My son died seven years, five months and 29 days ago, and the timelessness of grief still has the ability to take my breath away.
When Harry died my life stopped, and yet my heart kept on beating. The moment I held him in my arms as his life support was removed, and the feeling of him leaving his body when he died, is something that is etched into my soul, a scar too wide and too deep to ever be separated from my sense of self.
My heart did persistently keep beating though and I had to learn how to live my life without him. I held myself together, through my year of firsts — birthdays and family celebrations and returning to some sense of routine normality.Read more on themighty.com