The Quiet Drift

It’s been creeping in slowly, this feeling that I’ve drifted from my son. I don’t feel him like I used to. And saying that out loud feels like betrayal.

In the beginning, he was everywhere. In the songs that came on at the perfect time. In the sunbeams that hit just right. In dreams, in signs, in the sudden knowing that he was close. Now, I feel like I’m fumbling in the dark, reaching for something I can’t grasp. And I hate it.

Maybe it’s the stress. The constant tension, the chaos I’ve been trying to manage; especially with my "in-laws". It’s like their noise drowns out the quiet places I used to find him in. Grief needs room to breathe. And there hasn’t been much room for anything lately except survival.

I miss my son. I miss the connection. I miss the comfort of feeling like he was just a whisper away. And I don’t know how to get back to that place. I don’t know if I can.

I don’t have a neat ending for this. I’m just… here. Lost in the ache. Wishing for stillness, for signs, for something. Wishing for him.