Thankful.

I spend a lot of time being angry and disappointed about the things that were taken from me or that have happened to me. I think most people do not realize how INCREDIBLY thankful I am for the gifts in my life. I have never participated in a 30 days of Thanksgiving, but thought I would just see how long it took me to come up with 30 things I was thankful for. It took me 2 minutes to write 30 things. They are heartfelt and meaningful even if they seem vague. They all mean something very personal to me. I could have written 1000 more things I am thankful for. Every moment of almost every day. Childbirth, the good night kisses, footsteps in the hall, kids climbing into bed with you to wake you up, all of it... but here is what I came up with:


1 The chance to know and love my first born son, Austin
2 The chance to look at things through my daughter, Carissa's eyes
3 The wonderful

 humor of my son, Brandon
4 The reassurance and love from my husband, Kevin
5 The gift of good friends
6 The lessons from bad friends
7 Second chances. 
8 Family. With all the good, bad and ugly that comes with it.
9 The feeling of dreaming and possibilities
10 Sunrises
11 Sunsets
12 Birthdays (even though I don't like the age that comes with them)
13 Movies & books - the thoughts and creativity of others taking me into a different world
14 Music. Always music. For putting a beat and some lyrics to a feeling I feel. For making my heart happy with the right words and for pouring out my anguish I can not speak.
15 A home to call my own
16 My own creativeness, especially when it is expressed
17 Laughter. Without it, the world would be too cold.
18 The light in my child's eyes.
19 Sunbeams pouring through windows on cold days
20 Rainy days and a blanket
21 The world's beauty, it still catches my breath
22 Christmas Eve, when the world is quiet and full of magic
23 Christmas morning, the family togetherness and Christ
24 Good deeds done for people who need them the most, by the people least likely to give them
25 My children's smiles
26 The laughter of my loved ones. Especially if I was the reason they were laughing
27 Opportunity 
28 Forgiveness
29 Love - the really, really, really good kind.
30 Reminders to be thankful for what we have, always.

Searching for a face in a crowd

It has been an emotional month with getting married to this most perfect (for me) man and having a dream honeymoon to follow. Lots of love and emotion flowing, with an undercurrent of loss. Noticing there is someone missing at every major event does not come easy and without heartache even in the most joyous of occasions. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind there is a young mom screaming at me wondering where he is, how he would look and how he would be reacting. There is an old, tired mom telling her to shut up, for she can not take the screaming nor the pain. We are back to reality after a blissful honeymoon, which has been a very harsh adjustment. Trying to hold on to the strings of joy and happiness in a fast paced life is difficult. It seems as if people really try to rip that from you. Not wanting to let go of those good positive feelings but yet adjusting to everyday life again has been a challenge.

I have lived in or near a college town since I was 14. When I was young, it was cool, a little older - it was a place to party, yet older still - it was an annoyance to deal with people in MY town and now I just avoid that side of town. Its inconvenient with the masses of students and traffic it brings, but I have learned when to avoid certain areas. I really have never given it much thought, until yesterday. I drove to get some Jimmy John's for lunch (they are so freaky fast, but they don't deliver across town to my office!). I had a couple of stops to make, so the route took me through the campus area. I was, for once, enjoying my drive, thinking what a beautiful fall day it was. How even though this campus has been named one of the most dangerous now, it is still a small town, nice campus, where girls and boys (who look younger every year) can walk to classes in general safety and enjoy such a fine day with the leaves changing and falling and the crisp air in their lungs. And then it hit me. Like a Mack truck running me down like something out of Maximum Overdrive. My son would have been one of these kids. Not this campus, not this town, but he would have been one of them. I looked for the young men in hoodies and earbuds, slouching down the sidewalk without worry. I looked at every face I passed as the tears rolled down my face. I looked for him, knowing I would never find him. Not on this campus or any other. He would not feel the crisp fall air on his face. He would not have a conversation with the pretty girl walking next to him. He would not attend class, or graduate. Or go to keggers, or be part of a fraternity, or be part of anything but our hearts & memories. I had to pull over in the parking lot of the bookstore (where I worked when I was 15), where I bawled like a crazy person. I miss him so very much. Every day I can go through the motions. I can feel joy and pain, happiness and loss now. But I miss him with every breath. I feel robbed of my time with him and I feel so very sad that he did not get to experience these things. I feel differently about everything. But mostly, I just feel loss now, more than anything. Just a hole in my heart that will never heal. Wondering and searching, but never finding.

