It took one phone call to one close friend of Zane’s to fill our home that day.  In a matter of hours, over fifty people came through the front door, bringing food and drink and tears. I watched Zane’s friends, many who we knew since they were babies, have a shot of Jameson’s in honor of our son.  They laughed. They cried. They hugged.  They shared stories of Zane and reassured us how much our son loved us.  “We were his all”.  They stayed until late that night. One friend, as he left, hugged me and said;

“Thank you for opening up your home to all of us.  It is the only place we can find comfort right now.”   

His words reminded me that we were all in pain.

Zane’s friends are inherited blessings. They brought pictures of Zane and the adventures they shared.  They brought letters and stories Zane had written.  They left them with us.  The pictures adorn our walls now and the letters and memorabilia given to us bring us comfort. We would not have these without his wonderful friends.

Some people have troubles with pictures.  We have one friend who asks us each time they see Zane’s picture up if it is slowing our healing down.  Some grief warriors can’t look at any pictures.  It’s kryptonite.  There is no right way to grieve.  For us, I have Zane’s pictures and his belongings naturally scattered around the house.  As if he was still living with us.  I find comfort in these reminders that he is and will always be a part of our life.

Pictures and items of our loved ones are filled with their energy.  They hold the essence of our child.  They are a snapshot of an experience they had, one of their stories.  These stories are now one of our shared memories.  His pictures bring me back to that happy time and place.  I can feel grateful that he laughed and had such fun times. 

Yes, certain days his pictures are painful when my grief is crashing in.  But it is not the picture that brings this grief on.  I don’t need a picture to remind me that there will not be another snapshot to frame.  Zane’s things are proof that my son was involved, adventurous and loved. And when I hold his things or look at the pictures, I tell my grief that.