He’s never coming back.

If I had to pick the hardest thing about losing my adult son, this would be it.
He’s never coming back.
It’s a brick wall that I will never be able to climb over, tear down or go around.
Every tick of the clock, every hour, every day, every anniversary, forces me to acknowledge, my son is dead.
We had our last goodbye.
We had our last phone call.
Losing a child, at any age, is a trauma that changes you forever.
Learning how to breathe, to exist, after my son’s suicide, feels like I am balancing on a tightrope stretched over a volcano, the flames reaching up to lick my weary feet. The excruciating pain is telling me to give up, just let go.
The heat promises to burn off my pain, to remove every memory. I want to jump in that volcano.
I thank Jesus that my brain knows that pain is a liar and my heart fights the lies.
Truth? He is never coming back. There is not one single, solitary thing I can do to change that fact. There are no do-overs after death.
I don’t know how people survive this pain without Jesus, but he is the only reason I’m still here. Thank you, Jesus.
Richard William McClellan, Jr.
12-29-78~04-18-25

Richard William McClellan, Jr. 12-29-78~4-18-25