A guiding star inside my grief

This post is part of my writing course. The prompt was about a guiding star inside your grief- are there people who live their own grief in a way that gives you encouragement, inspiration, or direction?

Yes. I have a guiding star. I have several I can talk to about different aspects of this bullshit that is losing a child. That's the thing about living in a hospital, especially a bone marrow transplant unit. You meet other parents with about the same odds as you of coming out of this thing with their kid, who are just as desperate as you. 

My main guiding star is farthest from her loss. I think that's important. She knows how much it hurts, how impossible it feels to live it. But she also knows that life can be sweet again, someday, in a different way. She is a living version of the hope I have for my future. 

As much as I want to die sometimes, I can see all of the gifts my guiding star has received in her life because she chose to keep living after her loss. So I tell myself I will receive gifts in my life if I keep waking up everyday and leave my heart open to those possibilities. I have a deep understanding that it will not be any time soon. That I have to keep moving, however slow it might be, for a long time before anything resembling joy shows up again. But my guiding star shows me that it's real.

When they thought Eli was going to die, I sent a message to my friend. "I can't do this. It hurts too much." She sent a message back. "Yes, you can. I'm so sorry you have to." They were maybe the kindest words I have ever been given. They were kind because they were true and they were given with the pain of experience. I have since heard her say them to other people facing loss. I have said them to other people. They are a gift each time they are spoken. You can do this. I'm so sorry you have to. 

I told my friend that I didn't want to stop saying Eli's name. That once he was gone, I wouldn't have a reason to say his name anymore and people wouldn't say his name to me. She promised me we would still say his name. And we do. 

I'm exploring how to have a relationship with my son now that he's gone. Currently, it feels strikingly one-sided. But my guiding star has been at times an usher assisting me, and at times a model of continuing to publicly love and honor her son. 

I have several other guiding stars. They each grieve differently, but I take bits and pieces that feel right for me and use them in my grief. 

They help me answer the questions that linger. What do I do now? How do I keep honoring my son? I see what they have done with their questions. Some have gone back to work quickly. Some have taken some time. Most are still finding their way regardless of the immediate decisions they had to make. There are no right answers, but helps to see the array of real life options. 

I'm intensely grateful for my guiding stars. And I'm so sorry they are my guiding stars.