I am peeking out from my grief at you and your normal lives. Watching you enjoy your children. Listening as you scold them… tempted to tell you to lighten up. And I see when you’re missing your child doing something amazing.

I want to scream, “Don’t do that! Put your damn phone down!”

My dark cloak of grief weighs me down. It makes it hard for me to get out of bed. It convinces me that it is much more inviting to stay on the couch, comforted in its folds than it would be to go outside and face a world that took my son.

It makes me feel guilty when I laugh. Makes it impossible to go a day without searching for that ONE piece of evidence that will break Corey’s case.

My OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) makes it impossible to let go of the thoughts that slip underneath my cloak of grief. Once they are in here with me, they won’t ever leave.

The disorder that once meant I counted objects over and over and over when I was nervous… now makes me relive the last time I saw my son walking on his own… and his death… over and over and over.

They don’t leave me. Ever.

No, when you see me, you won’t see this.
This is my burden to bear. Mine alone.

Yes, I have a really good poker face.