It's coming up on my son's birthday. He died almost twelve years ago, right before Easter. It's bothering me so much lately that no one talks about him, or even seems to remember him. I feel like I am the only one who mourns him. I suppose his father might, but we were divorced most of my son's childhood, so I'm not exactly sure how a divorced father would feel, compared with a mom that raised a son to the age of a young man and then he died. He was 27.

I feel like our family history was stolen from us. I look back on pictures, and he's in the middle of everything. He's right there, in all of the memories of our family's past. My remaining sons lost their brother. We were a happy bunch. Now I feel very alone in grieving him. I'm so sad that he's not here. I feel like it shouldn't bother me so much, but I think I will be sad about Tyson being gone until the day I am myself.