No Time for Grieving

These last few weeks have been so completely consumed by things to do that I feel completely beside myself. I have had to go back to work full time, which is a regular shift plus being on call. "On call" means I have to be available 24/7, but can work from where ever I am on what ever problem they are experiencing. My co-worker and I switch on-call responsibilities every week. He has been on call since the end of February (poor guy). It is my turn now that I am back full-time. Working 8 hours a day, plus being on call, plus running a thousand different places for my kids has taken its toll this week. The migraines (which I suffer normally from) have returned and are in full force. Apparently my reprieve has ended. What I find the hardest, is not that I can not go to work, not that I can not be moms taxi, not that I cant cook dinner or do the hundred million other things in life, but that I do not have time to grieve. I do not have time to think thoughts, or sort through memories. I do not have time to put away the pictures that have been sitting on my dining room table since March 1st. I do not have time to do the things that I need to do. Like take 10 minutes and cry loudly and uncontrollably. Like walk past his room and talk to him. Like write down how I feel and what I think. My mind is so busy worrying about what I have to do next, I cant seem to grasp the grief. What I find myself doing is sitting in my cube at work, realizing I have been zoning out for the last 20 minutes staring at something I struggle to care about, and then I cry. Silently at my desk, hoping no one will walk by and see me, praying that I will not make a noise. The experts say getting back into life is the best thing for me. I completely understand this line of reasoning. I don't know that I will ever be ready or feel that it is helpful. I don't know when I will ever get all this stuff done either. I feel stressed out all the time because I am trying to hold it together, because I have no other time to grieve. I have no time to cry, to let loose. There is work to do and things to get done.

Happiest Place On Earth

In December/January we planned a trip to Disney. Five tickets. This was going to be our last family vacation before Austin left for college. There might be more, but not while we were all in the same house, none ever quite the same.Now, nothing is ever going to be the same. How can we still go? I have asked myself this a thousand times. And I know the answers, I understand them. My two children never questioned whether we would go. This is for them. The 4 of us need this vacation. We need to have a little fun. We need to get away from here. From daily life. We need to be together and make some new memories, some happy memories. But how can we go to the happiest place on earth when life is so unhappy? When we can barely breathe in? The answer is because we have to.Life goes on, whether we want it to or not. Because there are 2 beautiful, wonderful, funny children who didn't ask for this misery. Who need to know it's ok for them to live and enjoy life even I feel incapable of doing that. This is for them. And we will gain from it as well.
I have an eternal struggle raging . Do we grab life by the horns & live to the fullest with the weighty knowledge that today could be our last day? Or do we cautiously enter the world, knowing it's full of pain and sorrow, trying to minimize the pain as much as possible? Feeling the pressure from every angle? For my children, I want them to LIVE! Feel it all, taste it, experience it, love it passionately and let go of their anger and pain. I currently do not feel capable of fully grasping and engaging this philosophy. I still feel like I'm walking through hell. And while I feel like I am doing the best things I can for my kids, I make mistakes. And right now, I am not trusting my parenting so much. All along, I thought I was making mistakes, but overall, doing ok. And now, I am not sure that belief holds true.

A long, long road

Dreaming can be so hellish, so bizarre and so enlightening. 

I was driving on the interstate, all alone, it was very dark. No other cars on the road but me. I had my phone in my hand, and I was crying. I was thinking of my son and how much I missed him, really lost in the emotion and grief. I dialed the phone, like I've done one thousand times before. I just needed to hear his voice again. I heard his voice mail pick up, I cried harder, knowing he would never answer it again. Then my phone rang. It was one of his friends. I am not sure which one. They  told me they had just talked to Austin and he needed me to go pick him up and he wanted them to make sure they told me he was ok. I do not remember where the "place" was or how far away, only that it was a considerable distance. It would take me a significant time to get there. I cried and cried. I couldn't figure out why his friend would say this to me? They are such good kids, it would not be likely for them to hurt me like that. I called his phone again, there was no answer. But I couldn't ignore the feeling that I needed to go. What if?  