I do think that day changed my view of the campus. In the future, instead of being annoyed by these rowdy kids taking over MY town, I shall try to welcome them, smile at them and not be angry at their youth and ignorance (for I am not any more wise). They are far away from home, in new places with new faces, scared and excited about the future. I would want someone to do that for my son, so I shall try to do it for someone else's.

For ever after...

It has been so long since I’ve written, I am almost not sure I remember how. I have no agenda for this post, or any thought to where it may go. I miss writing. I am not sure I remember how to dig down deep and examine the broken shards of my heart & soul & put them onto paper. But, tragedy & loss affect us so deeply and entirely that we must force ourselves to examine those shards periodically or we fall apart all together. They start forcing their way out into everyday life if we refuse them. There is always an underlying sadness and ache that is within everything we do. It is important for me to realize this and try not to mask it, but to let it co-exist with happier days. To deny this sadness is to let it overtake the happy. To recognize and acknowledge it allows them to be together but separate. But it is so hard. The memoires flood back at the most unexpected moments, violently and without warning. Hateful are they, in their attack on my vulnerable emotions. Vicious in their relentlessness. I don’t want to remember, but I don’t want to forget either. Is there no middle ground? I understand the meaning of trauma and torment much more than I wish to. And then there is just ache. I miss my son, so very much. I miss the sound of his voice and the happiness in his laugh. I miss every single thing about him. And even with time, that doesn’t get easier or the feeling of loss less severe. It seems like yesterday he was standing in my doorway, yet it seems like 100 years since I have heard his words. Time is a bizarre thing. Grief, even more strange. It interweaves itself into every aspect of life. So that every day, every instance you feel more removed from other people. More different, more unlike them. More capable of understanding others, but yet less capable of being understood. Every action and reaction is affected.  Life is changed in death. 

Memories

It has been an incredibly tense and stressful week or so. Not that all weeks aren't tense and stressful, but this one more than others. The stress and frustration burdens the pain and grief so much more. I feel so motivated to write, but I have myself blocked off too much to dig that deep. Some days it is just too much to feel. But reminders of my tragic event pop up when I least expect it. A visit to a doctors office that seemed innocent enough left me rattled and unsettled. He, too, had recently lost his son. We shared the pain with words unspoken and it was good to not have to say anything. However, it still blindsided me. My dreams are frequently both blessed and tormented for entire nights by memories and thoughts of my oldest son. My middle son's laugh is starting to sound exactly like his brothers. Plus with his hair growing a little longer, he resembles him more and more. It is both a blessing and a curse, for both of us. A few days ago I stumbled upon a notebook, while cleaning. It contained the speech I wrote and delivered at the memorial that was held at my son's high school. Since I have no new words at the moment, I wish to share with this with you now. This was written and delivered two or three days after his death.



"Some of you may already know this, so forgive me for being redundant. When Austin was young he went to North school here in town from kindergarten through half of 5th grade. He was the sweetest kid with his blond hair and bright blue eyes. He was such a ham, loving to make people laugh. He was always so sensitive to other peoples feelings. He loved his friends and he loved playing AYSO soccer and being a boy scout. In the middle of 5th grade, we moved to our new home in a new town, where he became part of that community, playing soccer, acting in a middle school play, doing all the stuff middle schoolers do. He was a bright and funny boy who loved people and tried to make them feel good. He spent a year and a half at the high school playing varsity soccer & hanging out with friends, getting his license and growing into a bright, caring young man. When his dad and I separated and his dad moved back to Sycamore, Austin jumped at the chance to go back to those schools. That is where he felt at home, where he felt he belonged. He loved being here. Playing football was his dream. While playing soccer he tore his meniscus and couldn't play football his senior year. I think I took it harder than he did. Last summer he went to Europe and had the best time of his life. When he got back, he had grown. Independence and worldliness was under his skin and I started to see the man he would become.

