A post about grief and love and abiding

On August 23rd, one of my dearest friends lost her best friend - her brother - to suicide. Trav was many things - a son, a father, a lacrosse player...and an addict. He struggled with demons from the time he was a teenager and never could completely make his peace with them. I stood close to his family and my friend and just let them ache...because it was the only thing I could do.

Then I started reading about Katie Granju's son who died after a severe beating and a drug overdose. Henry was a son, a brother, an artist, and an addict. I've read Katie's blog documenting her grief and followed it down the rabbit hole to the blogs of other parents who have lost children. And I've tried to comprehend the pain that these parents have to live with for the rest of their lives.

There are many reasons I don't have children and I know that no matter how much I love the children in my life, I can't know the love their parents feel. I can't know what it is to have part of you taken away forever and still have to breathe afterward. The raw emotion is profound and humbling. I am not a parent, but I am someone's baby, even at 42 years old.

This post I linked in the title of this one is about families grieving for their lost members and remembering, and about how to go one living in the world, and about being compassionate with each other. Every single person you meet was a baby once, and that baby was vulnerable. That baby needed care and attention and love.

And still does.

May I learn to be willing to extend it.