I feel like I should be able to cope better. After all, I spend my work days helping others strategize how to cope with stress and anger. So, why am I not doing a better job at finding a way to live with this pain?

I mistakenly believed that as time went on, it would get easier to live with the heartache. I thought, somehow, the permanent split in my heart would be mended, patched back together. Don’t get me wrong — there are days when I almost feel like my old self, when I feel hope and optimism. I have more of those days now than I did at this point last year.

But there are also days when I take 30-minute showers just so that I can drown out the sound of my sobs. There are days when I just want to lay in bed. There are days when I question the purpose of my life. There are days when I feel stuck, miserable here on Earth. I want to reach my son, but feel so, so hindered by my human body and my life here.

With the passage of time, in a way, it becomes more difficult to bear my son’s death. Although nobody has explicitly said anything, it seems people are less willing to hear me talk about my son. Somehow, it is implicitly stated, I’m expected to have finished grieving by now. I should no longer feel sad.

I understand that friends and family don’t want to see me upset. They want me to be happy in much the same way I wish the best for their lives. I also know that there is almost an unwritten rule in how much sympathy you are allowed. If you talk about the source of your sadness for too long, some people get sick of hearing about it. They wonder why you can’t just move on with your life and stop dwelling on the events of the past.

Those who were closest to you before your loss are sometimes the ones who drift farthest from you following your loss. They are the ones who are not willing to listen to you about your loss. They are the ones who tell you to, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” They are the ones who, hopefully, will never understand the depth of your pain.

So, you begin to find outlets for your pain. You talk to the people in your support group because they understand this is a pain that never dies. You distract yourself when possible. You try to appear happy in front of the caring friends and family who want to see you enjoying your life. You find yourself talking about your son less often because you know friends and family are tired of hearing of your woes. You start to avoid events because you know you will have to put on your happy face. And, let’s face it, wearing that happy face is exhausting work.

You plow onward because that’s the only way through life. But deep, deep inside, you are so tired. You long for an escape from reality. But the escape doesn’t exist. There is no way out. Still, you find a way through. You find out that lots of people suffer with all sorts of pain. And you can empathize with them so much better. So you pick them up for the ride and struggle with them. And somehow you begin to forge your own path through.