Long before we lost Thomas, I used to think of how parents constantly lose their children, not to death but to growth. We lose the infant, but we don't really mourn because he or she is replaced by the toddler. The toddler is lost and replaced, too. The four-year-old is lost and replaced by the five-year-old, and so on. For many parents, this process does not happen without a certain amount of sorrow. However, the sorrow is minor compared to the joy and pride we feel in watching out children grow and flourish, forever learning new things, using new words, advancing towards the bright future we see for them, a future that we imagine will bring us even more joy and pride.

I don't know if my sorrow is getting steadily worse, or whether this is some sort of  intense "wave" of grief that's washing over me these days, but I find myself crying harder, longer and more frequently this past week or so. It's similar for my wife. I suspect the reality of our loss is only now really hitting us. In any case, I have realised that I am not only mourning for Thomas the eight-year-old, but also for his multiple manifestations. I grieve for the infant one minute, the toddler the next, the four-year-old, the five-year-old, and all the way up, including the wonderful man I fully expected he would become. This is excruciating.

As I wrote before, though, I don't want my pain to disappear really, even if it's debilitating at times. But this agony cannot become constant. I need frequent distractions to interrupt it. Otherwise, I'll need to fear for my mental state, and I'll be unfaithful to Thomas's memory. My boy loved life and was ever brimming with joy. I can't allow the life to slip out of my living altogether. This wouldn't be right or fair to anyone. But both my wife and I are fighting a very difficult battle in this regard. Please continue to pray for our strength.

Ever with the deepest appreciation for your faithfulness,

Allan.