I hate our friendship!!!

I have a best friend. And I hate our friendship.

I love my best friend more than she will ever know! And I hate our friendship.

The smallest, most intricate details of the way we became friends could only have been woven by God himself. And I hate our friendship.

I can tell her things I wouldn’t dare tell anyone else. And I hate our friendship.

She is my my life raft when I am sinking. And I hate our friendship.

I can’t imagine her not being in my life ever. And I hate our friendship.

We met because our boys died. And I hate our friendship.

We are friends because our hearts have been fractured forever. And I hate our friendship.

We would both trade our friendship to have our boys back in the blink of an eye. I hate we didn’t get to meet because our boys were friends here. I hate we didn’t meet under happier circumstances. I hate that we share a pain the is almost unbearable. I hate that we wonder if the boys are friends in heaven. I hate that I have come to love her son as my own yet I have never met him. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

I wish beyond words we weren’t drawn together out of pain instead of joy. But I am so glad that with this pain she brings me joy. Even though I hate our friendship!

What if????

At what point is it okay to do what is best for yourself? When do stop believing in the words and empty promises of others? When do you start chasing the dreams you have rather than the ones that are in reality a black hole of lies? Do you hang onto that moment of hope or let it go because you know it is like the wind? When is it okay to stop putting your feelings away on the shelf? Is it possible to not break because you may upset another because of your needs? When do you walk away from what you thought was your soulmate but realize when it comes down to it, you are just a wife, not a mate?

They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over while getting the same result. Is it insanity to stay in a life that is just the same day after day? Where you just feel dread the second you pull in the driveway? Where it is the same mess, the same arguments, the same hurtful words? The same place where there is a lack of the love that you need. The love you long for. A place where you know that the few moments of love are only used as a way of pacifying you for the greater need of the other. A place that was once your safe haven but is now your insanity.

And what if you run? What if you just left it all behind to find your peace, your place, your dreams, a love unrelenting? Is there such a place where you feel love like you never have? A place where you matter as a constant, not as a convenience? A place where you know without any doubt that you are wanted and desired? A place where there is a soul mate to be your person? A place where

The sad reality of it is, even if you do run, find that life, live those dreams, you will still be utterly and eternally unhappy because it is not your life. When you have built a life for so many years on hopes, dreams and promises, it becomes your being. To shed that life would be like a death of self. How can you live if pieces of you die? So you will simply stay, in your misery and broken dreams, because you cannot bear to step a foot on an unknown path. Unhappy here, equally unhappy there. What to do? Where to go? Who even cares?

Wth Jesus? Wth?!?!?

Lately, all I can do is think, Wth Jesus! Wth were you thinking giving me this life? I know that we are not given more than we can handle by you but WTH? Am I really this superwoman you believe I am? Why must my life be spent living happy moments under the veil of grief that covers me? Why did you choose me for this particular life? Wth? Is it because you knew I could put on a brave face for everyone else? Do you know that under that apparent brave face is a hollowed out space of nothingness? A space where I do not know what I really feel at any real moment? It is just a space where I hide myself to keep any real emotions or feelings from showing. A space where I have learned to live with private tears, private hurts, loneliness and sorrow. Torn between wanting to run from it all and being drawn back to the ones I have to take care of. Never stop running. Run from people, places and things. Run until everything goes away and no one knows me. Where no one knows this brave face. Where I can be the me I want to be. Just run until I shed off all the expectations of the ones I love, of the people watching. Just run until this life falls off my shoulders and I become so light I can fly with the dragonflies. Am I destined to always be here where I have to do what is right for others and not for myself? To be black on the inside while fake rainbows beam from the outside? Wth? Wth? Wth? Just let me run!

Work and Grief

A friend of mine that lost her son shortly after I lost mine has been going through total heck at work. She was only given two weeks leave after the passing of her only son. Since she has been back to work, there are days where she has had to call in because grief had consumed her to the point that she could not get out of the bed. She has decided to leave her job after one too many inconsiderate write-ups over her actions. T (as I will call her) asked if I would help write her resignation letter for her. She thought I could help her put into words exactly what grief has done to her. Us. And all the mourning parents.

