Grief makes people behave in strange ways – both the bereaved and those around them. After losing my five-year-old son, I thought my friend’s constant “move on” comments were just clumsy attempts to help. Then I visited her apartment.
Every wall displayed photos of my child – including private moments I never shared. His favorite shirt lay draped over her sofa arm. A box contained his tiny sneakers and socks, arranged like museum pieces. When she revealed my husband had given her these treasures from our healing process, I understood her obsession. Childless herself, she’d crossed from supportive friend to disturbing impersonator of motherhood. Without a word, I reclaimed my son’s belongings and my right to grieve authentically.