So now, I have no words of understanding and I have no explanation. If you are feeling hopeless, reach out! And hug your mom. She loves you more than you will ever know. Austin, my beautiful, smart, funny boy ended his life with a permanent solution to a temporary problem. As teenagers, we have no concept of time and how life does get better with age. We also do not realize how many lives we touch, even as adults. Austin loved a lot of people, but I don't think he understood how many people loved him. How many smiles he brought to faces, how many days he made better. I know he would be touched. I know he also would have made some silly joke right now. He would have loved the Zorro tribute. We often laughed that Zorro was his Latin alter ego. I appreciate the extensive outpouring of support from the community. But I am truly overwhelmed at the maturity and thoughtfulness of the students. Austin chose great people to call friends. And I thank you all so much for being a part of his life. I know you made it brighter."

Re-writing these words now, I have no concept of how I spoke these words to these kids, teachers, friends & family. I don't think I could speak them now. Austin's death was ruled an accident, we would find out days later. We can hope, but we can never know. And regardless of whether it was intentional or not, he is still gone, and that is what breaks my heart.

Falling

It occurred to me the other day that you can tell a lot about people by the way they fall down. Now, most people try really hard not to fall down, but it happens to us all occasionally. Sometimes we stumble, sometimes we fall, sometimes we are gently nudged and then trip and sometimes we are shoved violently down the stairs when we were least expecting it. But how people react to the fall is where their true character shows through.

Some people lay at the bottom of the stairs broken and bloody and just wait to die.

Some people lay there screaming until someone comes to help them, needing someone to bear witness to their pain and suffering, incapable of pulling themselves up without the help of someone else, needing constant reassurance that they can get up and it will be okay.

Others get up on there own but take their time, all the while being patient and forgiving of themselves and others -usually these people have some good friends that they lean on for support and their inner strength shows through on a daily basis.

Some people jump right back up because they don't realize the gravity of what just happened to them. They just move on not realizing what just happened and never think too deeply about it.

And some people jump back up, look around and hope no one saw them fall. They tend to bruise deeply, needing time to understand and fully feel the pain.

It is the latter group in which I am most familiar with and since I can't resist a good analogy and am the writer of this blog, it is this group I will discuss.

These people fall down & jump back up. Not even sure how injured they are until they've walked around a bit. They walk tall when people are watching & limp when not observed.  They have internal bleeding that someone should fix, but they put a bandage on it so no one will see it. Sometimes they even get angry that no one notices how much they are in pain.  The gaping hole gets coverd with gauze & cosmetics and they gasp in pain when others look away. They smile good morning while clenching their teeth.  They do not allow others to see that they were hurt, that they are vulnerable. Especially if you were the one that pushed them down the stairs. They refuse to give you that satisfaction. Its a silly thing. Really. Now don't get me wrong, there are times we need to hold our guts in and carry on but usually we need to get somewhere where we can be sutured up.

My whole point to all of this is I have always resided in this group, which I'm sure you guessed. When my son died I could not contain it, I could not pretend I was okay. I could not move.  I relied heavily on these skills though when I was poked & prodded to find a "new normal." It was survival.  But I try really hard not to allow myself to revert to these ways as I realized the mistake in these ways. I realized I may have taught my son how to do this without meaning to. That it may have left him unable to reach out or know it was okay to be hurt and to show that hurt to others. That I taught him to hide it all but never how to process it. And I'm so injured. So devestated by his death and his loss of life. It feels like betrayal to not show that. Plus I do not want to miss opportunities ever again to tell people how much I love them or go out on a limb to tell people what they mean to me, or even to tell them they hurt me and affect me. That they do matter to me. That everything we do affects someone else. Never do I want to miss that opportunity again. I need to know I said what needed to be said and did not assume someone knew how I felt.

