Today I cried.

I held up the bank drive-up line.

I hugged my steering wheel and lost my mind for the few moments I had.

Today, I saw the costumes for Halloween hanging up in the stores and wondered what you would be if you were here.

Today, I wished you were still in the backseat as I looked at the rearview mirror.

Today, trying to keep up with the ever-moving pace of time was too much 

Today, I hoped and prayed that someone, anyone, would say your name, but they didn’t.

So I stopped, just for a minute, and let my pride go.

As the world continued to honk, scream, and shout to keep going forward, I halted and let myself miss you.

I let my heart hurt and regret. I let myself feel the void I try to hide for the sake of moving forward.

I let my nerves feel your absence with every ounce of who I am.

Because when you lose your child, no matter the face or act you place on yourself, the misery and sorrow is always there.

It lingers, waiting for you to release it.

It’s never meant to be stored or pushed aside, but to be real and prevalent in all that you do.

So today, I let my grief win.

I pushed my “I’m fine” attitude aside.

And with my whole heart, I cried.

 

Deborah Ackerman

I am a mother of three and passionate follower of Jesus Christ.  My oldest son, Luke, passed away from GM1 Gangliosidosis Type 2 Aug.19th, 2018.  My youngest child, Isaiah, is also affected by this same disease.  I write about my son's experience with this disease and how the Lord has blessed our lives through the struggle.