They often say I’m strong. They say I’m coping well. The reality of my grief is something I don’t show to many. I carry that grief quiet most of the time.
Losing a child is entering a club that no one ever wants to join. One day he was here—my person, my best friend, the one who knew me flaws and all—and the next, my world stopped on a song while the rest of the world just kept spinning.
I wrote “The Quiet I Carry” because there is a specific kind of silence that comes with this type of grief. It’s the silence of a house that should be louder, the silence of people who are afraid to say his name as if it were a disease, and the silence I keep inside so I don’t bring others down.
Listen to “The Quiet I Carry – Your Light Shines Bright, Ray”
This song is my way of making sure the world never forgets him. It’s about living half in faith and half in pretend, while always looking for those little signs he sends—a song at the perfect time or a memory that catches me off guard.
To my other children who still need my light: I rise each day and I choose to fight for you. But to my son: everything good I do is still for you. Whether I’m on the lake where your line was once cast or just standing between the water and the blue, I feel you there.
This is for every parent carrying a “sacred scar.” Our love doesn’t die; it just turns bold. This song also hints at something that is in its earliest stages that I hope to bring to reality in my son’s name to help grieving families.
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