Last weekend at a concert a 20ish year old dude got mouthy when Robbie asked (well – told) him basically to shut up. Robbie’s words weren’t that harsh but he was frustrated and that came through in his tone. The guy had been talking loudly, non-stop through the first 4 bands that played. We really wanted to hear the music. After Robbie spoke and the dude began to retaliate I turned around and told him the concert was important to us. That I had lost my son and the music we were there to hear meant a lot to us (yep it was a Christian music concert. The light of Christ was shining oh so brightly during this exchange!). He said that didn’t have anything to do with him – I was projecting my issues on him. Needless to say I didn’t take that comment too well. My inner sense of “that’s not fair!” was triggered and I was ready to fight. I’ve always been a bit scrappy. Apparently I think I’m tough enough to take on anyone. Thankfully the friend he was with apologized to us and they changed seats.
Big tough me that was ready to fight then spent the next 45 minutes sobbing in the middle of the concert. I was crushed. Crushed that someone didn’t care enough about my son’s death to simply be quiet during a concert. Crushed that God allowed that exchange to happen. I found myself wishing Drey’s friends were there – they would’ve kicked his ass. They would’ve shown him what it looks like to care about a Mom who lost her boy. Wait. Stop. Where did that line of thinking come from?? It caught me a bit off guard. I didn’t realize there was this thread woven into the “new, bereaved me” that wants others that loved Drey – besides my husband – to defend and protect me.
Yet another loss to grieve. The loss of Drey as an adult man that would’ve looked out for his Mom. I’m brought to my knees yet again asking God to be my protector, my defender.
I’m tired, I’m sad, I ache. This grief is still heavy. I miss you so, baby.

Be Still