Mornings are the hardest. Except it gets bad in the afternoon, and evenings are the worst. There is no time of day when I don’t miss him. What concerns me, is that as time slides by, I don’t miss him any less. To the contrary, I miss him more and more each day. This scares me. How much more can I miss him? How much more can I yearn for his return? If Spinal Tap’s amps go to eleven, my Sorrow Meter goes to a million and eleven.
It is the most random things that spark the memory. In fact there isn’t much that doesn’t remind me of him now: Pastrami sandwiches, fountain pens, Wayfarer sunglasses, laptop computers, 
35mm cameras, balsamic vinegar, model trains, Starbucks coffee, Ducati motorcycles, Parmesan cheese, welding tanks, LED’s, tiramisu, submarines, zoris, gelato, bow ties, scuba gear, Chinese food, high-waist pants, shave ice, Italian loafers, Ford Mustangs, key limes, cable cars, golf courses, Ray Bradbury, spaghetti Bolognaise, sea turtles, lemonade, electronic candles, tee shirts, pizza, rockets. There is a story and a memory behind each of these things and a zillion more. His interests and activities encompassed such a diverse universe. There were very few things he wasn’t interested in, and when he was interested in something, he learned everything there was to know about it.
I wrote a letter soliciting donations from publishers for Jake’s library today, with the help of a dear friend. It is good to have friends. I had to stop from time to time as tears blurred my vision. No more than three or four times, though. We are moving forward with this project, there are a thousand and one details to work out, but we are determined, as are so many people, to bring this to fruition. It was good having something positive to do.
Tomorrow will be the 6th Shabbat, but who’s counting? We will get through another morning, another afternoon, another evening. We will light candles and bring his spirit into our home once more. Maybe this week I’ll make it through three lines.
The Infinite Fountain 
Far better to experience all your sorrow than to shove it into a hole, because buried feelings are the most destructive of all. You and Terry, the most reluctant and sorrowing of heroes, are heroes nonetheless, but in no way is that going to make you feel one bit better.
Oh, no worries there. We experience our sorrow continuously throughout every waking moment. Heroes? I am not sure about that. We’re just trying to make it through one more day.
Yeah, heroes. Weeping, aching heroes.
Contrary to popular opinion (held by those who have never lost a child), the amount you miss Jake will never decrease. As you already know, the ripples from his absence continue to grow. I think that, over time, we learn to live with the constant pain, but, as my husband says, we suffer from chronic sorrow. I have friends who have also lost young adult children and they are managing to live decent lives while simultaneously holding their children’s memories tightly to their hearts. It is a balancing act that I think that we have no choice but to learn.
You have described it exactly. Chronic sorrow. Something we will always deal with. Thank you.