One thing that I haven't...

blogged about too much is the life, illness, and consequent death of my first child, James. And that's actually his real name. I use pseudonyms for my other sons.

I bring this up because a post I wrote the other day referenced his death (you can read it here), and Megan of Sortacrunchy asked about this in her comment. Talking, or writing, about James is actually one of my favorite things to do, even if there are tears involved. The tears are an inevitable expression, but these are the good kind of tears--the ones that allow a release of emotions both of joy for the gift and sorrow for the loss. I find it a shame that we are a culture uncomfortable with death and grieving to the point that we tend to shy away from asking or talking about a bereavement because we fear the tears. Yet one of the greatest things you can do for someone who has experienced the death of a child is to ask them about their child.

So Megan, thanks for asking. I welcome the chance to write about James. There is a post here and here that share a bit about him. I'm finally at a point in my blogging where I'm ready to write down many of the things that comprised that time of my life and all of his short life.