Many readers have commented on how strong I am despite having just lost a son. After all, can there be any greater travesty than the death of one’s child? For me, no nightmare is as grim. The grief is still raw and fresh like an open wound. Yet since my blog explores the “upside” to death and the intimate mother-son relationship that lives on in the face of tragedy, it gives that illusion of strength. I assure you all, I am anything but strong. Erik’s death has left me broken and weak. It has sapped the lifeblood from my veins and the joy from my heart. Motivation, optimism, inspiration, enthusiasm and hope, once my constant companions, have betrayed me like fair weather friends who abruptly abandon the picnic at the first sign of a storm cloud.

This blog is my storm cellar. By helping others and giving Erik’s death some semblance of meaning, channeling and writing keeps me distracted and sane. Each channeling session with my son is like a spelunker’s trip into a dark unknown where I search in desperately for any shred of sense in the untimely death of such a sweet soul. But despite uncovering gems of hope in that search, my grief is a breeding ground for skepticism and despair. Once I begin to doubt Erik’s immortality, I feel despondent, as though I might lose my son a second time. Two deaths in less than a year would be too much for me to bear.

This tug-of-war between belief and disbelief, between hope and despair, weighs heavily on my soul. Like a hungry rat, it gnaws relentlessly on what is left of my heart. I confess there are days when I can’t imagine living a moment more in such torment. Every day, I weep. Every day I wonder what I could have done to save him. Every day I resent his leaving me and others in such a broken state. I daydream about the peace and relief that only death can offer. I contemplate various scenarios, the justifications, the joyous homecoming that would allow me to hold my baby in my arms again. After all, in the afterlife, can I not look after Erik as well as those loved ones I leave behind?

This pleasant reverie is fleeting, however. Unlike Erik, I am fully aware of the devastation my death would leave in its wake. I must stay here to love, guide and nurture my family and friends. Were it not for them, I would be with Erik right now. As trying as it is in my fragile, beleaguered state, I must sacrifice relief and release for those I cherish. This is a personal inner war I wage alone in the name of Love.

Perhaps that is where strength is gathered. Love. Love guides us through life’s tempests and uncertainties. It nudges us toward what is right and true. It leads us toward hope and joy. It gives our existence meaning, in my case, the meaning that death so cruelly and abruptly plucked from my life.

So I will try to let Love be my guide, my guardian, my savior. In the name of all you hold dear, I hope you do the same. I know Erik would want us to.