But sometimes old habits die hard.

Hopeful?

On the never ending search for my “purpose”, (insert funny “The Jerk” reference here) I have been praying. A lot. Trying to hear what it is that I am supposed to be doing. Trying to figure out what path I am supposed to take spiritually, emotionally and financially to get me to where I am supposed to be.

Let me start by saying I am not what you would call inspirable. I do not see other people doing something and think – I can do that too. That is not me. I do not want to run a 5K just to say I can, or climb Mt Everest because some other person did. I am intrigued by what inspires people, or what drives them to go on, even in the face of adversity, but I am not inspired by them. This is a new concept to me. I am a realist (often referred to as negative). Realists do not generally get inspired easily.

I tend to be a bit obsessive and sometimes drive myself crazy. Sometimes I have to just shelve ideas as I cannot think about them anymore without making myself crazy and annoying those around me. Just about the time I shelved the idea of a new path in order to save my sanity, or what is left of it at least, I had lunch with a friend. I met this remarkable person a couple years ago and we became friends. She presented me with an opportunity that spoke to me. It would not leave me. The possibilities of success and freedom from my 9-5 excited me in a way that I was afraid were gone for good. The possibility of movement from my current position to something new keeps the negativity at bay. Moving in a good direction, instead of just being miserable where I am whispered to me when I said no to the idea. Now, just moving in itself is not always good. I have analyzed, rationalized and thought thoroughly through this plan.

But, I decided to listen. For once in my life, throw away the naysayers, the negativity, the “security” and just listen. To actually think I could just allow myself to be happy. To think positively. What’s the worst that could happen if I tried? I fail? I have failed at a lot of things I was sure of, why was this so bad? And failure isn’t so bad. I feel like at least I can say I tried then, that I would know it wasn’t right. But I have this feeling in my gut that this opportunity is going to take me far. Not necessarily that this is THE thing, but that it will take me on the right journey. That through this I will discover that thing, or it will at least open another door that will take me closer.  Maybe I need to listen with an open heart, and an open mind, and be less skeptical and I might make the right move. This is so very scary to me. I am based in security. I am a naysayer. I am too critical. And here I am saying to hell with it, throwing caution to the wind, not caring what someone might think and giving it a chance. It’s very liberating!

The one thing my friend said to me that stuck in my head and will until I die is “Who am I to say I can’t do something?” I don’t think she even realized the significance of what she said. But I did and it will not leave me. It makes me question why I think I know so much. Why I think that I am in control? Has it not been proved to me that I am not? Who am I to question what God has in store for me? Who am I to tell him I don’t think I can do something He has granted me the possibility of doing? I cannot even put into words what this statement says to me, but I can feel it. It inspires me in a way I have never been inspired before.  It feels good to feel confident that the path you are about to embark on is the one you are supposed to be on. Not necessarily that it will be easy or triumphant, but that you are one step closer.

Maybe it’s just the change of doing something new, something with potential that is fun and energizes me. Either way, it feels ok. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t scary though. I continuously wait for the other shoe to fall. And crush me. Not in the way of the little bumps in the road knock you down, but the huge life altering ones that gut you and leave you on the side of the road paralyzed, writhing in pain and fear. I don’t expect people to understand, at least most people. Not unless they have gone through life altering traumas. But I am excited about the possibility of a re-invented life! I just hope I can keep up some positivity. But for today, being hopeful and excited about the future is good enough for me. 

Lyrics

"For me, singing sad songs often has a way of healing a situation. It gets the hurt out in the open into the light, out of the darkness" ~ Reba McEntire




I love music. I can not carry a tune, but I know what I like. I have a very eclectic taste and while I love nonsense music, I really love the music that moves me. The kind that makes me cry, makes me listen over and over again, makes me think that it was written by me or for me, makes me appreciate all the artistic talents that culminated to express something I could not or have not been able to before. The music that touches me, is soulful and real. That's my favorite. It always amazes me how I will sing along with the lyrics of some random song and realize that I have never really listened to it. And I am ashamed because it is powerful and it should be heard! This occurred the other day while on my way home while listening to Nikki Sixx's "Accidents Can Happen." I was going to post the lyrics, but as I am not sure of the laws of copyright infringement and knowing he has a lot more money than me to fight that battle, I will not challenge him. You may look it up on your own. I think people should listen to it and hear these words.


