My son was 15 years old when he died of some rare disease that led to the systematic shut down of his internal organs.
It was sudden and final.
I was in law school at the time, my second year and about two weeks away from finals.
My world came crashing down around me and I was stunned, shocked, in disbelief, devastated.
At the time, through the compassion of others, I was able to take my final exams and I did pretty well.
Over the past 7 years since his death, I often wanted to give up.
I often wanted to join him, to see him again and hear his laughter.
I often wanted to succumb to the despair that has always been just within my grasp.
Most painful experiences in life ease with time.
You get over the pain when your relationship with your first love ends.
You get over the disappointment of not getting the job you wanted.
You get over the stress of financial strain.
You never stop hurting when your child dies.
What has helped me defeat those challenging desires is the idea that my son James would not be proud of me if I did give up and give in.
I want to be the mother he was always proud of: strong, persistent, determined.
I want him to know that he is so important to me that I still value his opinion of me.
I did not want to dishonor him by using his death as the reason for my own demise.
Were I to do that, I would tarnish his life.
My son made such an impact in his 15 years on this planet that people who knew him, even briefly, still ache for the loss.
His friends still grieve.
His acquaintances still feel the emptiness at not having known him longer.
He was a compassionate, gentle boy with a great big heart.
He was a musician who enjoyed making music.
An artist that loved creating.
He has made a mark in this life and my desire is to try to live up to the high standard he held himself to.
This is how I cope with the loss of my child.