While at camp today someone commented on my Connor/Baseball tattoo, and wanted the story on it. I opened my mouth to speak, and with the words came tears. I realize that I have been bottling it up for months.

Once the tears start it is hard to get them to stop, and along with them comes the hard reality. The reality that no matter how much I cry and whine about it. HE IS NEVER COMING BACK.

I have an awful habit of not letting people in, I don’t want to burden others with my grief. But as I stood there explaining the story, with the big fat ugly tears running down my face. I realized that not sharing it makes the pain fester

There will never be a day in the future that I won’t miss him, and wish that things were different. It is unnatural to bury a child. There name and dates should never be on a headstone before yours. No matter how pretty the headstone is.

As I’m typing this, sitting in a comfy chair at the pavilion. I’m hoping that too many people can’t hear me sniffle, or the tears running down my face. Unlike earlier today they aren’t big ugly fat tears. But just tiny rivulets of pain streaming down my face.

Sometimes letting people in, and sharing my pain and grief with them isn’t such a bad thing. It temporally unburdens my heart, and makes me realize that I’m not alone. Now if I wasn’t so stubborn and did it more often, maybe the scabs on my heart wud get a chance to form. This is a hurt that will never heal, but maybe I cud get it to abate a little.