At our new place, no one knows of our truth.  No one here is aware that we have ‘lost a child’.  One neighbor, who has seen Payton come by a few times, asked if I only have a daughter.  I said, “oh no, we have a son too”.  It is the truth even though the assumption would be he is alive. And that is what I like about here.

There is some sort of peace that comes with people not knowing my story. It doesn’t include the apologies or misguided questions and comments. Grief, even when shared with friends, has a solemn energy. The energy is different with the illusion that our life is normal, even though it is far from normal. And it isn’t that I have lied; it is that no one has asked any questions that I would have to share our story in order to answer them. 

And then it happened.  We were taking Tango out for a walk and our neighbor had a friend over.  The friend recognized us.  Her daughter dated Zane for years and actually lived with us for almost two years before they broke up.  They stayed friends and I took her in as my own.  To this day she keeps in touch and is like a big sister to Payton.  The mother hugs us; we have not seen her since long before the crash.  She tears up but says nothing about Zane.  I am relieved. We comment on how long it’s been, how fabulous we all look and then we leave to walk the dog.

I told Jon I was a bit saddened.  We know she will tell our neighbor what happened.  My bubble is no longer and my new community will know of the hell we live with. I am not sure why this bothers me.  I have no illusion of what my reality is.  Perhaps what I have enjoyed is the fantasy of others not knowing and therefore thinking that my boy just hasn’t come over yet for anyone to see.  This unawareness was ok for me; it was an unexplainable cushion for my grief.  It was a feeling that I will miss. 

I will carry on, anticipating the “I just heard” to which I will reply (yet again), “thank you, yes, it is unimaginable….”