Where is the hope?

Each time I come up the stairs from the 1st floor to the 2nd floor, I’m greeted by Alexander’s sweet little face.  In his bedroom, there is a large framed photo which peers out at me.  The photo was taken during Christmas 2007 when we were visting Dan’s family.  Whenever I look at the photo, I see such hope in Alexander’s face.  His eyes expecting something wonderful to come.  How do I reconcile my current life with what I see in that photo when I feel so hopeless?

I saw 4 ambulances when I was out running errands today.  Three of the four had flashing lights with no sirens.  All I could think was someone else is gone and another family is about to go through the misery that I’ve lived with the past 5 1/2 months.

Dan and I met friends out for dinner and drinks last night.  Once again, I found myself telling someone else that Alexander passed in December.  When I say the words “passed in December”, it seems like it was long ago but my grieving heart doesn’t know anything about the passage of time.

I miss Alexander more each day.

2 responses to “Where is the hope?

  1. I don’t think our grieving hearts will ever understand time. Our minds may, but our hearts will always have a missing piece that will ache until the end of our lifetime. It has been a year since Evan died, and occasionally I still end up telling someone that he passed last year, even if it is a stranger in the doctor’s office. Keep holding strong because it does get a little easier day by day!

    ((HUGS))

  2. Hello…I was given your site from a friend I met on Facebook. I am so sorry for the loss of your precious Alexander. I know how you feel, as a mother. I lost my 19 month old baby Elijah 4 years ago suddenly in his sleep. It is the most tragic thing to have to go through, but it is comforting to know that you are not alone. I see that you have found support through the SUDC program and have many resources listed here. This is great what you are doing. I am glad to have found you. Our sons brought us together and I hope to have you as a friend, even if only as a shoulder to cry on. Take Care…and I look forward to hearing back from you.

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