Overwhelming At Times

 Sometimes I don't know what to do with it all. 

I heard that line on TV today and thought "that fits!"  Some days I don't know what to do with all the feelings, all the emotions that come swelling up inside when a memory of my son hits me in some way.  Like today.  There's a young kid at work who has hair just like my son's.  When I saw him today, I just wanted to reach out and smooth those hairs.  I know that wouldn't be right, but the feeling overwhelmed me.  

And that's the kind of stuff that fits:  I don't know what to do with it all. 

I muddle through as best I can, and keep moving through the day.  

Sometimes the tears well up, and sometimes I let them fall.   There is nothing that overwhelms as much as when your child dies.  I know that it's something that I"ll have to live with the rest of my days.  Sometimes I can't imagine what it took for him to do what he did.  And the cycle begins again, the grief builds, the tears come, and I'm sad all over again.  

One day.  Some day.  I'll stroll over heaven with him.  

The Price Of Love

"It is truly remarkable what people in deep turmoil will tell you if you truly listen to what they are saying.  More often than not, they will spill some of the pattern of repeated dark words, thoughts and fantasies that have been spiraling in their heads so relentlessly, so furiously, that they have entered a trance that has eliminated all other thoughts.  If the spiral continues without break, they will essentially talk themselves to the point where the pain of dying seems less than the pain of living.  That's how suicide works."

This is a quote from the book "Deadly Cross" by James Patterson.

And when I read these lines, it brought a touch of comfort regarding the loss of my son.  I know that my son was a lot like me, he lived a good part of his life in his head.  I'm not sure that makes sense to everyone but if you've ever overthought a situation, that's kind of how it is.  And I can see that if he got stuck on a certain thought, it spiraled 'round and 'round until it took over.  

It makes me sad to think that he couldn't reach out past the spiral and get some kind of help. It makes me sad to think that I didn't act on my hunch of loading him into the car and taking him to my mother's for a break from the routine of it all.  

I know that carrying this burden for the rest of my life will weigh me down.  And it's not easy to know that he carried his burdens until he couldn't carry them any longer.  Grief is never ending; and I know I've said it before:  there is nothing like losing a child.  My dad is gone, my sister is gone, even my favorite dog is gone, but I'm still the saddest over losing my son.  He was my reason for buying the small house, living near bus lines, getting it paid off so he'd have a place to grow old.  

Grief is like having a suitcase that you have to lug around everywhere with you:  it's always there, it adds a whole lot of weight to your travels.  And it's a process that never ends.   It's the price of love.