How Grief Taught Me the True Meaning of Home

The Years Before Loss

For six years, my daughter-in-law Lynn and her two children lived in my house. When my son was alive, it never once felt like a burden. On the contrary, I enjoyed the noise of children’s laughter echoing through the hallways. I loved hearing my son’s footsteps returning home from work, the sound of his voice filling the kitchen as he teased his wife or played with his kids.

My home was alive then. Their presence gave it warmth. Their belongings scattered across the living room were not clutter but comfort. Their meals at my table did not take space; they filled the silence with joy.

But then came the day I never prepared for: the day my son was taken from us.

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