So I drove and drove and drove, for hours, I drove. I was absolutely exhausted. I was a little ashamed that I was being so irrational as to drive so far for something I knew couldn't be true. But I still don't believe the current truth, so who is to tell me I am irrational? When I got to the destination I was given, it was a gas station (Heaven is a gas station?). I pull in, and there are people I know there, but they are not surprised to see me, as if I was just bumping into them at our local gas station. Good friends, casual ones now, but once really good, close friends. They smiled and nodded, but I didn't want to talk to them, I just wanted to get to my son! The gas station had really cheap gas, and was ultra bright. Bright, in a way that football field lights light up a stadium and everything around it. I parked my car and then I was in a really bright white room, just an ordinary square white room. Austin was there, and I got to hug him and touch him. It felt so good. So pure. So absolutely real. I still feel that today. He said, "Madre, I'm ok, it's really all right. It's good here." And he smiled his beautiful smile and held out his hand and said, "You can come with me if you really wanna." I held his hand. In that moment there was comfort, and peace and all was right in the world. Then I realized I had stuff to do still, that my family needed me. I thought of each of my children and my fiance. I hesitated. I couldn't leave them behind. And then he was gone. 

Of course now, I am still aching with loss and grieving for my young man who doesn't get to go forward, doesn't get to do all the things he was supposed to do. For just those few brief moments, I felt at peace. I felt absolute happiness for the first time. I  woke up a few minutes later. I was so so sad, and so happy all at once. I got to feel him, see him, touch him, but he was still gone. I also felt like I knew what really happened. I felt like I knew this for sure, like I had been there and it wasn't so bad. Now those good feelings of peace and relief are fading and I am unsure of what I felt or thought I knew, but it felt really good for a moment. I feel like he really was here.

I should feel better that he told me he was ok. It doesn't make me miss him less, or want him back any less, but I really do feel like he is at peace and he needed to tell me that. It was the kind of kid he was. There are a million things that I can take from this. There are a lot of funny anecdotes that fit in well here. Like how he said he would haunt us if anything ever happened to him. We had that type of sense of humor. But what I really felt was this incredible feeling of peace that I have not felt before or since his passing. You can rationalize that my subconscious is trying to quiet my mind, that I need to feel at peace with things, and that it is survival mode. But my mind does not like to be quieted, it really doesn't seem to care whether I need to get through something or not. It likes to find the truth. It digs and obsesses and analyzes until it uncovers the truth. It does not listen to things like that, so this to me is an unreasonable answer. Whether it be my subconscious or it be my son, or it be God, he told me he was ok. And he told me that he would be there waiting for me when my road ended. It may take me a long time to get there. It may be dark and scary and cold. But in the end, he will be there, and really its just a short amount of time. I could choose to live and take care of the people that take care of me or I could walk with him now. I know what he was trying to tell me. And I feel it. And I know now he did know how much I loved him. Still, my heart breaks.

How many?

I was asked how many children I have today. I did not know how to answer. I sat there for what felt like eternity trying to figure out how to answer and trying not to cry. What do I say now?
I could say:
I have three, but one died. This option is awkward and makes for much too serious of a conversation with the casual stranger. And it also opens the door for more questions I don't want to answer.
I have two. This option makes me feel like I would be ignoring his existence, and how he impacted our world. And feels less than honest.
I have three. The next logical response now is to question their ages. At some point, I will have two 17 year olds. It leaves me floundering around searching for words and explanations that don't come.
Some other creative "truth" or running away hysterically?
Its such a strange thing to think about. I believe this is the core of why people who suffer through tragedy & loss feel awkward and vulnerable in public. We no longer belong to that world. We don't know what to say or how to react.
And really, to the person who asked, it probably doesn't matter. I will probably never see them again. I could make up a story, saying I have 14 kids, 3 husbands and a monkey. They would be thoroughly entertained, but the question or the answer wouldn't matter to them. But it matters to me.

