How can it be five years? How can it be, outside of cherished photos and treasured memories, five long years, since I have seen your face, been uplifted by the warmth of your smile or felt your famous hugs? How can it be when I long to talk to you, smell your cologne, hear your laughter or soak in your essence and learn from your wisdom, I am painfully reminded of the giant chasm that separates us? How can it be that someone so good and kind and such a vital and important part of so many lives is simply gone?

Yes, this is the day when all of these questions and so many more beg to be answered. This is the day Heavenly Father called my son Dallin home, the day that forever altered our existence, the day when taking this life for granted came to a blunt and brutal end. For the most part I have learned to navigate this unexpected detour, put on a happy face, rely on faith and quell my inner turmoil to a minimum. But there is always a dull ache in my heart, a wound that never quite seems to heal, a hole in my soul that, on days like today, seems to swallow me. And that is okay . . .

I believe when you lose a child there is a protective numbness that becomes part of your being. For awhile this detachment helped me function, but it also dulled my senses. It shielded me from pain but it also robbed me of joy. It was a way to cope and move forward with my loss without succumbing to the many debilitating forms of grief. Slowly I have come to understand it is not healthy to live in a numbed existence, to bottle up grief; it needs somewhere to go. Allowing myself a time and place to grieve deeply is a way for me to break out of the numbness and be true to myself. So especially today I choose to grieve. I choose to allow my profound sorrow to wash over me, to remind me of what I have lost. I do not do this to feel sorry for myself or encourage pity. I do this because I loved and still love my son, with all of my mother’s heart. I ache for his physical presence. I mourn the future I would have had with him. I do this to feel, really feel all of the raw emotions both sad and happy because you cannot have one without the other. Today is a difficult and heartbreaking day. It is also a day I more fully remember Dallin and everything he lived for. As I continue to set my grief free, I will look for opportunities to honor Dallin’s memory by sharing his examples of service, love and unrestrained enthusiasm with everyone I meet.

Happy Angelversary my precious son.
Yo Mama loves you.