The Grieving Parent

Dear Delyara, The house is too quiet. I still find myself buying your favorite cereal at the shop, only to remember halfway down the aisle that the kitchen is empty. Grief is not a mountain you climb; it’s a tide that pulls you out to sea when you least expect it. Today, the tide is high. I am writing to the son I lost, telling him about the flowers in the garden and the way the dog still waits by the door at 4:00 PM. I am leaving my sorrow in the ink so I can walk through the rooms of my house without suffocating. I love you. I miss you. I am trying.