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Just a Reminder

I wrote this a year ago, but thought it was worth a revisit, and an update.

Sometimes I think that others believe the only reason I write on this page is to vent my own feelings. There are other reasons. The most important is I want Corey’s murderer to be found. But another important reason is I need people to understand that the loss of a child doesn’t go away when you turn the TV off, or change the channel. Even though Corey is not on the TV every day or in the newspapers as often as when he was first murdered, he is on my mind every day.

If I can remind you of his loss at least once in a while, then I am doing good. Because then you will have at least a small understanding of how often and how long a parent grieves their child. So, to refresh your memory… from one year ago (only updated)…

Two days ago marked 32 months since Corey was murdered. Sometimes when I talk to people they say I seem to be handling it well…

I tell them I have a good poker face.

In reality, I find it hard to believe others can’t see my grief. I feel like I wear my sadness like a burqa. Dark. Long. Covering my entire body.

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 Obsessive Compulsive Disorder makes it impossible to let go of the thoughts that slip underneath my blanket 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 notice this.
This is my burden to bear.
Mine alone.

Yes, I have a really good poker face.

Gwen Carver

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