No Cedar High School graduation this year. Beck should have graduated with all of his buddies a couple weeks ago.

Class of 2026

Instead, I said my congratulations to the boys that loved him so. Watched their graduation ceremony virtually and felt really proud of the adults these kids have become.

I displayed graduation announcements in my kitchen. Attended a Senior Night for baseball, where they held a moment of silence for him. Had pictures of him arranged on tables, next to his best friends. Little bro was even asked to throw the first pitch and was presented with a high school jersey. He was so excited to be immersed in the event.

Beck’s besties took a full page out in the yearbook to dedicate to him. They acknowledged him as a graduate of the Class of 2026. Tears.

My niece, who attends the same school, sent me a picture of the page. Immediate tears. So tender. What a demonstration of love. A testament to the roots of friendship that he sewed. Roots so deep, unwavering.

Talking about Beck, activities in his honor, yearbooks, all of it… keeps him alive all around our family. He belongs to so many of us.

And now. It’s quiet. There won’t be any big milestones for a while. The sad always comes at times leading up to these turning points he would have been a part of and they stick around for the coming silence. It’s always the same. Anticipating it. Feeling it. Watching it fade. No matter what I have going on in front of me. It always gets its foot in the door.

It’ll be 5 years in October. You’d think that the grief cycle would get easier. It doesn’t. As predictable as some of these watersheds are, they still feel sad and dark and empty. Sometimes I sit in the dark longer than I should. Really looking around, feeling it from my head to my toes. A depressive episode. I was stuck in it for at least a month this time. That’s a long one. I’m going to have another ketamine session. I just had a small session that yanked me out of my own despondency. I plan on having another this week, to remind my brain that I can’t live there. Rebuild some synapsis. Not gonna lie, I think I’m pretty good at masking it. Not that it’s something to brag about. It’s not. But I really don’t think people know. My partner does. He knows exactly where my head is at. I am grateful for his steady calm. The love I feel. Sitting with me. Encouraging me to take care of me, in all the ways he knows I love. Not trying to fix anything because I’m not broken… just feeling it through. Feeling something unusual. Unnatural. That’s part of my life.

Mother’s Day was right in the middle of the dark. I asked for one thing…. a new fuzzy blanket and a nap on the comfiest couch in our cold, newly finished basement. The basics bring the most comfort sometimes. I went to hot yoga twice last week. I started waking up. I got my hair and my nails done, the clouds started to subside. Do not dismiss the self care that is feeling pretty about yourself. Feeling shiny opposed to dull and damaged. It helps. At least for me.

I’m still working on setting boundaries with family members who grieve very differently. In what I would consider, unhealthy ways. They can do it however they want to, but they aren’t allowed to disrupt my peace. I’m still learning to navigate through people who don’t agree with how I’m operating through these key moments in MY life, that end up causing unnecessary strife.

Just another complexity of it all. Although, as I take up more space without caring what others think, the boundaries get easier and the extra noise will eventually become someone else’s noise. I don’t want it. Speaking of noise that doesn’t belong to me, I flipped this concept around and bought myself some energy clearing bells. That sound is mine. Calms the brain and body. A peaceful focus point. Highly recommend.