Day #30

Today started out with a rough edge. Not sure I would call it the wrong side of the bed, more of me being in an unhappy frame of mind but not looking to lash out. 

I woke up thinking about Damian. The thoughts were of the day he died. The discovery, the hours leading up to it including the night before, the hours that followed. The dinner that we had together, the three of us; feelings of stress about my job, the panic of not being able to find Damian; the horror of finding him; the indescribable agony and anguish that instantly came with it.  

I'm still plagued by the questions of "why?". Why him? Why not me? Why did this have to happen? The last week or so, these questions have mostly been reduced to background noise, but this morning they were loud and surrounding. Not deafening, but impossible to ignore just the same. 

In order to put some distance between me and this mad chorus I downloaded a new book onto my Kindle. It's a travel diary from two men, actors and friends, who go around Scotland in order to learn more about their ancestry and Scottish heritage. One thing that struck me about their tale is the age difference between the men. It's enough to give their journey a father / son kind of vibe. With this insight came the flush of feeling that I would have very much enjoyed going on a similar journey with Damian.

Herein lies the problem with trying to find respite from grief: Even when we think we have found something that will distract us from it for even just a few minutes, the ghosts of the dearly departed will find a way back in and probably sooner than we expect. I think this is what the next year (or more) is going to be about - learning how to coexist with the ghost of my son without the debilitating sense of loss that comes with these memories of the past and the daydreams of a future we could have, and should have, had. 

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