Dear Brian,
What a rough weekend for me to get through. It's been a year now, and I'm still as lost as I was a year ago. And yet in some ways I've been able to get through it. I know I move through my days doing the things that need doing, but there's not as much purpose any longer. I can feel this happening, and yet seem unable to change any of it.
With COVID, I'm not able to go places or do things, and I'm finding it quite a relief that I'm not being urged to be social in any way. Which makes me chuckle. I wear my mask all the time because it's the law, and I don't even have to smile at customers -- they have no idea what my mouth does behind my mask! It's amusing to be able to move through my day without having to do the whole small talk and smile -- hard to do that when you're forced to stay six feet apart all the time. hahah
I sat down and read your note today. It hurt to see your handwriting. I'm not sure if I was looking for comfort in your words -- I already knew I wouldn't find it. I think I have that note memorized. It still didn't give me any answers. I still have so many "what if" scenarios that I run through my head. But I can't change what happened. But I wish I could have.
Aunt Lori isn't doing well. I don't know if she's at the "I give up" stage of fighting her cancer, but it seems like it might be. She's always been the one in control, and she's trying to do her medications by herself. From what Grandma tells me, it sounds like she's over medicating; she sleeps through her days, and barely eats or drinks. She's at Grandma's now.
I cleaned out a few of your things. I put some of the hot wheels cars from your shelves into the carrying case. I wonder if Zane would like to have them? I didn't know what to do with all your wallets and pocket knives, some of the comic books and your drumsticks. I have a couple thoughts, but since I wasn't certain, I'll just sleep on it for a while longer.
Writing to you here keeps your memory alive for me in a tangible way. And I need the outlet. So I'll just keep doing what I'm doing.
Love you and miss you every single day
Love,
mom
Friday, July 3, 2020
Wednesday, July 1, 2020
Happy Angelversary
Dear Brian,
It's been one year since the day that changed all the rest of my days.
I live each day in a sort of suspended animation mode: I go through the motions, but expect that at any moment you'll come through the door and surprise me. In my mind, I know that's not possible, by my heart still believes.
It's still "Brian's room, Brian's bathroom, Brian's garage" and I don't suppose that will ever change. I'm sure that some people would say that I need to move on, change things up, or something like that. But your guitars hang right there, your wallet and pocket knife are in the top drawer as if you're just gone on a trip. There may come a day ... and maybe not, and Tanya will have to deal with whatever is still here.
I've pondered over and over the why's and what if's. I know I can't change it. But it hurts like hell to think that I couldn't have done something differently, said something. If only ....
I always thought that I was a strong person, always believed there was a "circle of life" and that everything dies at some point. But to lose you, my son, has been the single hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. What makes it seem worse is that it doesn't go away, and you don't just "get over it". I carry this with me every single day.
I know that I'm just passing time now, going through the motions without the same purpose. I always had the goal in mind of making sure that I get things set up in such a way that you'd be taken care of after I was gone. Now it doesn't have the same meaning for me.
Probably the hardest thing to bear in all of this is that I never get to talk about you with anyone else. Grandma has her own challenges at the moment; T has her own life and is living it. So that's why I have this blog -- a place to write to you, to let all the feelings come out when they need to, a place where I can say things that no one else wants to hear. It's also why I created that memorial .... so that I could post every single photo I ever took of you, tell all your little stories.
Because your life mattered.
And you should NEVER be forgotten.
Happy Angelversary!
I love you. Always.
mom
It's been one year since the day that changed all the rest of my days.
I live each day in a sort of suspended animation mode: I go through the motions, but expect that at any moment you'll come through the door and surprise me. In my mind, I know that's not possible, by my heart still believes.
It's still "Brian's room, Brian's bathroom, Brian's garage" and I don't suppose that will ever change. I'm sure that some people would say that I need to move on, change things up, or something like that. But your guitars hang right there, your wallet and pocket knife are in the top drawer as if you're just gone on a trip. There may come a day ... and maybe not, and Tanya will have to deal with whatever is still here.
I've pondered over and over the why's and what if's. I know I can't change it. But it hurts like hell to think that I couldn't have done something differently, said something. If only ....
I always thought that I was a strong person, always believed there was a "circle of life" and that everything dies at some point. But to lose you, my son, has been the single hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. What makes it seem worse is that it doesn't go away, and you don't just "get over it". I carry this with me every single day.
I know that I'm just passing time now, going through the motions without the same purpose. I always had the goal in mind of making sure that I get things set up in such a way that you'd be taken care of after I was gone. Now it doesn't have the same meaning for me.
Probably the hardest thing to bear in all of this is that I never get to talk about you with anyone else. Grandma has her own challenges at the moment; T has her own life and is living it. So that's why I have this blog -- a place to write to you, to let all the feelings come out when they need to, a place where I can say things that no one else wants to hear. It's also why I created that memorial .... so that I could post every single photo I ever took of you, tell all your little stories.
Because your life mattered.
And you should NEVER be forgotten.
Happy Angelversary!
I love you. Always.
mom
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