50 days, 19 hours, and 23 minutes without him.

About a week and a half ago, I had one of the hardest days since losing Wolf. I laid beside his grave for 12 hours and cried. I didn’t want to leave. I just wanted to die so I could be with him. This morning, I read about why certain days in grief can feel inexplicably heavier… kind of crazy that the day I laid beside him for 12 hours was day 40. In several cultures and spiritual traditions, the 40th day after death marks an important period of mourning and the soul’s transition.

Two days ago was different. I couldn’t do much of anything, but I felt this overwhelming need to take care of his grave—to decorate it, add lights, and even hand-cut the grass around him to make his resting place beautiful.

The day I felt compelled to tend to his grave was day 49. In Japanese Buddhist tradition, the 49th day is the final of seven seven-day mourning periods and holds special significance in honoring the person who died and their passage onward.

Anyway, I didn’t know the significance of either day when they happened. I was just following whatever was pulling me toward my son but now the significance of those days is hard to ignore.