How are you?

Simple enough question. All of us ask it several times per day. Even though I hate it, I realized I asked it of a person yesterday, when I knew the answer already. They were not well, not alright, but I asked anyway. I personally try to avoid the question now. When people ask me how I am, I want to scream: "I am falling apart, I'm in hell. My son is dead. I don't know why! How do you think I am??????!!!!" But instead I just try not to cry when I say "I am ok." It would be unfair of me to scream at someone who inquired on how I was doing. Most people generally mean well, and the ones that don't, I really try not to speak to at all. What else do you say to someone who you know is hurting, who is just trying to not freak out every second of the day? What can you possibly say to let them know that you care and want to know if you are holding up? There is nothing. There is nothing anyone can say, because there is nothing I can say. At the visitation, people would say "I'm not sure what to say, sorry is not enough." I told them "I know, and its ok, there are no words." I could see the compassion and love in their eyes and they didn't need to say anything. I am still kicking myself for asking that person yesterday. What I should have said is, I know times are really hard right now, life sucks and its hard to even breathe, but I understand and I am here for you. I think that may have made us both feel better.

Fear

I feel like I am running out of things to say. Unable to find new words to describe my pain and confusion. But the days do not change or get any easier. Time seems to be suspended while flying by at the same time. I have no idea how this can happen, it is beyond my comprehension.
I read a blog today that made me cry, not as if that is a difficult task these days. This poor soul had lost two children within two years of each other. I can not possibly imagine how you could continue waking up in the morning. But it is something I fear everyday. I asked the question a couple weeks ago, "What is left to fear, if the thing you fear most has come true?" I didn't know the answer then, but I do now. What is left to fear is that you will have to continue to live it everyday forever. Or that something worse may happen. Its hard to believe there is something worse, but there always is. And I worry constantly there is more to come.An optimist might feel that if the worst has happened, there is nothing left to fear. That you should brave the world knowing you have walked through hell and are still here. That your job is not done yet, so hold that head up and carry on. I am somewhere in the middle. I feel this fire underneath me feeling like I need to shout out at the world and run bravely forward and throw all worries away, let God deal with them. And then I collapse again. Feeling vulnerable and small and like the world is on my shoulders and I can not hold it. Perhaps I am at a crossroads and only time will tell which path I choose. I pray for the strength to be able to run, to carry on. But I am not so sure God is listening right now, or taking any requests from me.

Unwell

Matchbox 20s "Unwell" keeps looping through my mind. It's strange how music changes meaning during certain times in your life. And how music is a constant. But my thoughts today are not really about music but about how unwell I feel. How pain & grief wash over me when I least expect it. How a person so young can be everywhere I go and in everything I do. How the world is so changed now. How ugly things like stretch marks can be so beautiful now. And how sunny days aren't as bright.
Someone said to me the other day they were surprised I could function. Honestly, so am I. My thoughts are unfocused, my brain is numb, my body doesn't know what the hell is going on, my faith is angry, and I just feel unwell. I continue to function but that's it. And then there are times when the clouds part and intense feelings of pain and loss wash over me and envelop me for a long time. I obsess about every single moment of his life and then stutter on several moments torturing myself with no reprieve in sight. And then, I'm working on a girl scout project or making dinner for my family, or checking in with someone to make sure they are doing ok and remember I love them and am here for them, or just trying to remember what I am forgetting. Grief is an odd thing. It's exhausting. It's excruciating. And it's constant. But life just goes on. Whether we want it to or not.

Humankind- Be both.

This saying is all over my middle son's school. And it always makes me laugh when I see it.

