A day or two after my son's death I found his bathrobe, and I held i t to my face to breathe i n the smell. I did this often for the next few days u n t i l his smell dissipated from the cloth. I t was the sour scent of sweat, but i t smelled sweet to me. I was despondent when the scent was gone, but the absence of Jason's smell reinforced the real i ty of his physical absence. M y son was gone, forever. I could delay no longer. I had to begin the journey of learning how to get on w i t h my life-to do what had to be done to become a "survivor." Others were already on this journey, and some were among people I knewi n some cases the parents had lost their chi ld so long ago that no one talked about i t any more, and for that reason I had not been aware of their loss.