For the Love of Sam

A parents worst nightmare is the death of their child. I am the embodiment of every parents worst nightmare. My son died. And as if that in itself is not bad enough, my son died by his own choice : he took his life.

My grief is complicated by guilt: how could I have not been able to keep him safe? Was I a bad parent? Was I too easy of a parent? Did I discipline him too harshly? Or not enough? I can’t help but to analyze every memory and wonder if I caused this.

Every day, I want to die, but I know I can’t. At least, not until it’s ” my time”. But the days, and the nights pass and I am still here and I really don’t want to be.

I have three surviving children who I love more than life. The oldest has children of his own. He is a good father and husband. The second oldest is single and I worry about him. The youngest has a life that I know very little about. I love my son who waits for me on the other side. I feel torn – Stay? Go?

All I know is that the pain that I feel deep in my heart is absolute and consuming. And I don’t know how long I can survive this nightmare.

It’s Christmas.

And like the others before : the ones that I struggled through your absence,
I will try to smile and face yet another one…
Without you here.

Christmas’s of yesteryear:
Memories of a small boy, grinning ear to ear as you opened your gifts… gifts that you had probably snooped to find in the days before, still
the excitement you couldn’t contain as you pulled the wrapping paper away…it’s those memories that hold me now, in the silence of your absence, on Christmas Day.

Oh how you loved the pumpkin pie and the meal before it! I could never figure out where you put all that food, but you always wanted more. You loved everything about Christmas.

I’ve adorned the tree with all the special ornaments of the past and a few new ones that make me think of you. I think you’d like the tree this year. It’s pretty bare like a Charlie Brown tree, but it’s full of love and full of light, and there’s so much of you and your brothers and sister amongst the branches.

I burn a candle beside all the photos I have of you on the mantle. Buddy’s ashes are with you there, and the astronaut music snowglobe that I have no doubt you led me to back in Nov. I think that you like how we remember you with astronauts and rocketships. And dragonflies.

Merry Christmas in Heaven Sam, if indeed you still celebrate such earthly things where you are. Maybe it’s just nostalgia for you now, as I’m sure that Heaven is filled every day with love and light, and pumpkin pies.

Give Buddy and Reg, Duke and all our pets that have gone on ahead that I’m sure you’ve gathered close while you all wait, a scratch on the chin and a belly rub. I’ll be with you all again one day. ❤️

Merry Christmas sweet Sammy. I love you, and I miss you so much.

Life can be tragic and the loss of a loved one profound. The loss of a child, no matter the age, is every parent’s worst nightmare. Losing your child to suicide is another level altogether.

It’s been two years. Sometime between the night of the 18th of Aug and the early morning of the 19, 2021, Sam succumbed to the demons that told him that his life didn’t matter.

I hate those demons. He mattered more than he could ever have imagined.

The only peace I have is knowing that when he left, he did find peace on the other side.

Two years has passed by in a hazy blur. And I’m thankful because each day that passes is one less day that I have to struggle along in a world without my son.

But today marks his ” Angelversary”.

It’s as hard a day as anyone could imagine, and it’s a day that I have dreaded all week. But this morning, I woke up and felt him all around me. From the music on my Playlist that just kept playing magic from one song to the next – to all the wildlife that I havnt noticed before, Sam went out of his way to make the day a special for me as he could.

There were tears. Of course, there were, and there will always be, but I did find peace in the day, and I know that he brought it to me.

I didn’t think I’d survive the loss of my son. There are days that I still don’t want to. But here I am….surviving.

Two years.

I miss you Sam.

Sinead O’Connor died today. It’s been said that she never got over the death of her son. I suspect she either chose to join him, or she died of a broken heart. Like Lisa Marie Presley. Regardless of the cause of death, which hasn’t been determined pr at least not been released, I know that in her heart, she chose to go.

I struggle daily with this: not wanting to end my life , but all the same, wishing for my journey here to come to an end. Wanting to get off the carousel or the roller coaster, or whatever you want to call it: but just stepping off of the ride called life. Just letting go.

They both lost their beautiful sons to suicide. And now they are both gone. I lost my son to suicide and I am still here. And I’m broken. And I don’t know how to keep going.

There is still more that I have to do here and it’s not yet my time to go. But I don’t want to keep going because at every turn; at every restbreak; at every crossroad : there is the never-ending knawing aching pain that doesn’t subside. And as hard as I try to make a difference for others, it’s not enough to heal me. There is no healing from this. And I don’t know where to turn anymore.

