Dear Brian:
I'm a little bit mad at you today. I had to call to have some plumbing work done. And it's all stuff you've done in the past. I miss your not being here to help me take care of this house that I fully intended to be yours. While it was costly to have them come out, I'm stuck having to have someone who knows something come out and check things over. For $100 they inspected each and every water faucet and valve in the house. BTW, they said your job under the kitchen sink and dishwasher installation was dandy. But I already knew that! :)
I know in my own kind of logic that I am not in a place to make major decisions. I'm having a hard enough time deciding to drive to Grandma's for a vacation. If the drive is stressful, I'll be stopping halfway. Which makes for a shorter trip at her house, but better for me. I guess it's the conundrum of the decision making process as one gets older. I'm too young to be retired, but too old to do some of the things I've been doing .... *sigh*
I'm starting to think that I need to be in Tucson, closer to Tanya, someone who can help "take care of me" .... as I get a little bit older. Which is coming on way too fast!
It's been difficult, this transition, and I'm finding that I need less stuff. Parting with your things hasn't been easy. I find myself making decisions on whether or not it's something of yours that brings a smile or a memory to mind. If it doesn't, then out it's going. Sounds a bit harsh, and believe me, it's much more difficult for me than I made it sound.
It all hurts so much.
you're not here to share the funny little things
you're not here to share the load
you're not here to share your smiles
you'll never walk through that front door again
and i miss it. so very much.
surviving someone's suicide is one of the hardest things ever
i love you
mom
Showing posts with label forever missed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label forever missed. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 18, 2019
Sunday, August 4, 2019
Little Piles Everywhere
Being so scatterbrained lately, I've come to realize that I have little piles of "this and that" in odd places around the house. And when it comes to finding things .... my memory is on the fritz with all the stress. So I spend too much time looking for things, and not enough time dealing with them.
I don't know how long this phase lasts, but I sure hope it passes quickly!
I'm big on pictures -- taking them, saving them, and folks who know how much I like pictures send them to me as well! Especially family photos. To me, it's important to know where you come from in order to get where you're going.
I found these just yesterday,
in another one of these little piles,
so I'm going to share them.
Brian "spelunking" at Lava Beds National Monument
Dear Brian,
You gave me moments of sheer joy; I will never forget the laughs and tears, the adventures and mishaps we've shared over the years.
I miss you every day,
Love, Mom
I don't know how long this phase lasts, but I sure hope it passes quickly!
I'm big on pictures -- taking them, saving them, and folks who know how much I like pictures send them to me as well! Especially family photos. To me, it's important to know where you come from in order to get where you're going.
I found these just yesterday,
in another one of these little piles,
so I'm going to share them.
Brian "spelunking" at Lava Beds National Monument
and a joyous moment before jumping in the lake!
Dear Brian,
You gave me moments of sheer joy; I will never forget the laughs and tears, the adventures and mishaps we've shared over the years.
I miss you every day,
Love, Mom
Thursday, July 25, 2019
Reliving It All (Part 2)
Dear Brian,
All night I was plagued with the question: Would you have made the choice to end your pain if you knew what other pains, the ripple effect, your death would have on the rest of us? Had you been in your right mind, I don't think so. But that's second guessing, and you needed to find your peace.
The morning after was rough, we all walked around in a daze, wondering what to do, what needed to be done, and how to go about it. With your body at the morgue and the next day the 4th of July, we needed to get arrangements made. So I called the funeral home and made the appointment for 1pm. In the meantime, we decided to go through your room.
We couldn't find a suicide note; we found your phone but it doesn't work. Of course, all the little things -- the junk you never could get rid of was boxed up. We went through your clothes. Luckily Alonzo could fit into some of those jeans that had gotten too big for you, so they went to a good cause. Your motorcycle jacket went to Brandon, since he rides to work every day. Some of your work shirts were still looking good enough, Alonzo can wear those to work! No one fit into your shoes. They're all still piled in the garage.