The request had me thinking of the best thing to say. How to exactly describe what we go through. How do you explain to someone that has never lost a child what it feels like to have a piece of your soul lost forever? How do explain how your heart never will beat the same way it used to? How do you let them know that grief does not pick non-business hours to rear its ugly head? I do not think there is any way to really get the full impact of having so much of your life disappear in the blink of an eye. Sure we may have been fine when we left work on Tuesday. But the dream we had that night of our child made us wake up thinking that he was just down the hall in his bed. And then realizing we woke from our dream to the nightmare of reality. Yes we were just fine when we left for lunch. But while in the car at the drive-thru our child’s favorite song came on the radio, leaving us crying hysterically and cars honking their horns at us. Then there are birthdays, holidays, anniversaries of death and life. What about the sadness we feel when our child’s friends accomplish all the things he should be here for? We not only grieve the past and present but also the lost future. We will grieve when we see our friends with their grandchildren we were robbed of. We will grieve when we watch his best friend walk down the aisle without our son as his best man. We will grieve every empty space at the dinner table, the empty stocking, the quiet nights, the missing sound of laughter and all the messy messes that we desperately miss.

How do you put a time on how much work you can miss after the loss of a child? When you give birth you are given at least six weeks maternity leave. They even give the same amount to Fathers now! But only to receive two weeks bereavement time to mourn the loss of 19 years worth of hopes and dreams? It takes two weeks just to come out of the shock and fog! There is no textbook example of grief time because no one person grieves the same as another. Some can handle day to day routines like before with a hard exterior. Some will crack in public over random thoughts. Some will never get on with life. Some will tackle life and grieve quietly in the inside. I guess I was lucky that I did not have to return to any sort of job after I lost my son. I never really sat back and thought about the pain and hardship that my son’s Father, his Bonus Mom or my Husband felt. So how do I try and help her explain this to her employers? There is no possible way for them to understand shy of them losing their own child. And there is no way I would ever wish this torturous pain on anyone…

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I know tomorrow isn’t promised so SHUT YOUR PIE HOLE!

I am fired up today! Since the minute our son passed away people say things like “tomorrow isn’t promised’ and such. I have always brushed these little saying off and let them roll away with the wind. Since taking my me time this summer and trying to heal, it seems as if this is everyone’s favorite saying. If I don’t go to something, they say it. If I do go to something, they say it. If some random person dies that I hardly know, they say, “You know better than all of us that tomorrow isn’t promised.” Well, guess what???? NO CRAP SHERLOCK! I DO KNOW THIS! WHAT IS YOUR FIRST CLUE THAT I DO? MAYBE THE FACT THAT I BURIED MY 20 YEAR OLD SON?

Yes, tomorrow isn’t promised. I promised my son that he would be going off to his new job and being the best ever at it. Promised him that I would be calling him the next morning to make sure he got up. I promised my son that we were all going to go to the mountains in a few months. Promised his brothers and sisters that he would be there for Wednesday supper. Promised his brothers and sisters that they could pick up the playful joking in a few days. Promised my husband that him and Richie could go to some tournament they were looking forward to. I promised myself that I would watch my first born become the best Richie he could be. I promised myself that I would have little Richies running through my house and would be spoiling them like crazy. I promised myself that I would continue making family dinner twice a week every week until I was too old. I promised my three children that they were going to get to fight over who I would live with when I got that old. You know what? I promised my whole family and myself that we would be having Taco Tuesday that New Year’s Eve and would spend it together having game night! Well, you know…..I DIDN’T GET TACO TUESDAY BECAUSE MY SON DIED THAT MONDAY.

I am well aware tomorrow isn’t promised. I live it every day. It is the first thing I know in the morning. I know it all through the day. I know it night when I lay my head down. I know it when I pick up my phone to ask Richie what time he will be home. I know it when I see the pain in my children’s eyes. I know it when his birthday comes around. I know it when I don’t have all three of my children at my supper table. I know it Christmas, Easter, birthdays, Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. I Know it at 1 pm, 3 pm, 10 am! I know it every single second of my life.

What makes me even more angry is the people saying it. Not every one that says it means it to upset me. But the ones that say it to guilt me! It is more they are saying it out of their guilt. They missed the opportunity to know my child whole heartedly and now feel they need to say it to make amends. Your loss now shut up. Then the ones that have not spoken to me in months that say it to guilt me into coming to something they are doing. The ones that I have cut out of my circle and now use it to get me to open the door again. Then the ones that say it just to say it. I do not play the death card. I never use my son’s death as an excuse for anything so why are they using it? Stop saying it. Stop using it!

This has been building with me for weeks. I told my husband that I would no longer got to anything we were invited to if someone said that to me. He agreed. So if you say it, I will not come and will take a break from you for a while also. So please, KINDLY SHUT YOU PIE HOLE!

And yes, I know that some of you are gonna say to keep me away anyway…. for that, thank you! Jerks!