Through most of my life, I have not trusted people, or let them too close to me for fear of getting hurt. It has been my experience that people will let you down and hurt you. And its a cycle that feeds itself. I, on occasion, can be persuaded to drop my guard and trust. It has sometimes been a very good choice and I have been rewarded greatly. But its very difficult to persuade me. And while I will tell people to try to have a little faith in people, I do so hypocritically. Even through this experience I have cried several times for the really horrible things people have to go through and the tortured lives they have endured. That the people who were supposed to save them from the boogyman, become the monster themselves. I am still not ready to truly evaluate my opinion on people. I recognize it probably needs to be changed alot, however I am not strong enough to think about it completely yet.
What I will acknowledge now is how truly wonderful people can be. I have been completely overwhelmed by the generosity and thoughtfulness of people, most of whom I have never met. If this had been someone else's family, my heart would have broken for them, I would have thought "I wish there was something I could do" and I would have prayed for them. But other than that, I would not have reached out to them in the way that people have reached out to me. I have been truly humbled. It isn't just the friends I had from way back that still care and I didnt realize, or the good people I surround myself with daily, although they shine brighter now too. It is true strangers, stopping by to drop off a meal, or a random card in the mail. Or an offer to help with the memorial or other details that people shouldnt have to worry about during a tragedy. I hope that in the future, it will make me a better person, that I will remember to reach out, to do something, because it reminds you that the world isnt all bad. That one person can make a difference.
I listened to so many stories about how my son affected other peoples lives, sometimes by just a smile or silly joke. He had no idea of the lives he affected. How many days he made better for someone else. It inspires me to realize how we can touch peoples lives in a positive way through small acts of kindness and humor (for the record, I will always prefer the latter). I also came to realize that as we grow older, we forget to express how we feel and lose our ability to feel like we can impact our world. And I think that is so very unfortunate. We need to reclaim that. We need to not let life beat us down and make us feel helpless and alone.
I have been completely blown away by our youth with their caring, thoughtfulness, creativity and ability to express themselves. Never would I have believed that these loud-mouthed, arrogant, idealistic young people (remember, that's what we were not so long ago) could be so compassionate, caring, funny people and have the maturity to express how they feel. It was really enlightening to see this in their young faces and hear it in their words. I will be proud to hand over the world to the next generation! Perhaps they have something to teach us, if we would only listen!

Bravery?

The other day I was told that someone admired my bravery. This struck me as extremely odd. I know what they meant. I know how they meant it, and I appreciated the compliment. But somewhere, deep in the recesses of my brain, this word kept bouncing around. At first, I thought it was my normal denial of a compliment, but then I realized that it bothered me because it didn't fit into my view of myself OR my understanding of the word. My view of myself, while I believe it to be an honest portrayal, apparently is flawed and will take years to alter. It is not currently in my ability to truly accept a compliment or believe that I am worthy of one. But the latter thought, is what I am choosing to evaluate. My understanding of bravery is that it belongs to someone who is courageous. Some one who sees an impossible task and refuses to see it as impossible. One who charges in knowing the dangers, but not fearing them. That is not me. I see the dangers, and they scare the hell out of me. They stop me from taking a step forward. I did not choose this path to go down. Never would I have said, I am going into this darkness and I shall not fear. I do not want this, I don't want life to be like this. I want my son to be here and I want all of the things that were supposed to happen. I do not feel brave or strong, only that I continue to exist. I should find comfort in knowing that people view me in this way, and that it helps them. But I feel like I am falsely representing myself to accept that I am brave or strong.
I always wondered how people could handle tragedies like this. I thought they possessed something extra and some of them do. But I think that most people, myself included, just continue to breathe. We continue to wake up in the morning and go to work and do life stuff, not always knowing why, never understanding, but we just do. Because we are the "other people". The people that stuff like this happens to, the people that "normal" people care about but never want to join. And it is all surreal.

Happy, Shiny People? I think Not.

