Dear Mom,

I was so hoping to never have to write this letter to you…….but even though I knew I would, I never dreamed it would be so soon…. just over a month ago I wrote to you .. and I know it seems like a lifetime ago… Dad has been gone three and a half weeks.

Here we are. We are both widows. And I am a fatherless child.

I’m trying to be strong, because I know you will try to be for Alan and I , and you won’t let yourself grieve the way you need to.

And even though I am grieving a husband and now a father, and you a husband of 42 years, we are both on somewhat of the same road.

I can walk near you, I can offer advice, and I can tell you how I feel and the things I have been through…but I can never tell you how you should grieve.

I’m trying to spend time with you and give you your space at the same time, finding it a hard balance. When I leave I feel guilty, because I know how alone really feels.

When we talk on the phone, I can hear the crack in your voice when you say you’re ok. I can tell you are being strong so you won’t burst into tears. Or so I won’t either.

There are so many times when I am alone at my house and something reminds me of dad, or I want to pick up the phone and call him just to talk to him about something goofy, the news or sports of the day, or just to say hi and tell him how his boys are. Then I remember. Then I want to talk to you, but I don’t want to upset you. So we both sit in silence.

Silence.

This will become your safe harbor. Your soul and your mind will seek the silence from the constant what-if’s, could have would haves and if only’s that will surely flood your mind as they do most people experiencing a loss. I know they do mine. The silence is where you can grieve.

The noise will come when you are asked “How are you?” and told that you’ll be ok, that things will get better, and all of the things that people say to try and make you feel better. Of course you can’t tell them it doesn’t help, but you can say thank you and smile and keep your head help high until you get through it.

Nothing I can say or do will ease your pain or stop the loneliness, but I am here, and I love you.

And I miss him too.