I don’t remember if it occurred days, weeks or months after my son Johnny’s sudden death in a car accident that my neighbor, a girl of only 23, walked over to my house to visit. She found me on my front porch, lying down on an outdoor sofa, tears smeared on my face, my body limp. Kayda had grown up with my older set of kids. As teens they got into a little bit of mischief together, but nonetheless, she was always welcome at our house. She still calls me “Mama Bronson.” 

Organic baby food, daily walks in the sunshine, nursery rhymes and Beatrix Potter books, baths and naps made up those days of that first year. I was proud and happy and oh-so-in-love. It seemed as if my whole life had been a waiting time for my motherhood to begin. Fast forward to the present, where I find myself in a journaling workshop series that Sacred Sorrows is offering for mothers who have lost a child. We reflect and journal about our grief and about our struggle to get up and live.