I wish I could be mad with grief. Every time I think of my 16-year-old son, though, I don’t feel anger. When I think of the then 19-year-old that sold him drugs, I’m not angry. When I think of the then 16-year-old friends that my son was with when they experimented with drugs, I don’t feel anger. When I made my victim’s speech in court for the then 26-year-old man that made the drug that killed my son overnight, I do not feel anger. I wonder what relief I might feel if I could feel anger. Then I know there is no relief from losing a child. The waves of effect go on and on.
Today the wave is my dead son’s now 19-year-old brother and his experiences in college as he realizes that his brother has been gone a long time now; 4 years long. The same brother that when we first lost Sam told me that we would see Sam again; we just needed to be patient. Yes. Grief wears at you. It tears at you. It rips you to shreds. Yes. I wish I could be mad. Yes. I’m Sam’s mom. I love him. We always will. #muchlovetosam