The dreaded anniversary has come and gone once again. Aug. 4, 2000, changed our lives forever as we learned the tragic news of our 32-year-old son’s death in another state.

Acceptance was stealthy — yet the yearning to see and speak with him is still fresh for us, his wife and two little girls, ages 9 and 11, left behind.

The stages of grief are the same for everyone, however it’s rare that anyone goes through them at the same rate or even in the same order. It can never be compared. I have never felt angry at God, but I did get angry at both my husband and myself during my journey.

I chose to postpone grieving. Why? My husband was so terribly despondent that I feared for his safety and well-being. The statistics are sobering. Over 90% of couples divorce within a few years of losing a child. That baffled me because it seemed that in a ‘good’ marriage there would be mutual support as they worked through their grief together. I learned that we cannot ‘share’ our grief. Each must endure it on their own. For more than a year I postponed my own grief — extremely detrimental to my physical health.

Grief, especially from the loss of a child, places a wedge between husband and wife like nothing else I can imagine does. He floundered so in his own grief that he gave me almost zero support despite the fact that he loves me with all his heart and would literally do anything for me. It was my choice to be the strong one at that time, but there were times when grief overtook me and I needed him to be strong for a bit. He was emotionally missing in action, and that is when I felt anger at him. The only time in our marriage (36 years at the time) I ever considered leaving him was during that first year following our loss. Darn it! He was the one person who should have understood and helped me through it and yet he couldn’t be depended on for support when I, too, needed it most.

Eventually, my body succumbed to grief as my already poor physical health declined even more. Still, I fought it. After about a year and a half, I decided to write a book about my son’s life from my perspective. I wanted his young daughters to know the stories of his childhood and personality that only someone close to him during those years would know. It was the hardest thing I have ever done and yet, also the most therapeutic. Many times, the floodgates opened and I was overcome by tears—yet those tears were the healing balm I needed so desperately. “Jesus wept.” John 11:35, the shortest verse in the Bible, came to mind as I realized that it was finally OK for me to allow myself the luxury to sob freely.

Despite the martyrdom of strength on the surface, grief attacked me out of nowhere. In the grocery store I would see one of his favorite foods and lose it, right then and there. He seemed to be everywhere, as I saw him wherever I went.

Working through my grief, even 20 years later, I dread certain holidays and occasions. Often there is a place setting and an empty chair at the table for him. There will be no empty chairs in heaven.

I cherish memories and photos. An artist friend did his portrait three years after he died. She never knew him, so I took a few photographs of Kelly from ages 16 through 32 and she made a composite portrait of him. When I walked into her studio to approve it, I was in awe. It was so lifelike. She captured things about him that gave him a three-dimensional appearance.

He is still missed every single day. Sometimes I talk to his portrait. We seldom visit his grave since it is so far away, but we speak of him always because he is now and always will be a vital part of our family and our lives. My heart skips a beat for joy at the mention of his name. That hole in my very being, the void that overwhelmed me since the news of his passing, is still there. I expect it will be until we meet again on the other side of the veil.

Grief, like life and love, is a journey — not a destination. 

— A coal miner’s daughter born in Appalachia and schooled in Michigan, she currently lives in rural Athens. Hill describes herself as a cook and cookbook author, jack of all trades and master of none, a Christian wife, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. She shares her home with her husband, Bob, and their spoiled-beyond-belief dog, Molly.