Yesterday a good friend had to bury her brother. Worse still her mother buried her son.
A mother buried her son.
As a mother now myself, writing that sends chills down my spine. I can not even begin to imagine what that feels like. We’ve heard the line before. No parent should ever have to bury a child. Saying it is one thing, writing it, feeling it, knowing that it will forever be a part of a good friends history brings tears to my eyes. I can’t speak without my voice breaking and I can’t begin to imagine what it feels like to be my friend’s mother.
In the same week, one of the kindest ladies I have had the pleasure to know will also bury her son. She fought so many health battles to be there for her family and now one of them is gone. My heart is breaking for both of these mothers.
The relationship between my friend’s family and their son and brother was, I think, strained at best. They found out that he had passed from two blue uniforms that came knocking on their door. They hadn’t seen their brother and son in a long, long time.
Turns out he had a partner who loved him and another family that had taken him to their hearts and lived a relatively happy life. But still it didn’t make his passing any easier for a mother that must have thought of him often and a father that struggled to understand why, a sister who never had a chance to understand him and a whole family who will now never get to know him.
I hope that they all made their peace with this soul that was once part of their family. I hope that he can rest in peace. I hope that I never have to bury a son. I hope that we can all love our families, hold them tight and love them with all of our might.