Today, I was told that I should remember that I have two other kids and should crawl out of my hole. I am absolutely infuriated by this. Why? I know I have two other kids. And I love them as much as I loved my oldest. I worry about them constantly and smother them with hugs and kisses, I try to make their lives as normal as possible during the saddest time of our lives. And it has only been a short time, 39 days. We are continuing to live as hard as that is. Going to work and school and after school activities. I don't take well to being told how I should feel or how I should act.  But people that speak to me in this way, really just do not know. They don't know who I am or how I love or live, they don't know the absolute torture that losing a child brings. They don't know the guilt that comes with that, that you have somehow failed to save your child from this fate. That you tried, but you failed. And by saying you need to remember your other children, it puts me on the defense, and strikes my core fear that I am not a good enough mother. Is that what they meant? No, probably not. I should probably be the better person and forgive them, but right now, I am too angry. But it also lead me to the core of  my point that until now I was able to grasp. What  I want to get across to everyone is this: You matter, your feelings matter, tell someone how you feel, because you are worth it. You have impacted someones life in a way that changed them forever. Don't push down the sad, depressing thoughts to placate someone else. If my son had not tried to put on a happy face then maybe he would be here today. Because we would have seen. But I taught him how to do this. I taught him how to laugh and smile and joke when the pain is deep inside. I taught him not to let people in to help. I didn't mean to. But I did. And so for someone to tell me to post happy thoughts, I say "Screw you." Life is not always happy, but we go on. Life goes on. And it is okay to cry, to be sad, to miss, to mourn. And its okay to laugh and smile and have fun. Life goes on. But don't try to hide the way you feel, don't lock it up inside and throw away the key. Don't do that. The risk is too great. I spent my life dodging feelings and connections. The price was higher than I ever imagined.

Today is the rest of your life

Personally, this doesn't bode well for the rest of my life. Right now I seem to be suffering from writers block. As a rule, since my oldest son died, I have posted on his wall every night. But in the last week, I seem to have nothing new to say. I am suffering from no new prospective. So I suppose I will start at the beginning. Well, really the end of life as we knew it, but the beginning of the rest of our life.

35, Divorced, 3 kids, 17, 11, and 8. Beautiful, happy kids. Living with a wonderful man, who was able to break through my barriers, not let me bullshit him and love me for who I am.
My oldest son, was a funny and caring kid, who was bright and witty. He loved playing football and soccer.  He didn't get straight As, but things came naturally for him and he was happy with a 3.0 average. He was accepted to Bradley University and Arizona State University. We were waiting to hear back from University of Minnesota. But he was fairly sure he wanted to go to Bradley. We were waiting for the financial package to come back to lock in a decision, but he found the campus comfortable and they had a great Computer Science program. Wednesday night, he attended his younger brother's middle school play where he received an "Inspiring Person" Award. His brother had nominated him for this award. He was his hero. My two sons stood in front of the community and I sat in the uncomfortable folding chair in the hot, smelly gym and cried. I was so proud. So proud that out of all of the people in the world that he could choose to lean on and look up to, it was his older brother. And so proud that his older brother was someone worth looking up to. After the play, we filled out scholarship applications and we talked about his achievements. That night he left to go to his dads and that was the last time I saw him alive.
Thursday night is YMCA night, where as part of our new regimen of healthier living and increased activity, I take my younger two to karate while I work out. I picked up the phone to call my oldest son to see if he wanted to go with. And then I put it back down. He was recovering from an injury and I was afraid he would overdo it. I will never know if that call would have saved his life. The police and coroner ruled it an accident, but whether he meant to go through with it or not, I will never know. I will never know. But I never saw anything that would have even made him attempt something like that. Never. Never did I see that coming.

The high school held a memorial for him the Sunday before the visitation. My son had no idea how many lives he impacted. How many days he improved, how many people loved him. So part of my "new" life is for me to start to realize how much we all impact others. That we are all connected and what you say today may make the difference in someones life.

I will eventually explain more, but right now that's all I can do.