" in five years - or ten years - or a thousand years. 

I hope there will also be joy - and gratitude - and laughter.  But underneath it all, my heart will always be irreparably broken. 

I can't imagine a day that I won't cry.  Someone says something.  I run into something that belonged to Greg - or that Greg gave me.  Or I just... remember.  And I cry - not always for long, but tears are always just behind the next breath.  Every day.

So, forgive me for my innocence.  Forgive me for my hope.  Forgive me. 

I'm the mother of a son who died.