When it came time to leave, we tried grabbing a little snack -- no one feels like eating just yet, but we know that we need to. We arrived at the mortuary and of course there are several decisions to be made. We looked at the urns, and while your sister needed some time to think about it, I didn't. I saw one that was all black, nothing fancy on it, and knew in an instant it was perfect for you. We decided on an electric guitar, block lettering for you name and date. Simple. Timeless. Classic.
There wasn't anything left for us to do but head for home, stare at the same walls, let the TV keep our brain occupied for a bit more. No one was interested in finding a fireworks display to watch. We spent part of the afternoon looking through things in the garage. I sat down at the computer to ... well, I don't remember what I was going to do, probably look up some photos. I opened my drawer and underneath my portable hard drive, I found your note. My heart nearly needed a jump start. I didn't want to read it. And yet I did. I wanted to know everything you were thinking, learn whatever you needed to tell us.
I carried it out to Alonzo and Tanya, they read it too. It was so sad to hear your final words. It has always made me wonder why you couldn't talk about Michelle and family. You were living like a family, but I'm certain it wasn't any kind of family life you'd ever had in the past. And maybe you felt some kind of shame in the way things were, so much so that you wouldn't talk about it. And you needed to.
That night, I slept maybe 3-4 hours, because my body was exhausted. There weren't any kind of arrangements that we could have made because it was a holiday, so we pretty much coasted through the rest of the day and evening. I cooked the lasagna you and I were going to have, so that helped us feel a little bit more normal -- fixing dinner and eating something helped everyone feel a little better.
Friday was going to be another difficult day.
Here's the urn we selected for you:
All night I was plagued with the question: Would you have made the choice to end your pain if you knew what other pains, the ripple effect, your death would have on the rest of us? Had you been in your right mind, I don't think so. But that's second guessing, and you needed to find your peace.
The morning after was rough, we all walked around in a daze, wondering what to do, what needed to be done, and how to go about it. With your body at the morgue and the next day the 4th of July, we needed to get arrangements made. So I called the funeral home and made the appointment for 1pm. In the meantime, we decided to go through your room.
We couldn't find a suicide note; we found your phone but it doesn't work. Of course, all the little things -- the junk you never could get rid of was boxed up. We went through your clothes. Luckily Alonzo could fit into some of those jeans that had gotten too big for you, so they went to a good cause. Your motorcycle jacket went to Brandon, since he rides to work every day. Some of your work shirts were still looking good enough, Alonzo can wear those to work! No one fit into your shoes. They're all still piled in the garage.
When it came time to leave, we tried grabbing a little snack -- no one feels like eating just yet, but we know that we need to. We arrived at the mortuary and of course there are several decisions to be made. We looked at the urns, and while your sister needed some time to think about it, I didn't. I saw one that was all black, nothing fancy on it, and knew in an instant it was perfect for you. We decided on an electric guitar, block lettering for you name and date. Simple. Timeless. Classic.
There wasn't anything left for us to do but head for home, stare at the same walls, let the TV keep our brain occupied for a bit more. No one was interested in finding a fireworks display to watch. We spent part of the afternoon looking through things in the garage. I sat down at the computer to ... well, I don't remember what I was going to do, probably look up some photos. I opened my drawer and underneath my portable hard drive, I found your note. My heart nearly needed a jump start. I didn't want to read it. And yet I did. I wanted to know everything you were thinking, learn whatever you needed to tell us.
I carried it out to Alonzo and Tanya, they read it too. It was so sad to hear your final words. It has always made me wonder why you couldn't talk about Michelle and family. You were living like a family, but I'm certain it wasn't any kind of family life you'd ever had in the past. And maybe you felt some kind of shame in the way things were, so much so that you wouldn't talk about it. And you needed to.
That night, I slept maybe 3-4 hours, because my body was exhausted. There weren't any kind of arrangements that we could have made because it was a holiday, so we pretty much coasted through the rest of the day and evening. I cooked the lasagna you and I were going to have, so that helped us feel a little bit more normal -- fixing dinner and eating something helped everyone feel a little better.
