The Hard Truths I Faced After Losing My Son
After I lost my son Keith, I asked myself questions that hurt to answer. Had I shown up enough? Should I have been harder on him or pressed him more about his choices and the people he called friends? I even questioned decisions I had made years earlier, including my choice of his father. I blamed myself for so many things. I wondered whether, if I had been a better mother, he might have made different choices.
I had to be honest about my regrets. But I also had to face another truth: I was not the person who aimed a gun at my son. I did not pull the trigger. I was not the person who carried hatred, envy, or jealousy toward him. No matter what I wished I had done differently as his mother, I did not make that violent decision.
Understanding that did not make the pain disappear. The memories and the replays were still there. I had to choose whether the loss of my son would take the rest of my life, too.
I could not have kept going without the people around me. My bishop, pastors, Prophetess Jackie, and others in my ministry kept pouring into me. They reminded me that I had other children and that I still had a life to live. I believed Keith would want more for me than to give up.
So I picked myself up, shook myself off, and kept going. It was not easy, and I needed those reminders again and again. But I chose not to quit.
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