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UGH!

First I want to say that I am not wanting sympathy or anything! I am just posting this because I am having one of those days. I have to get the feelings out of my head, through my fingers. So please, don’t pity me and let my written emotional diarrhea begin!

It is only noon and I have already been through every emotion I can. I am angry, sad, happy, worried, hurt and all in between. I have no idea what has triggered this day. Maybe lack of sleep or a slight sunburn from the extremely fun day in the sun yesterday. Maybe it is guilt because I had fun yesterday. I don’t know what it is but I am just over it. I am missing my son so bad that it feels like I have been gut punched today. I am missing my living children because they are always gone living their life. I am upset that the boy was snappy at me this morning for no reason. Aggravated because the girl decided to wash clothes on the one morning I could sleep in a little. Frustrated because I have no clue what to make for supper with no desire to do it anyway. Depressed because I am just not wanting to fold the massive pike of laundry that has built up. The dog has been spazzing out and running up and down the hall all morning and when she does get still, she farts constantly. I am hurt because I feel like I do not get any recognition of pride from the ones I look for it most in. I feel like nothing I do matters to anyone around here. I feel like I am not as important to most of the people that I put first and on pedestals, I am sick of hearing about the latest Monticello scandal when people should be rallying around a little girl in town that lost her father in a senseless shooting. I want to go back to the beach. I want to go to the mountains and sit on my Uncle’s porch and have him tell me it’s all going to be okay. I want a back slapping hug from my Granny. I want to eat a bowl of strawberry ice cream with my Grandpa. I am wondering if I was as good of a Mom all these years as I should have been. Did I give my children all they needed growing up? Do they resent me because I could not give them all they wanted? I am worried about my Mother, what reason I cannot pinpoint. I feel fat. I feel ugly. I am mad at myself because I have those superficial feeling. I am at a loss to fix a relationship that just never comes easy. I am at a loss as to how to make some things at home better. I miss Dillon who has moved to another state. I miss my house being filled with teenagers during the summer. I am mad because I feel the empty nest. I just ate a handful of Cheet-Ohs so now I am feeling really fat. I feel like a failure as a friend for not being there for everyone like I should. I feel like I am too needy at times. I am tired of keeping things inside when they make me want to explode. I am terrified of making changes soon that will benefit me for the better but may upset other people. I am sick of saying yes. I dread saying no. I just want to go back to bed. I just feel UGH!

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The Scarlett Letter D

I asked a friend if she was going to an event we were attending. She just looked at me and smirked no. I was taken aback and asked why. She just said, “You know why. The look.” Yes. I know the look.

Since I started going out in public again after Richie’s death, I have gotten the look. It is now a year and four months later and I still get the look. I was visiting another church a few weeks ago and got the look. At first, the look made me want to scream at people. I was getting this look because in this small town, I was the mother of the boy who got hit by the train. What made it worse was his cousin being in a freak deadly accident ten months before his. One person asked one time if I thought there was a curse on the kids of the family. I guess the poor ignorant soul did not know that the boys were cousins by marriage. (Even though we do not believe in the word Step Family) In the car rider line the first day I went to pick up Krista after the accident, the lady who gets the numbers of cars was the mother of one Richie’s closest friends. She got me to roll the window down to give me her condolences and talk a bit. When I rolled my window down, every window in the line went down. I didn’t know if I should sink into the floor or tell them to line up for a Q&A session.

The worse looks are the ones were people know who you are and look at you like you are a saddest person on the planet yet shy away from you as if death is catching. A very good friend of mine, or what I thought was a very good friend, actually turned and went back down the aisle at the grocery store like I had snakes for hair. I brushed it off asĀ  it was too soon for her to find words. The next time, I said she was just in a hurry,. The third time, I knew she was a coward and wanted to scream at her that her kids wouldn’t die if she talked to me. It’s not like I have the gypsy power from Thinner and if you touch me you get a curse. Death is not contagious. I certainly hope that their stupidity and ignorance isn’t catching either.

How long must I go around with this Scarlett Letter D on my forehead? D for Death, I know I carry the death of my son with me every single day. I try to live a life full of smiles and laughter for my two living children. I feel as if they have the same letter D on their forehead. Same for my husband. Someone actually asked my daughter one time if her brother was the dead kid. She was mortified! We live everyday with the fact that Richie is o longer with us. We do not need the head cock, the sympathy stare or the hanging of the head. What we do need is your smiles. We need your prayers. We need your “glad to see you” hugs. We need your laughter. We need you to say our names. We need you to say Richie’s name. We need you to be our friends and family that you always have been. We need you to just be so that we can learn to just be also.