I lost my mom a few hours ago. She has been in a nursing home for almost 5 years. When I lost my son 21 months ago, I needed my mom more than ever, but dementia had taken its grip on her and wouldn’t let go.
I was trying to get home when she passed : I was 40000 feet above the earth in a plane headed towards home but I didn’t make it. She took her last breath when I was somewhere over the prairies of Canada.
She is with my son now. There is some peace in that for me. They are together. He has my mom, and she him.
My heart hurts tonight. Not that it hasn’t since Sam left….but tonight there’s an added element to that pain. Grief has not left me and it never will: at least not until my last breath. But tonight, it has me in a vice.
Grief is love. I just have to remind myself of that. Over and over.

I’m floating. Sometimes, I feel myself slipping below the surface, and I don’t want to come back up. I feel myself sinking deeper and deeper into the blackness.

I hear my own words of hope and compassion that I tell the others who walk the same path I walk along. My words are convincing even if but for a moment, it brings them comfort. But I don’t feel those same words in my own heart. They aren’t meant for me.

I’m told by a few that I am light in the darkness to others, yet I don’t feel that light anymore. I still try to make it shine for them in my own blindness. But I can’t see it. I want to see it, but I don’t.

I swim back up, and as my head breaks the surface and my lungs fill with air, the stangnancy of it nearly chokes me.

My sweet, dumb crazy lunatic of a dog looks at me with the innocence of naivity; he has forgotten the cruelty of what was done to him as a puppy before he found a safe haven with me and he is happy. His gaze brings me back into focus. His eyes sometimes plead with me: to keep taking care of him; to keep loving him. So I stay a little longer for him.

When I do leave this world, I think my parting will be felt for just a short while. The world won’t stop turning. My existence doesn’t make a difference to most while I am here, so it won’t make a difference when I’m gone.

Fuck this world. Whatever the lesson I came here to learn must have had a lot of karma attached to it. I just don’t know if I can finish it. And that is the hideous truth.

It isn’t all bad. I mean, I had the four most beautiful children. And that was the best thing ever. But I must have screwed something up because one was taken away: he left this world before me and I just don’t know how to be me anymore with him gone. Maybe who I was and who I am was the problem all along.

I had a long talk with the Padre yesterday. I needed that because I have no one to talk to. I’m the listener, and when I do try to share my own thoughts, it quickly turns into listening to someone elses story. I never get to talk about mine. But I got to talk yesterday. He told me that I am in survivor mode. I had gone to him to ask for a weeks worth of compassionate leave so that I can fly home to help my father. He is nearing the end of his journey and he needs some help while he is still here. I want to see my mom too, even though she has no idea who I even am anymore. That guts me. But soon they will both be gone. And I’m having a hard time dealing with that.

I asked the Padre if all the stress that I am going through is just normal and if everyone’s lives are just as manic as mine and that we all just hide it well. He said many would have buckled under the pressure im facing and it is testament to my own strength that I just keep going. Anyway, instead of the 5 days worth of compassionate leave I asked for I was granted 14. I guess they think I am ready to implode. Or explode. I’m tired. And at any rate, I’d be ok with either now.

My spouse is downstairs getting shit- faced again. He is an alcoholic and as much as I have tried to help him, he doesn’t want it. I’m too tired to care anymore.

I’ll keep floating and keep trying to chase the darkest thoughts away for now. But I don’t know for how much longer. I don’t know how long before they will completely consume me.

17 Feb 2023
Happy Birthday in Heaven to my sweet son Sam. You would be 33 today. I miss you beyond words. I still have days – most days- where my mind still can’t grasp or comprehend your absence from this world.
I’ll make your favorite dinner tonight and set a place at the table for you. I hope I’ll see a flicker in the candle before I blow it out on your cake : because I know it’ll be you. 🙂 Then, I will send you a lantern to heaven.

I hope you’ll help me pick out a perfect guitar today. This year, it will go to a child. Help them to find beauty in the music Sam, just as you did.

I’ll never stop fighting for you. Not until my last breath.

Happy Birthday Sam

I love you.

You’re not here for me to sing to you,
A happy melody
Or to wrap your present or bake a cake
Or call you joyously
To wish you Happy Birthday on this day which was all yours.
But my thoughts are always with you son and they will be forever more.

Happy Birthday up in Heaven Sam
I’ll try to smile today
As I light a candle on a cake
And think of you on this day
33 years ago you came to me
When you were born to me my son
And my son you shall always be
Until my time on earth is done.

