It’s been six months. Some people know that, some people don’t – but it seems to be the way I keep time in my life now.
It was six months ago that I buried my son on his 38th birthday. He passed away from an opioid overdose. I won’t deny that it’s been a tough summer. I’ve spent a lot of hours in my garden working hard – really hard – kicking at the dirt and yelling at the sky, trying to work out my grief and make some sense of this.
I’m finding a new balance in my life and learning to more fully appreciate the positive things. It’s a work in progress – and there are days that I fail at it. As we approach Thanksgiving – I’m thankful for what I do have in my life. I’m thankful for the support from my family – my husband, my daughter and my sister. I’m thankful for my friends who check in on me, give me a shoulder to cry on, or just give me space. I’m thankful for the sweet memories of a little boy who loved to go fishing, play with his dog and grew into a young man who fiercely loved his nieces and called himself their “funcle” (fun uncle). And I’m thankful for the things here on our farm that keep me grounded and make me smile.
1981 – 2019