The officer in charge of the military inquiry into my son’s death reached out to me the other day. I’m not sure how i feel about that. It was nothing bad, nor was it anything good: he was just letting me know that he had reached out to the authorities in charge to find out why he hadn’t heard anything back and that he was deploying for several months within the next few days. He was told that he would hear the findings in early summer and that, because he will be out of country, he will meet with myself and Sams father towards the end of summer with the findings.

I think in my heart I know already that they are going to blame Sams mental illness and that the Dr who prescribed an anti psychotic drug like Pez candy will not be held responsible for what led up to our loss of Sam’s life. I can’t believe that the drug Latuda would be prescribed so non chalantly without proper observation. While I don’t want anyone dragged through the dirt, I do want to know that this kind of gross blunder will not be repeated in the future: that this Dr will be held accountable for his misjudgement.

Meanwhile, I sit here one day further away from ever hearing my son’s voice ; one day further away from ever hearing ” love ya ma”; one day further from ever seeing his eyes smiling back at me. At least, not in this lifetime.

Most days I am doing ok. But in the days that I’m not, my own thoughts concern me. I don’t want to hurt anyone else but the agony of my heart some days is just bigger than all of me. I have long struggled with my own mental health demons and I still don’t know how I’m supposed to survive this. They say the worst nightmare for any parent is the loss of their child. I am living every day in that nightmare now. I’m living in shock and a state of denial that this even happened. And because of that, my thoughts are returned to reality with the words ” he is gone” on almost a daily basis.

A huge part of me died with Sam. I feel like I have not truly lived since the day he died. I love my three other children with every breath that I have in me. I love my grandchildren the same. I love my pets: God knows its Abes soulful brown eyes that tether me to the ground in the darkest moments when I’ve lost the capacity to reach out. What kind of life is left for me?

It’s rough being me right now. Randy and I are home sick with Covid. We need medicine and groceries but until we get through the mandatory isolation we are shit out of luck until tomorrow when the store can deliver.

May it be noted: I’m just having one of those bad days today.