In early December, I sat with the president of the Board of Inquiry into Sam’s death. The findings weren’t good, as I knew they would be. The military takes no responsibility into his death. The harassment that Sam underwent was not significant because the Warrant Officer that the allegations were made against said they didn’t happen. The military also found that adequate mental health care was provided.

The psychiatrist who Sam was under the care of, was never even interviewed. The medications he was grossly over prescribed, were never even factored into the inquiry.

I am submitting a grievance against the findings of the BOI. I’m not sure of the implications it will have on my career since i work for the establishment that I’m now fighting against. I could find myself out in the cold. But I have enough money/ equity I suppose that if I found myself out of a job, I could buy a trailer and live in it for a few years before the money ran out: before Id have to live on the streets. Hopefully, I’d be gone by that point in time.

I have written to the Military Ombudsmans office and they gave me the contact information of a person who heads up medical complaints within the military. I’ve written to him. This morning, on the advice of the contact within the Ombudsman office, I also lodged a complaint with the College of Physicians in the province of Ontario.

I’m doing all this while stopping every few minutes to take care of the people who knock on my door at work for the services that my office provides. My supervisor asked if I would rather have a quiet desk away from all of the commotion to do all of this, but I need to be surrounded by my things, in a space that I feel familiarity in. I welcome the disruptions as well : having to keep my composure as i sit at this desk makes it easier than becoming lost in the words I have to write over and over as I reach out to these different avenues with my grievance.

But I’m tired. I’m tired in my body and I’m tired in my soul. No one seems to want anything to do with this – no one wants to help. They just want to move on as the world moves on. And I understand. But I’m tired.

Sam was a part of me in a way that no one else can or will understand. No one else was his mother. He was my son. He grew inside of me. I nurtured him within my own body until he could survive in this world. And when he died, a huge part of me died too. How could it not?

Having to go over these details over and over is taking its toll. Not having anyone to share this with : to talk about this with- is taking its toll. But I can’t stop until there is some accountability taken for the life that should still be here for at least another 40 years.

More often than not, looking into the innocence of my dogs eyes is the light that keeps me from spiraling down the black hole the stands before me.

I’m tired.

Yesterday I had to set my sweet 19 year old dog free from this world. I prayed that he would pass peacefully and pain free but through the night I could see that he was struggling and in pain so when the vet opened at 0800, I called and within 30 minutes I took him there and they helped him to cross the veil painlessly and peacefully while he was wrapped in my arms. I’m gutted.
I was starting to think I had gone numb after losing my son 16 months ago. Oh don’t get me wrong : I am still deeply grieving him and I will until my final moment on this earth, but I didn’t think anything could come close to the grief I feel with his loss.
Buddy was his dog. We got him when Sam was a young teen and he was always Sam’s boy. When Sam moved out Buddy went with him. So I guess, I just lost another facet of Sam.

The last 6 years of Sam’s life, whenever I would visit, I would think that it would be the last visit with Buddy as he was getting so old and had slowed right down. Never in my wildest nightmares did I think that Buddy would outlive Sam.
In his note to us that morning that Sam took his life, he asked that we please take care of his boys. He also had a younger dog named Theo who is now living his best dog life with one of Sam’s friends. I took Buddy.

I did my best to give Buddy the best life that I could which included having a canine massage therapist visit twice a month for a doggie massage.
Buddy’s passing yesterday has gutted me.

His beautiful little soul is gone and has left a huge void. I had hoped that last night Spirit would allow me a glimpse into heaven through my dreams: to see Sam with Buddy restored to the young pup he was and the two of them running through a field together. I just know that Sam was there to meet him when he crossed. But, I didn’t dream, or at least, if I did, I don’t remember.

I’ve had visitation twice from my sweet Sam since he left us. I sure do hope he visits again. With his little Buddy in tow.

My heart is so broken right now.

I miss my son, and I miss his little side kick Buddy.

It’s 0117. I can’t sleep although I’m tired. I’ve started practicing holotropic breathing at night before I sleep. It is said to induce visions. That’s just how desperate I am to see Sam.

It’s been 16 months and one week, and sometimes I wonder if I am just going batshit crazy. I’ve heard that a mother is never the same after losing a child. Is that just a nicer term for batshit crazy? I go to bed trying to induce visions to see him.

But I know he is here. I have no doubt. I just wish I could see him.

