I visited my son’s grave without leaving immediately

Dear Delyara, My son died in a car accident six years ago. For the first five years, I could not stay at his grave longer than a minute. I would place flowers, touch the stone, and leave before the panic reached my throat. My therapist never forced me to stay. We worked slowly: first saying his name without apologizing for crying, then looking at photographs, then writing down what I remembered from the hospital. Today, I brought a folding chair to the cemetery. I sat beside him for forty-seven minutes. I told him about his sister’s new job, the leak in the kitchen, the dog he chose as a puppy, and how angry I still am that the world kept moving. I cried, but I did not run. Before leaving, I ate the peanut-butter sandwich I had packed because it was his favorite. Healing did not mean the cemetery stopped hurting. It meant I could remain inside the hurt long enough to feel love there too.