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The Returned

The Returned. A&E’s new show that everyone has been raving about. We have been real busy so I have DVR’ed the first four episodes and Tuesday, Jeff and I finally started watching it. It starts with a school bus going over the side of the cliff. You see this young girl on the bus, then you know she is dead. Next scene is the girl walking in the front door of her home telling her Mom not to freak out cause she was late. The Mom just stands there stunned. Years have passed and this precious daughter walks in the door. What is the Mom to think? Has she finally lost it or is this real?

The show goes on to show other returned and the stories of them. It is actually a very good show. I, however, just went to that place that I go to while watching something that sets off a “what if” trigger. What if this happened? What if Richie walked in the door and yelled that he wanted a sandwich? What would I do? What would I say? Would I even be able to speak?

How can a TV show that I know is fake and the events 100% impossible trigger me so badly? Maybe it is just the way my brain is functioning now. Or maybe there is no reason. Let me tell you though, it was a rough night. I went to bed thinking about this show. I guess I thought too much about it because I spent the entire night stuck in the same dream. I would dream that I heard someone in the living room and yelled out, “Who is in there?” Then I heard the voice I crave to hear answer, “It’s me. Are you cooking tonight?” (Yes, he thought I should cook 24/7) This one scene kept playing in my head every time I closed my eyes. And it seemed so real that each time, I jumped out of bed and went to see my boy. Each time, I had to shake off the slumber and realize it was a dream. I would cry a little and then doze back off. This repeated all night until I finally gave up and just laid there. Scared to close my eyes again. Fearing that i would get heartbroken once more.

Laying there fighting sleep I went through a ton of emotions. Sad because this would never be my reality. I would not have an unbelievable miracle happen to me. I will always feel this loss. Always. And forever.

Then I was angry. Angry at the creators of this show and its makers. How dare they make a show like this! Do they not know that I am grieving? Do they not know that I am still hurting? How could they make a show about someone’s child returning from the dead looking perfectly normal and unaware of the events taking place? How dare they! Out of all the scripts in the world they have come through their doors a day, this is the one they picked? Did they not think about me? I am a very loyal A&E fan. How could they do this when I have lost my precious son in a freak accident?

Then I just went to that place I go to where I know that if I don’t stay busy and keep moving that it is going to be an even worse day. So I cut the phone off and went to scrubbing. All the while working out this grief, anger and sadness. Didn’t really help. But the house is clean.

All of this may seem silly. Who could get triggered over the opening scene of a show that drastically? Who could have a horrible 24 hours because of the first 5 minutes of a show? Well, apparently me. I have started noticing that there are a whole lot of triggers lately. I turn off the TV and listen to the radio. This also has triggers. I am a year and 3 months in and I have this trigger phobia now. I guess I am a late bloomer in grief.

For now, I will go and rearrange the closet. Pray the next trigger stays away for a few days. And try to navigate this next stage in grief. Oh and watch episode four of the Returned tonight. After I got over the first 5 minutes, it really is an amazing show!

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So What You’re Saying Is….

Out of all the things that are being said to me lately, this is the one that has been getting worse and worse to hear, “I don’t see how you do it. If it was my child, I would have killed myself or not ever gotten out of bed again. I just don’t know what I would do.” I have for 10 months now just responded with how you have to dig deep and do what you have to do. But now! Let me tell you what I want to say to these people! I apologize in advance for being mean.
—– Rather than try to imagine what it would be like to be in my shoes, you need to be getting on your knees and thanking God for your children. Rather than compare my grief to what you think yours would be, you need to get on your knees and thank God you don’t have this grief. And what makes you think that you would handle the grief differently? Because you think you would not get out of bed and face the day but I do, does this mean you love your child more than me? Because I have not just given in and you think you would, does this mean that I do not think my child’s death is as traumatic as you would yours? Are you implying that I am not grieving hard enough or public enough for it to be acceptable to other Moms? Am I not displaying enough sorrow and tears for your liking? How about you come and look beside my bed and see the mound of tissues from crying half the night. How about you come and see what happens behind closed doors when I have fits of sorrow so deep that I cannot even breath. How about you just not speak anymore. How about you seriously just pray that God keeps by my side and let’s me keep above water to take care of my family as long as he sees fit. I don’t need your comments any longer. I need your prayers. —–
That is what I should say. Maybe that is what I will start saying.
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