I have two weeks off work. We are moving in 5 days. This house has to be packed and I need to find tenants to rent my house. I also have to sit down and go over the findings of the Board of Inquiry into his death. They were delivered to me in early Dec. I’m putting in a grievance against them. I’m not just doing this for Sam. I’m doing this for every person in the military who has been screwed over by the mental health system that is provided for us. The more I talk openly, the more I have had others open up to me of their experience. And it’s atrocious. I had hoped that the BOI would address the concerns I brought up last year in Sam’s death, but instead they were brushed under the rug and the blame was conveniently placed on a mental health diagnosis Sam was given at the age of 17. The harassment he was subjected to in that last year of his life? They asked to have that struck from the BOI entirely ( the Major who conducted it refused). The mental health piece: the casual way drugs were prescribed without proper observation ( who prescribes an anti-psychotic to someone who is not schizophrenic and is already taking ” head meds” known to cause hallucinations? This was not addressed and instead the findings stated that the treatment he received was adequate. It was not. So, suffice it to say I have work to do. I’m not accepting their findings and I will go public if need be. At least this is giving me a purpose to keep going. Because I truly feel like I have no purpose left on this side anymore.

I went downstairs earlier and as I walked under the smoke detector, it chirped. And when I walked under it a few seconds later, I looked up and said aloud ” is that you Sam?” and it immediately chirped again.

I’m not going batshit crazy.

Six years ago tonight, I spent my last Christmas with Sam. It was a bit of a disaster. My daughter and I were barely on speaking terms. I had so desperately wanted her to just spend a few days with me, but she wanted to go to Kingston. It was in the early days of my break up from my last serious relationship. I just wanted family around so badly.

Sam and his wife and her son were to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at my house and Christmas morning Tess and Matt would come over after breakfast. And then they would all head back to their father’s.

In the early hours of Christmas morning, I woke up to the sound of someone violently vomiting in the bathroom. I waited to see if anyone would go help but no one did. So I went. It was poor Sam. He was so sick with stomach flu. I got him some pepto, some gravol and a cold cloth for his head. By morning, he was well enough to sit with us as presents were opened. Then they all headed to Kingston and I was alone. I got sick that night with the same flu.

I’m laying here in bed now on this Christmas Eve and that night is all I can think of. I have his photo on the pillow beside mine and the tears are falling freely. What I would give to just go back. When the kids were small, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were always so special. The tree was decorated and the gifts were opened in the morning with so much excitement. Those are amongst my favorite memories. The looks on their faces when they would open those gifts.

I can’t remember a Christmas Eve since that last one with Sam or a Christmas Day that has really felt like anything special. Randy and I did drive to Edmonton in 2019 and that was nice.

I guess Christmas for me ended in 2016. Tomorrow is just another day. I don’t want to get out of bed.

It’s Christmas Eve 2022. It’s 9 pm. I’m going to go to bed now.

When we lose someone to death, grief is obvious. But grief can manifest itself through other channels of loss.

Grief can affect someone after the breakup of a relationship; or not getting a job promotion that was expected and hoped for; or the loss of health or a physical injury that keeps you from being able to live your life as you had before. Basically any loss, can bring on grief, and/ or depression.

But grief is natural and it’s normal. And in most situations, we can move through it, heal through it and come out the other side of it more experienced in this journey called life. It can also compound itself and lead to depression if it goes unchecked. Depression of course leads to a myriad of medical, mental and physical issues and this is where we need help to get through, and in the worst cases, survive it.

My partner is experiencing alienation from his children. His ex-wife destroyed the relationship he had with them in classic narcissistic injury style. She used manipulation, lies and cruelty to take away the most important people in his life. She doesn’t care about the damage done mentally to them: it’s about destroying the man who finally saw through her and chose to leave. It is taking its toll on him. And its taking its toll on us.

Although his grief is not the same as mine because his children are alive and there is always the hope that he will see them again one day, his grief nonetheless is deep and it is profound. It has been life-changing for him and my heart hurts seeing the depression he is in over this incredible loss. He has written them many a letter from his heart ; but they are always ignored.

His children are both adults now, but the alienation that his ex-wife created, has been far-reaching. He feels that he may as well be dead to them. Sometimes I worry that the stress will inevitably end his life.

So here we both sit; three nights before Christmas Eve watching Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer; in front of a lit Christmas Tree that just doesn’t sparkle for either of us.

Grief has visited this house for far too long now. Although I will grieve for my son until my last breath, I do wish that we could actually find joy in the season. I wish this house wasn’t filled with so much loss.