I'm a big fan of Nikki Sixx. I loved him back in the day, when I was too young to love a rock star, and through the years my adoration has changed and morphed, sometimes wondering why I do not listen to more of his music, sometimes sickened by the rock star life and sometimes wondering why I do not listen to more of his music. After reading the Heroin Diaries I was in again. I identified with him in a way I wouldn't have thought possible. I think it made him more human. The pain and suffering when he seemingly had so much, made him real. I am sure many people feel this way, especially after reading his books. I, in no way suffer any delusions, I do not think we will meet and become friends, nor am I sure I would like him now. He is no longer my type as a romantic interest, no longer the idol of my youth. Don't get me wrong, I still think he is great, but its because I find him a fascinating, unique and intriguing individual and appreciate his music, talent and attitude. I have never been addicted to narcotics. I have never walked his walk. Or the walk of many like him, from all facets of life. But what I do identify with is the brokenness, the shame and the pain. 


What I found most touching to me on this day was the honesty and love that this song portrays. It speaks volumes, not only to addicts, but to anyone suffering. There is no one who has suffered through a problem, tragedy or addiction who hasn't needed to know they are not alone and they will continue to be loved. That they can start again tomorrow and do not have to throw everything they worked so hard for down the drain. That they have not failed, only stumbled. And that everyone, and I do mean everyone, stumbles. Everyone falls. But there are those who are there to help you up, to remind you that it will be ok again. To hug you when you need it, even if you don't want to ask for it, or even acknowledge that you need someone to tell you its ok. Especially from someone who has been in your shoes. I know I needed to hear it that day. And it reminded me to make sure I share that with the people I love and the lives I touch. Even after everything that has happened in the last few years, I still need reminders. 


We forget that the [insert disaster] will pass. This may be the most important thing for us to keep in front of us. I do not know what went through my son's mind in the moments before his death. I will forever agonize over this lack of knowledge. And I will forever be tormented by wondering if I had called at that moment and reminded him that stuff happens but it will be ok, that this too shall pass, would have meant he was here today. 


You just can't give up. I need to be reminded of this too, as you can see. 

Can you imagine?

Awhile ago I was involved in a conversation about texting while driving. This is a huge debate and not really what I want to write about. I really try not to look at my phone while I drive. I try even harder when my kids are with me knowing they are watching what I am doing every minute, even if neither of us realize it. The conversation was offensive to me though because of the thoughtlessness of someone who knows me well enough to know how much I suffer, but apparently doesn’t pay as much attention as I would to them. It was offensive because I never take people getting preachy with me well, especially when I am agreeing with them, but they aren’t really listening. So when I said “I try really hard not to text or do anything like that” it apparently meant “I text all the time without regard for anyone” and then even though I was trying to say I agreed with her, she kept talking and talking about it and every time I tried to explain myself it just ended up sounding as if I was backtracking, even though I really wasn’t. I really hate conversations like this. I end up overly frustrated and for no reason. But then she said to me, rather passively “I mean, really, could you imagine if you were the cause of your own children’s death?”  I just looked at her and ended the conversation. What I really wanted to do was punch her in the face and scream at her. A younger Laura would have. I wanted to scream “Really? You are asking me this? Yes, I can imagine what it would be like to feel responsible for your child’s death. I can imagine my heart being ripped from my chest, put in a blender and stuffed back in so that it can ache. I can imagine the feeling that you could have done something to prevent such a tragedy but didn’t.  I can imagine them laying there lifeless knowing there is nothing you can do to help them. No matter how much you love them, no matter how hard you want, you can’t do anything. I can imagine that. I can imagine the horror in which has become daily existence. I can imagine the self loathing one would feel. I can imagine a loss so great, you will never be the same again. The question is can you!?” This is the edited version of course, as in real life if I were to scream this there would be a lot more expletives. I don’t know how to make people not be stupid with what they say. If anyone has any advice on that one, please let me know. I know the answer is really that we cannot control what other people do, only our reaction to it. But sometimes that is not enough to quiet my mind. 

