We read some poems, we listened to music, they sang a song and we lit some candles.
I cried and cried, as I haven's done in months, silently, tears after tears until I had swollen eyes and dry skin. And it didn't stop for hours. It hasn't stopped yet, to be honest.
After days of new weird normal, other thoughts and worries, other tasks to focused on and concerns to think of, the grief came back as a thunderstorm with heavy rain and lightening. Apparently Jacopo needs his space, needs his mother's full attention, needs me completely focused on him. And he will have me, just for him, sometimes.
In our new home, I want to find a quite corner close to the River and I want it to be dedicated to my son. A place where I can go and grieve and cry and smile and bring a flower or lit a candle. A place close to me where I can bring my children and teach them that death is part of life, it doesn't have to be denied because the memories of who we loved will be with us until our own death and they claim space in our lives. Even just a day or two per year of full dedicated attention.