I was walking through Superstore yesterday, and I saw a bag of cookies that I used to buy when the kids were young. I walked over, picked it up and immediately I had to put it down because I suddenly felt like crying.

I saw a pair of seat covers being advertised a few minutes ago and it reminded me of how excited Sam was to show me the slip covers he had bought for his chairs when he moved into his apartment.

Randy and I were out looking for a sectional couch on Black Friday for our TV room in the new house we are moving into and I saw a bench like one that I had given to Sam … I had to walk out of the store in tears.

Whether it is a favorite food, or a song, or hearing the name Sam or listening to the guys I work with who were his age, talk about things I knew he also enjoyed : it hurts. Inevitably, many times a day I am reminded of something that, although I’m not going to ever be able to forget, will trigger a memory and there I am…. having to walk away or risk tears that I try so hard to hide from everyone.

How is someone supposed to live like this?

I spent an hour with the dietician yesterday. My doctor referred me weeks ago, to help me with my bingeing. This was my second appointment.

But I’m not just bingeing. I am slowing destroying myself from the inside out. I starve myself for 2 or 3 weeks in an attempt to control ” something ” in my life. But then i lose control then I’ll binge for weeks trying hard every day to get back my self control to stop it. I’m pretty sure I am anemic again : I’m exhausted all of the time and I have no energy. And I’m sure that my blood sugars are all over the map.

My poor digestive system and metabolism doesn’t have a clue what to do anymore. Is it feast? Or famine? Should it store fat? Or start burning fat?

I can’t remember to take my blood pressure medication, unless I am feeling uncomfortably bloated and then the diuretic prescribed for my BP at lease alleviates that. My ADHD drug leaves me with the worst side effects so I don’t take it most of the time. Which is too bad : it’s a drug that is known to reduce appetite. It might actually help my inability to control the binge behavior except that I can’t tolerate the side effects. I asked my Dr to prescribe Wegovy – a drug used that helps type 2 diabetics lose weight. I’m agonizing over my weight gain because I can’t seem to stop it while I’m so out of control, but my Dr won’t prescribe the drug. I feel that if I could get my weight back under control the starving and bingeing cycle might stop. Instead she sent me to a dietician: who is wonderful except its not a matter of me not knowing what’s bad and what’s good. It’s a matter of me not being in the mental state where I can stop what I am doing.

My psychologist said the starving is my way of slowly killing myself. A ” passive suicide”. I wonder if she is right.

It took years and years to get to where I was mentally before Sam died. I was in a good place ; a clear headspace for the first time in years. I had spent most of my life in survival mode. And i was finally living. But now look at me. I’m freefalling hoping for the crash. I was dealing with a lot of stress at work a few weeks ago and the chest pains started and as it radiated down my arm, I thought ” I’m ready” . Except I guess the universe or heaven or whatever you choose to call it, wasn’t ready for me because here I am…. still above the ground.

How the fuck am I supposed to survive any of this? I lost my family : they lost me. So why the hell do I have to stay here?

Today is International Suicide Survivors Day 2022. Never in my lifetime did I think today would be about me. But then, I don’t think anyone who survives the loss of a loved one to suicide ever thought this would be a journey that they would be on. As human beings, we face every day with optimism that each day will just be like the day before. Those who we love will be there in the morning when we wake up; the sun will shine somewhere and life will carry on as per normal….until it doesn’t.

I am stuck on that day.. it plays over and over in my head : the way the sun shone through my bedroom window that morning; that phone call and the desperation in my oldest son’s voice on the other end of the line telling me I needed to call my former husband right away; and the instant the dread filled my heart as I realized it was about Sam. My sweet, sweet youngest son Sam. For those brief seconds before i spoke to his dad, it was only speculation – I could still hope that maybe it wasn’t as bad as I knew already it was. There was that brief, fleeting hope. And then it was torn forever away.

I screamed that day: i screamed three times the deep guttural scream of a mother’s heart shattering into a billion pieces as i succumbed to the realization that he was gone. Poor Randy still can’t get that scream out of his head. I’m sure the moon shifted that morning at the sound.

Life has moved on, as life does: just not for the loved ones left behind. I personally can’t move past that day. I’ve said before that I wish I could be stuck in the day before : that last phone call; that last ” I love you” that last optimism that we all take for granted, that tomorrow will come; our loved ones will wake up; and somewhere, the sun will shine. I wish I could be stuck in that last day that he was alive. I’d gladly loop in that day forever.

