As time goes on

This week was one of the biggest "milestones" we've had since losing our precious Cam. This week, on May 4th, we marked six months since we lost him to cancer. Six months since we've heard his voice, given him a hug, held his hand, played with him and his Transformers. Six months since we said our final goodbyes to our incredible 4 year old son.

A lot happens in six months. As newly bereaved parents, you learn a lot. You learn how to live through the new quiet in your house. You learn how to walk past your son's room without crying. You learn how to get out of bed everyday and somehow put a smile on your face. You learn how to cover how you're really feeling, because even if people come to you and say "how are you today," you know they're just hoping you'll say you're fine and they don't have to talk to about it. You learn to live through the excruciating pain you feel on a daily basis.

Pain. When you lose your child pain becomes one of the biggest constants in your life. You feel pain in everything you do. In every breath you take. Every time you open or close your eyes. The pain is always there. And you try to do whatever you can to overcome that pain. You become really good at hiding it and trying as hard as possible to not let it show.

When we arrived at the dreaded six month mark, my husband and I took to social media to write our messages to Cam, expressing how much we miss and love him. How we are, still, in complete disbelief that he is no longer with us. We write these messages to him in hopes that there is some way that he'll see them and know he is never far from our hearts and our minds. And in some ways, we write them so our friends can share their thoughts, feelings and memories about him. These little notes to him are a way for everyone to come together and support one another.

Among all of the beautiful thoughts and memories shared, one comment stood out. And for the wrong reasons. It read, the pain has subsided but the memories are still there. The pain has subsided. How I wish that were an accurate comment. For me, as the mother is missing her child, the pain has yet to go away. The pain has yet to subside. The pain has yet to be anything but gut wrenching and at times uncontrollable. And for someone to say the pain has subsided, for me, was awful to read. It felt like someone was telling me hey, it's been six months, get over it, I have. It felt like I was alone with my pain and my grief.

As I mentioned, you learn a lot when you become a bereaved parent. You experience a lot. Every day brings new emotions, fears and challenges. Each day is filled with moments of joy, grief and sorrow. You realize that this new life and journey is something that cannot be navigated alone. You lean on your spouse and your friends. And you often wonder who you can lean on or reach out to. There's a strange thing that happens after a child dies. The people in your inner circle change. We've learned that the hard way, with friends and family. There are those who stood by us from the moment we notified everyone of Cam's illness. Those who called, visited, texted or emailed nearly on a daily basis to check on him and us. Those who have stayed with us since his passing, still contacting us almost daily to make sure we know they are there for us. Those who have exhibited unwavering support and love. There are some people we knew, but not well, who have become wonderful friends to us throughout this process. There are others who were there while he was sick, while we went through the funeral service and then slowly lost contact with us, only to become more of acquaintances than the good friends they once were. And there are others who have stayed away from the moment Cam got sick, with little to no contact whatsoever since. I can appreciate that this is not a common or usual situation and that it may make some quite uncomfortable. But never did I think that we would be grieving the loss of friendships as we grieve the loss of our son.

As we near the one year mark to the start of this journey (June 6th will be one year since the day I took Cam to the children's hospital), I feel compelled to tell the people who have stood by us how much their love and unwavering support has meant to us. My husband and I have been, at times, treading water to get us through the days and I feel we wouldn't have made it this far without you. You have made us feel like our feelings and grief our valid. You have helped us learn how to go on with our lives by honoring our son and his memory. You have been comfortable with us when we feel we need to talk about his and share his stories. You have held our hands and been our shoulders when we needed extra strength. You have been our family when we needed you. And for all of that, we are forever grateful.