I winced, as I do everyday, as my lips made contact with the smooth black granite.
I winced, because the granite is so cold.
Bone chilling cold.
And it dawned on me.
The cold black granite that houses my son's remains mirrors the cold black void I feel in my heart.
Every time I touch his urn and remember once again what is missing from my life, a new layer of cold blackness covers my heart.
A once joyful heart filled with optimism and the promise of new tomorrows, is now shrouded in dark pain.
People think time is helping.
It's not.
I am not better.
I have not come to terms with this.
I am not ok.
I'm as far from ok as I could possibly be.




