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March 16, 2020


I’ll Never Be That Kind Of Happy Again
I will never be that kind of happy again

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I’ll Never Be That Kind Of Happy Again I will never be that kind of happy again
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By Kelli Tucker

A few nights ago, I stepped into Marik’s room. It was on a Sunday night, like most before it.

I was extinguishing the candle that had been burning for several hours, which is somewhat of a Sunday tradition in our home. George had gone upstairs already, and it was the first Sunday of the new year.

Most Sundays, I can walk in, take a breath, and walk out before the tears hit. On this Sunday, that wouldn’t be the case.

I walked in, and straight lost it. I was beyond ugly crying. I was ugly heaving.

I was standing in the door of his closet, hugging his clothes. I was clinching hoodies and jackets. I was moving my face from item to item, breathing deeply, trying so hard to smell him.

To smell anything really.

In The Memory That Remains

The more of those precious items I sniffed, the harder I cried. Nothing. Nothing but fabric. No lingering scents of Old Spice, Dove body wash, or Axe body spray.

The faint smell of his hair on the collars of his shirts, all but a memory now.

I rarely let myself drift into this space. The uncontrolled type of grief that is frightening and hard to pull myself out of.

It is almost always when I am alone, mornings, drives, and showers. Even my best friend, and the person I trust most with my feelings, my sweet husband, seldom sees these sacred moments.

What Grief Can Do To A Heart

I turned off the light, closed the door, and whispered, “Good night, Man, happy new year.” And I made my way upstairs.

I was feeling exhausted and emotionally spent when I stepped into the shower. As the hot water washed my tears away, it hit me. The variations of happy. I will never be that kind of happy ever again.

Never.

The kind of happy, where no one is missing. The kind of happy where you feel whole, complete. The kind of happy where there is no, “if only.”

I have been happy, joyous even since Marik left us. The day Shellbi graduated from Boot camp and A school. The day I hugged Tori tight when she arrived for the wedding weekend. The day I watched my beautiful daughter marry a boy I genuinely love.

Ya’ll, I have been extremely happy. Giddy happy. But, I will never be that happy again.

I think that is hard to take. It is like a whole new kind of loss, and honestly, it’s exhausting.

It is exhausting learning how to parent a dead child.

As horrible and as blunt as that sounds, I am learning to be a parent all over again, and to a child I can no longer see. Even in the brightest, lightest moments of my life, my heart feels his absence, and there is no changing that fact.

It’s something I learn every single morning when I open my eyes.

Today I will do my best.

A Year Of Loss And Grief

Today I will be happy.

But it will be a variation of a happy that I will never be again.

 


About the Author
Kelli is a wife, mother of warriors; heaven and earth. She is a laugher, crier, prayer, and drinker of the wine, using all the things to maneuver this headlock called life. Kelli is a bonus mom, military mom, friend, and bereaved to her forever 15-year-old son, Osteosarcoma Warrior, and the king of X-box, Marik. You can find her on Instagram @mommasin_a_headlock

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  1. wendy storch says

    March 16, 2020 at 12:30 pm

    I understand, I agree. and that scares me to know I will never ever be able to experience joy in the same way. never the same. Thank you for this article.

    Reply Report comment

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Founded in 2012, Still Standing Magazine, LLC, shares stories from around the world of writers surviving the aftermath of loss, infertility - and includes information on how others can help. This is a page for all grieving parents. If you grieve the loss of your child, no matter the circumstances, you are welcome here.
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