My Final Journeys book has a chapter praising denial. Denial is a wonderful crutch, and the author recommends using it for as long as possible, until you have something else to lean on.

I think denial is critical for me these days. It allows me to make dinner and have friends over and go grocery shopping without crying on the produce manager.

There are a few weak spots in my denial armour. The first crack to appear was the idea that our toddler son likely won’t have any memories of his dad. I can’t think about that without my armour cracking.

The new dangerous thought is when I remember Brock or see pictures of when he was healthy. The physical change in him over the past few months (weeks!) is extreme. He looks old and pale and sick now, and is not the vibrant, robust guy I’ve known for so many years. I’m mourning the death of this previous, healthy man.