comforting journal excerpts

But in his grief immediately upon Conan"s death, Chuck suddenly stopped seeking my opinion

and began turning to his ex-wife. I knew they had to make many final decisions together, and

I realized later that he was trying to spare me from the gruesome details, but for the first

time, I began to feel like an outsider instead of a parent.

I also knew the driver responsible for the accident had to be prosecuted, which meant Chuck

and his ex-wife would have to stay in contact. Those ugly jealousies from the past began to

resurface when, night after night, he talked to her, seldom discussing their conversations

with me.

And it stung when friends inquired only about Chuck"s coping, or sent sympathy cards

addressed just to him, forgetting about me and even our two children. Some belittled my

grieving because I was "just" a stepparent. Did anyone realize my loss and pain? I"d had

strong maternal feelings for Conan; he considered me his second mother - or did he? As the

weeks turned into months, that question haunted me, dominating my thoughts. I became driven

to understand just what my role had been.

I rummaged through boxes of photos and dug out old journals, searching the house for

mementos, even Christmas ornaments he had made.

There were several comforting journal excerpts, one describing Mother"s Day phone calls from

Conan to me, and a beautiful white poinsettia he gave me at Christmas. And I cherished the

memories old photos brought back - his loving bear hugs after cooking his favorite meal - or

a kiss for simply doing his laundry. As comforting as these things were, they still weren"t

enough.

One beautiful spring day, almost a year after he died, I was lovingly caressing the pressed

rose from his grave that I kept in my Bible. Suddenly, I felt compelled to visit his grave

alone. I had never done that before, but I desperately needed some answers.