M.J. Thompson

Anyone who's struggled with insomnia knows the nightly battle: snoring dogs, fitted sheets that refuse to stay put, hot flashes, racing thoughts. And sometimes, it's about the one memory you're trying hardest not to think about.

Months after writing some of the hardest words of my life in the middle of a cemetery, I heard them sung back to me for the very first time. Sometimes grief doesn't become lighter—it simply finds a different voice.

After a lifetime of creating what I call "learning opportunities" for myself, I thought I understood pain. Then I lost my son and discovered that some injuries don't heal the way broken bones do.

Returning to work reminded me of something I never understood before losing my son: human beings aren't built to comprehend the loss of a child until it becomes their reality. Almost forty-two weeks later, I still don't fully believe Aidan is gone. Maybe denial isn't a stage of grief after all.