|||
November 6, 2020 to May 6, 2023.
30 months.
Two and a half years since Melissa left this life and went to her eternal one.
Melissa and Jake at Disney World, August 2012
This span of time without her still doesn’t feel possible. I am confident that every day, Jake and I still mention her or talk specifically about her.
Sometimes it’s a memory I’ll have of her — usually a story that I think Jake won’t know or remember.
Sometimes it’s a memory Jake will have of her — often a story connected with buying a LEGO set. (He does have an uncanny memory for details around these types of things. “I remember I had just had a dentist appointment on a Tuesday after school, and after the dentist appointment we went to Target…”)
So she is still very much a part of our daily lives.
I think Jake is doing as well as can be hoped. He’s doing well in school, and for the past couple of months has gotten to take part in a grief group for students who have lost a loved one. He’s the only one in the group to have lost a parent, but he’s still found it helpful to participate and realize he’s not alone. The grief group was organized and run by a local organization that specializes in working with teens who have lost a parent or loved one, so his connection to them through school may open some new opportunities for him outside of school. We’ll see.
I have a lot I could say about how I’m doing, but I think I’ll just say that I’m gradually doing better, and leave the rest for my journal.
A few weeks ago, I was watching a (slightly old) TV show where a person who was new to dealing with grief met up with someone who was experienced at dealing with grief.
The new person asked, “Does it ever get easier?”
The experienced person answered, “No. But you do get better at it.”