Truth

A friend shared this today on their Facebook and it was one of those Oprah "Ah-Ha" moments. Like Hell-To-The-Yeah, hive five a sista', dancing in the streets, TRUTH, word-to-yo-momma moments. 

The truth is my son died. The truth is, it fucking sucks. The truth is I still miss him. The truth is he still lives in my world every day and night. The truth is I love him as much as all my other children. The truth is ... I don't give a shit what anyone else thinks about it.

I have been told - paraphrased here (somewhat but not really) - get over it already.

The problem is I was never allowed to get through it, how the heck am I supposed to get over it?

I have, just recently, taken control of my grief. I have allowed myself to feel it and more importantly to experience it, express it, and energize it.  The more I experience it and express it the more my LOVE shines through the loss, the more I heal, the more it energizes me.

I have realized grief DOES make other people uncomfortable. And I have come under attack by many, some from the strangest of places (people you would never think would be on the "shut up" already campaign). 

But it also brings out comfort. Not just for me, but for others.  It brings peace. It brings HOPE.

I can't apologize for FINALLY starting my journey to healing. I am benefiting. My children are benefiting. And, maybe, someone else in this dark cruel world of grief is benefiting too.

Grief, to me, is soft of like an addiction. People are afraid of others addictions as well and avoid the topic if possible.  AND the only person that can take control of an addiction is the addict. AND the first step to recovery is admitting there's a problem.

I admit, I have a problem with my grief. But I am taking the steps to recover. Each time I write, each time I talk about Colton, each time I live in the moment I heal a little more. That's MY comfort, and my truth.