The sun doesn’t shine the same for me anymore. Nothing is the same. I live in a pergatory: stuck between two worlds, not really belonging in either. Wanting to be here, and not wanting to be here. My surviving children lost the mother they knew: I was a mother to four. I’m not sure what I am now. There is no word for a parent who loses a child.

I live my days wearing the smile I hide my grief behind in hopes that I can blend into a world that I’m not really a part of anymore and trying not to be awkward for those who are around me.

15 months ago yesterday, he was here. 15 months ago today, he was gone.

Today is International Survivors of Suicide Day. What I want to share with those who are struggling on this earth, is that you are loved more than you know. The black hole you would leave behind for the ones who love you: your family and your friends, is so vast that they would be sucked into its vortex and they would be lost into a life of confusion, grief, anguish, sadness, anger and desperation for what remained of their journey here on this earth. The voices inside your head telling you that you are not worthy, and that the ones you love would be better off with out you, lie. We need you here. And we love you.

What I want to share with those who are fortunate to not walk this journey is this : don’t take life for granted. The optimism that tomorrow will just be another day like today can be ripped away without any warning. Make sure you tell your loved ones each and every day that you love them. That they are more than worthy and let them know how much you need them in your life. Be kind to all. Be inclusive to all.

I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. I wouldn’t wish this on any one.

14 months, 4 days.

I can’t shake the thought that if only I had stayed in Trenton 5 years ago rather than move to the other side of the country, Sam would still be alive.

He moved there in 2020 after the breakup of his marriage. He had asked to move there so his ( then) wife could be closer to her family. But she left and he had no choice but to move. ( it was a military move).

Id have gladly had him move in with me to help him get back on his feet.

I don’t know how long I can keep living with the constant guilt. It permeates my thoughts.

I miss my before life. I miss sleep. I miss peace and joy. I miss everything. I hate existing.

Suicide loss is a complicated grief. Those who havnt gone through it will never understand it. Hell, I don’t think we understand it ourselves. I don’t know how we are supposed to survive it. I often don’t want to survive it.

When people say, ” Sam wouldn’t want you to be so sad. He would want you to be happy” . I feel like saying the only thing that will make me truly happy again, is seeing my son. And to do that, I would have to die. That’s my dilemma. I don’t say that out loud: but I feel it.

We live in a state of guilt, for any thing we ever said out of anger; For anytime we had to discipline them. We also live in a state of guilt for not being the parents we were before they died to our surviving children. Its not fair to them: how broken we are. They lost their sibling and in many ways, for my children anyway: they lost their mother as well. I’m not who I once was. I’m sure that they know I don’t want to be here anymore. And that’s just fucked. It’s not that they aren’t enough , it’s that my heart is so shattered that I feel it break every day.

We live in a pergatory of what if’s and if only’s.

It’s fucked up. And I miss my son.

It has been almost 14 months now since Sam left us. Mental illness was his demon: he died by the final symptom of it. He died by suicide. He was 31. He would be almost 33 now. He should be almost 33 now. But instead, he is forever 31.

They say that the second year is the hardest. But who is counting anymore. Days just becomes weeks, and weeks become months.

Time has disappeared inside of this vortex called grief. It has robbed me of time. I’m no further from the day he left than I was one month into this journey. Time means nothing to me any more. I sleep; I work and I sleep again. And as each day passes, I rejoice in the fact that when the day ends, I am one day closer to going to where he is. I can’t find joy in any of the things I once did. It feels like I am still standing in the doorway of that morning. I can’t leave. I wish I could go back one more day and be stuck in the last day that he was alive instead. I’d happily stay there with him. But suffice it to say : I have not moved on from the day he left. The world has as the world must, but I’m still standing here: loitering as it were, and I can’t seem to step away from it. I can’t seem to wrap my head around any of it.

I don’t cry as often as I used to, but when I do: look out. It gets messy. For those looking at me, I have created a facade of carrying on with the day to day things that I must do in order to pass the test that I am ok to be around. I just try to fit in, like a square into a circle slot …. hoping no one notices how much I have to bend to get in. It beats being alone: I find some comfort in being around others but inevitably something will happen that reminds me that Im a square amongst the circles and I have to retreat to a quiet space.

I used to feel a future, but I don’t feel it anymore. I have 3 living children who I don’t love any less than I love Sam, but they have lives : good lives and I know they will be ok. I know that they hurt over the loss of their brother but they have families and things to bring them joy. When a mother loses a child, there is just no more joy. Hard as I try, I just can’t feel it anymore.