Navigating the Unimaginable: Grief, Time, and Rediscovering Ourselves After Loss

As I sit here, reflecting on the overwhelming emotions that have consumed me since losing Dylan, I can't help but ask, "Why Dylan?" It's not a question of "Why me?"—not as an adult, not as a parent. We adults understand that life isn’t always fair. We’re aware that it can be filled with struggles, challenges, and moments of deep pain. But knowing this doesn’t make it any easier to accept the loss of someone we love so dearly.

Nine months have passed since that day, yet it feels as though no time has moved at all. I still find myself thinking that he's not sick, that with this summer heat, he’s just getting better, just as he did a year ago. But while I feel stuck in this moment, time continues to move around me. I watch as my other son grows older, marking the passage of time that I somehow can’t fully grasp.

This is part of my grieving process, a denial that shields me from the full weight of the reality I am facing. The disbelief that Dylan is truly gone, that his life was cut so painfully short, fills me with an anger so intense that I sometimes just want to break everything around me. It's a raw, primal reaction, another part of this long, difficult journey of grief.

As I sit in this storm of emotions, I find myself haunted by the question of why this was Dylan's path. Why did his life end so abruptly, almost without warning? Why didn’t he get the chance to spread his wings here on earth? Instead, it seems his spirit was destined to soar on the other side. These questions linger, unanswered, leaving a profound emptiness in my heart.

And yet, despite the pain, I find the strength to keep moving forward. I hold tightly to the memories we shared and the love that will forever connect us. Though Dylan's physical presence is no longer here, his spirit lives on in the moments we cherish, in the signs he leaves behind, and in the love that will never fade.

But amidst all these overwhelming emotions, I find myself asking a deeper question: Who am I now? With the loss of Dylan, I’ve lost a part of myself. A piece of me died that day as well, leaving me feeling fragmented and unmoored. Over these past nine months, I’ve lost myself in this grief, in the sorrow that seems to overshadow everything else.

I realize that I need to find new dreams, new passions, new hobbies. But what? How does one even begin to rebuild, to change, to become the new person we are meant to be after such a profound loss? Grief doesn’t follow the rules of time. It warps and bends our perception, leaving us stranded in moments that feel both distant and immediate. And while time moves forward, we, too, slowly begin to move with it, carrying our memories and our love with us every step of the way.

Yet, as time has moved, I’ve found that I haven’t. I’ve remained in this suspended state, where it feels like Dylan is still here, still getting better. But I know deep down that he’s not, and that reality is crushing. The anger and sadness that come with this realization are almost too much to bear. But they are part of my process, my way of navigating a world that has been forever changed.

Writing has become my outlet through all of this—a way to process the pain, the confusion, and the rage. My first book, "George's Compass: How to Navigate Grief," was born from this pain, an attempt to make sense of the senseless and to offer guidance to other parents who are struggling with the loss of a child. It was my way of reaching out, of saying, "You are not alone."

My second book, "Dear Mason, From Your Big Brother Dylan," is a heartfelt story that honors the bond between Dylan and his younger brother Mason. It’s a book that seeks to keep Dylan’s memory alive and to help other families who are navigating illness and loss. In writing these books, I’ve found a new purpose, a way to channel my grief into something that might help others.

Perhaps this is my new passion, my new path in life—writing and helping others who are walking this painful road. It’s a way to keep moving forward, to find new pieces of myself amidst the wreckage of loss. It’s a journey I never wanted to take, but it’s one I know I must face. As I search for new dreams, new passions, and new hobbies, I hold onto the hope that, in time, I’ll find a way to become the person I’m meant to be—someone who carries Dylan’s memory with love and who can find meaning and purpose once again.

In these nine months, I’ve come to realize that losing Dylan didn’t just take him away from me; it took away a part of myself. A piece of me died that day, too. But I’m still here, still breathing, still living. And I owe it to myself, to Dylan, and to my other son to find a way to move forward. To rebuild. To find new dreams that honor the love I have for Dylan, while also allowing me to become who I am meant to be in this new chapter of life.

It’s a painful process, filled with more questions than answers. But I know that, somehow, I’ll find a way. One step, one breath, one moment at a time, I will rediscover myself. And in doing so, I’ll keep Dylan’s spirit alive, not just in memory, but in the way I live my life moving forward.

To any parent reading this, know that it’s okay to ask, "Why?" It’s okay to struggle with the answers we may never receive. And it’s okay to continue on, even when the path ahead feels uncertain and fraught with heartache. We carry on, not because it’s easy, but because our love for those we’ve lost propels us forward. It’s the love that binds us, even in the face of unimaginable loss.