Callings

Life is a funny thing. Grief even more ridiculous. You will be driving along, singing a song, feeling like today might be good for something and enjoying the sunshine and then a memory flashes across your brain; sabotaging your momentary happiness. The image of cop cars surrounding your son’s fathers home, confirming what you refuse to believe. The lifeless body of your first born child drills through the sun and crushes you all over again in an instant. Images and past conversations run through your head at the sound of someone’s voice. There are constant attacks of brutal images and feelings on your soul. It is often the times you least expect that to occur that it hits you the hardest. We (my family) are trying. We are trying to dig ourselves out of the hole we are in. We are immersing ourselves in life and trying to live.
However, it exhausts me. I am exhausted. It has been a whirlwind 5 months already this year, with task after task needing to be completed. Work is absolutely crazy. There is so much piled on my plate right now, I am positive it will break. And it becomes more and more apparent that I am not the same. I cannot handle the same things, nor do I want to. It doesn’t matter But, I seem to be unable to step off the ride, make things simpler. My job is nuts. I know, in the way of someone who has lived through trauma, I am not where I am supposed to be. When things like this happen to you, you realize what is important. And if you were unhappy with something before the tragedy, you certainly will not be happy with it afterwards. This is not what I am supposed to be doing.
The question that I cannot answer is what is it that I am supposed to be doing? I feel this pull towards something, and the push from the other side. But I cannot identify where I am supposed to go so that I may work towards it. For the first time in my personal life I do not feel like running away, I know I am where I am supposed to be and with who I am supposed to be with. I do not long for something greater, because there is nothing greater than what I have. But my professional life is something different. So I sit and think for hours if I could be anything, what would it be? And I cannot answer it. Something creative and something I have a passion for is all I can come up with. And all of the things I think of sound not so bad, but it is not “it.” What would you do if you could do anything?

Happy Birthday

Today is my oldest son's birthday. He would have been 19 today. I am incredibly sentimental and nostalgic about birthdays on a good day. This is, to no body's surprise, not any easier now. I was trying to think how I could write about my plethora of memories, the flooding of glimpses of years of birthday parties, the idea of maybe expressing how I was only a child thinking I knew a lot more than I did, getting ready to be a parent for the first time, not having any idea what was ahead. But in all of the recollections and thoughts that came about in the past few days, the following article that I kept in a draft status kept creeping back in to my mind.

The idea came to me on the 9 month mark of my son's passing. It struck me to the core. I remember sitting there for over an hour in the realization of the simplicity of the idea.

God gives you 9 months to carry a child for a reason. Your body changes, your instincts change, your priorities change, your mind changes, your overall outlook changes.  Preparing for life to begin. You try to prepare, You read books, you talk to people who are parents, who are expecting also, you talk to health care professionals, you prepare yourself for all the ways your life is about to change. And then at that moment when you see your child for the first time, you realize how unprepared you are. How woefully unprepared. How very little you know. You knew your life was about to change, but you didn't know how much. You are no longer the person you were, and will never be again.
I realized at the 9 month anniversary of my son's death, that these 9 months were so similar. My body changed, my priorities changed, my instincts changed, my mind changed. I talked to health care professionals, I talked to people who had lost a child, I talked to friends and loved ones, I tried to prepare myself for how my life was forever changed. It took my body 9 months to realize the extent of the damage, if you will. And I am still woefully unprepared. But I think it was not a mistake that this struck me on this particular date. 9 months is the time it takes for your body and mind to connect and realize that life is going to be totally different for you, even if it doesn't understand how much. It is the beginning of a new era. Whether you wanted it to come or not.

Tested, Tried, Prevail.

