"I am his mother"

This is not easy to share, but I need to speak. I’m a private person, and what follows is deeply personal. I’m not seeking conflict — only to share the truth about my love for my son, my grief, and the pain of being left out of his story. If this helps even one person seek help, then the vulnerability is worth it. ⸻ I am his mother. Two weeks ago, I lost my son, Owen Briggs. The grief is unrelenting. There are no words big enough to hold the weight of losing him — and yet, I’ve found myself needing to speak. Because while I’m mourning Owen, I’ve also been forced to face another kind of heartbreak: I was left out of his obituary. Erased. Silenced. As if I wasn’t his mother. As if I wasn’t there the day he was born. As if I didn’t kiss scraped knees, sing lullabies, stay up through sickness, fight for him, love him with every ounce of my being. As if I didn’t carry him in my body and in my heart for every single day of his life. He had my curly hair and my whole heart. I am his mother. ...