Friday was going to be another difficult day. Here's the urn we selected for you:
Sunday, July 14, 2019
SOS
Survivors Of Suicide: This is a group you don't want to belong to. Because there are no answers when someone you love commits suicide. It's been 12 days since I found my son, Brian, and I'm beginning to realize that there are very few people in my life who knew Brian. Which leaves a kind of hole in my life that can't be filled. There isn't anyone to share in my memories, someone to talk about what he meant to me.
Brian was a special needs kid: he was visually impaired from birth. This created issues with school work and relating to others. When someone calls out from across the room, he depended on voice to get the gist of the message as he couldn't see visual clues from a distance. He adapted, and the rest of us adapted to his needs as well.
After a divorce, and creating a blended family, it made some difference, but in the long run, it was just me and my son. He lived with me until he turned 30. While we were roommates once he became an adult, he depended on me to get him around town, and I depended on him to be my handyman. He could fix anything -- he gets that from me, and my dad.
I was the one who helped him navigate the adult world, creating a bank account, appointments with Social Security or the DMV, and any other adult-ing that needed to be done. They were things that needed doing, and if I didn't prod him along sometimes, it didn't get done.
When he started attending Mesa Community College, he had to learn to navigate the bus system. We followed the bus route in my car a few times so he could become familiar with the route, and the landmarks he would be looking for. The first time he rode the bus alone, I followed along behind, making sure he was able to transfer from one bus line to another. He knew I was there, that way if something went wrong, there was a bit of a safety net.
We did this because in Ohio, one night Brian decided to take a bus "down town" and ended up getting confused on the dark streets. He called me and asked me to come get him, he was "at Burger King". There was more than one Burger King in town and it took a while to find him!!! It was one of those panic moments in a mother's life -- and maybe a bit for him too!
Once he got the bus route to MCC figured out, he had much more freedom and traveled a bit more on his own. One day, he was transferring buses, and had to run from the first bus to the second, and he dropped his cell phone. He told me about it later, and we decided to go see if we could find the phone. We wandered the street in the dark, found the first half of the phone, then the back was found too! Thank goodness, because his phone had insurance and this was covered!!
I'm writing here because I feel like no one else will tell his story, and he will be forgotten, a vague memory. And because of the taboo of suicide, people won't speak of him.
Brian was a special needs kid: he was visually impaired from birth. This created issues with school work and relating to others. When someone calls out from across the room, he depended on voice to get the gist of the message as he couldn't see visual clues from a distance. He adapted, and the rest of us adapted to his needs as well.
After a divorce, and creating a blended family, it made some difference, but in the long run, it was just me and my son. He lived with me until he turned 30. While we were roommates once he became an adult, he depended on me to get him around town, and I depended on him to be my handyman. He could fix anything -- he gets that from me, and my dad.
I was the one who helped him navigate the adult world, creating a bank account, appointments with Social Security or the DMV, and any other adult-ing that needed to be done. They were things that needed doing, and if I didn't prod him along sometimes, it didn't get done.
When he started attending Mesa Community College, he had to learn to navigate the bus system. We followed the bus route in my car a few times so he could become familiar with the route, and the landmarks he would be looking for. The first time he rode the bus alone, I followed along behind, making sure he was able to transfer from one bus line to another. He knew I was there, that way if something went wrong, there was a bit of a safety net.
We did this because in Ohio, one night Brian decided to take a bus "down town" and ended up getting confused on the dark streets. He called me and asked me to come get him, he was "at Burger King". There was more than one Burger King in town and it took a while to find him!!! It was one of those panic moments in a mother's life -- and maybe a bit for him too!
Once he got the bus route to MCC figured out, he had much more freedom and traveled a bit more on his own. One day, he was transferring buses, and had to run from the first bus to the second, and he dropped his cell phone. He told me about it later, and we decided to go see if we could find the phone. We wandered the street in the dark, found the first half of the phone, then the back was found too! Thank goodness, because his phone had insurance and this was covered!!
I'm writing here because I feel like no one else will tell his story, and he will be forgotten, a vague memory. And because of the taboo of suicide, people won't speak of him.
"Death is not the greatest loss in life.
The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live."
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