Some days I feel especially vulnerable and fragile. This really has nothing to do with losing a son. Well, sometimes it does. I mean to say, I have always felt this way. Since losing Austin, it has been heightened, deeper and occurs more often. Waves of grief, sadness, despair, self hatred and all these other emotions wash over me and it is really hard to push through them. Crawling into my bed and staying there is what I feel like doing most. Last night, I had such an episode and my bed was not readily available. As I was waiting for my daughter’s class to get over, I came up with a mantra to keep these feelings at bay. To keep from crying in the hallway of a public place (which I do frequently now), I recited: “I am strong, I am powerful, I will fall and I will pick myself up, I will succeed, I will conquer, I will be tested and I will be tried, but I will prevail. I am beautiful, I am loved by the people who I love most, I am important, I have changed lives, I have lots left to do, I have strength and I have character. I am strong. I am powerful. I will prevail. I will succeed. I will prevail. I am funny and strong and beautiful. I have gifts from God. I am worthy.” Do I believe these words? Not really. Not yet. But I am trying. 

The difference....

A year ago today was the last time I saw my son alive. We attended my middle son's school play, where there was a small ceremony for the students to honor someone who has inspired them or made a difference in their lives. My son chose his older brother. And I sat there watching the two of them, tears running down my face, I knew that no matter what happened in my life, they were there for each other. That I had raised a son, who was inspiring to his little brother, even if they did fight and argue all the time. That night, after the play, we filled out college scholarship applications and just had a good time with good conversation and a lot of laughs. Around 10 he needed to leave to go to his dads for school the next day, and we stood at the door saying good bye. I hugged him and didn't want to let go. I still remember the hesitation in his goodbye. Like there was something he wanted to say, but then decided not to. Maybe there wasn't anything there and it was in my head. But now, I will never know. My imagination gets the best of me. Every day I relive the last year, then the last 18.  I hear the phone ring, i feel the pain, I see the events of the next week/month/year run through my head. I feel sick, my heart breaks.  I hear my sons first cry and the last conversation we had. But to realize this day, last year I spoke to my son. I held him in my arms,  I told him I loved him. I heard his laugh. We were about to realize his future. The gravity of knowing how much and how little difference a day and a year make is a heavy, heavy burden. I tried so hard not to take things for granted. I knew they were only little for a short time. Life changes in a moment. The things you thought you'd hear forever, like the sound of his laugh, are now mute. The things you prepare yourself for - the leaving of the nest, family, growing older, all gone in a second. And never to feel the way his hair felt in your hand again, to never hear his beautiful laugh, never to listen to his stories or opinions, to never see those eyes again is heartbreaking. A year. Such a short time. But its like an eternity.

Today's Sadness

I counted today. There are 11 posts that I have not finished. Some of them have the potential to be very powerful, thought provoking, worthwhile posts. Some do not. I should finish them either way. And publish them. Not writing is not helping. But today, those posts have to wait. Today is a week away from the one year anniversary of my son's death. A lot has changed in a year. A lot has not.

Today I went to the visitation for a co-worker's twenty year old son. We are casual acquaintances, but I knew I needed to go. The feeling of aloneness and sadness is too great for her to not know there are other people in the world who grieve like her, and for her. And I am glad I went. But it was really hard. I knew how she felt. My stomach wrenched like hers did, because I know that pain. I know that moment. And it hurts alot. It hurts still that much.

And now, at this moment, I am very angry. I am angry for her. That she has to know this pain. That she has to join the others who share this pain. That she has to feel different. That she has to hurt every moment from here on out. That she has to carry this. And I am angry that I understand this. I am angry that I have to know how this feels. That I can understand it and not just sympathize from afar. I am angry because I do not feel it was my son's time. Because I was not ready for him to go. Because I didn't have a choice. Because I gave him life, and was on the cusp of seeing all my hard work pay off only to have the rug ripped out from underneath me. And 357 days later my heart still hurts. I am angry that I see my son's face where it will no longer ever be. I am angry that this has been an extremely hard year, and there isn't an end in sight. I am angry that my friend has to now start down this same journey. And I am sad. Sad that looking for a happy moment should be so hard.