My grandfather had dementia.  After my father died, my grandpa would come over and ask "where is Jim?" Each time someone would have to tell him that Jim had died and grandpa would relive the grief over and over again. It was horrifying to watch.  Finally, I said that we would just have to tell him dad was sleeping.  That is what it is like to mourn a child. 

I realized yesterday with some trepidation that the gut-wrenching rawness of Ali's death is never going to go away.  You cannot raise a child and then have them taken from you forever and not have your insides rip apart...each time like it is new again.

What does change and will continue to change is the length of time between these moments.  The time between re-living the grief grows longer with the passing of each month and year and this is how you rebuild your life.  In the space between.

This is true for all of us.  There is space between our hardships; for some people it is an expanse of years and for others it is merely seconds.  What matters is what we choose to fill that space with.  Pay attention, look around, find the good and breathe it in.  This is how you will go on.  This is what it means to live.