1/10 Folks who follow me here on Twitter may know that my nine-year-old son Elijah died 2 1/2 years ago from pediatric brain cancer. Three years ago, while he was still sick, a group of amazing people from the @501stLegion came to his school to celebrate him. 
2/10 It was a miraculous and amazing day, and Elijah was named an honorary Jedi. This same group of people came out in force after Elijah died, showing up in costume as an honor guard at his memorial service.
3/10 That Christmas, the actor Adam Driver, who, along with a number of other Star Wars actors including @HamillHimself made a happy birthday video for Elijah the day before he died, invited me to the Star Wars world premiere.
4/10 This weekend one of these amazing local Star Wars folks, Rob Cross, invited me to his sons birthday party. Rob lost his own father to brain cancer when he was nine years old, and was deeply affected by Elijah and his death.
5/10 He and some other Legion members were invited to the premiere for the work they have done, and he commissioned a friend (also a Legion member) to make a painting about his first meeting with Elijah.
6/10 The painting says “No one is ever really gone” (in Aurebesh). In the 3 1/2 years since Elijah got sick and died, I have received so much grace and kindness like this, from strangers, friends, family, and people whose lives my son in some way affected.
7/10 The grief of losing a child is so deep as to be unfathomable, And 2 1/2 years out I often feel painfully alone, as if no one can possibly imagine what I still carry. And then someone unexpectedly bestows upon me a gift of Elijah’s spirit, alive and breathing in the world.
8/10 One of my dearest friends just did this, sending me a picture of the shrine that her children built for Elijah on the day of the dead. Acts like this don’t make the grief go away, but they do remind me that it’s burden is shared by many people.
9/10 When Elijah was sick, and shortly after he died, I felt like this public sharing of grief was the only thing that kept me sane, because I couldn’t even process all of it on my own. Now I treasure every reminder that others still grieve for him, that other hearts still ache.
10/10 This seems to me an extraordinary and important lesson about grief and loss. Grief is always (if one is lucky) communal, and it leaves traces of love and regard that one can turn to at times when you might otherwise feel alone. At least that’s how it feels today. END
