Matt. Today is unbearable, empty. There is nothing left to do. Last week my mind shrouded in grief had to function. There was no choice. First, I had to get you home to Delaware. Flight after flight was canceled because of the snow storms. I wondered if that was you. Your last joke on me. I remembered how you loved the snow. I close my eyes and see You, Me and Mike racing out the door into the newly fallen snow. The dogs on our heals. Boys in the bodies of men squealing with laughter as we slammed each other with snow balls. Darting through trees or whatever cover we could find. Not a care in the world. Just a mom and her teenage sons. The age of innocence before any thought of drugs would enter our perfect snow covered world. Soaked and exhausted we would drop to the ground and spread our wings. Snow Angels. Three in a row. Matt, your angel is forever gone. Blown away by the wind of your demons, never to return again.
Writing your obituary and planning your memorial service were the most painful events in my life. Trying to find words to describe your life. What does a mother say about her son’s life. How do you describe the tow headed little child who held your heart in his hands? How do you describe the man, the struggle and the demons? How do you put the last seven years into a word document when you can’t breathe and comprehend that this is reality? You and Mike should be going through this. Not me and Ray. You were supposed to live. You were supposed to be here when I left to stand by your brothers side and say goodbye to me. Not the other way around.
So now what is left for me? My life revolved around saving you. You are gone and I am left shattered. A wine glass thrown against a wall. There is no putting me back together. I sit alone curled up by the fire. The pups feel my grief. I am dark, unreachable, untouchable, numb. Grief has swallowed me up. I sit and relive every moment. Memory after memory floods my foggy brain. I dissect every decision made during your addiction. I torture myself wondering what I missed. What I should have done differently. I have become my personal punching bag.
My life now lived in a thick fog. My heart not allowing the truth to find my brain. I don’t understand how my heart can hurt so deeply and still beat. Sleep is sporadic. The couch has become my bed. Ray must sleep. I toss and turn and cry. When sleep comes it’s short and sweet. My reprieve from the reality of your death. Waking is punishment. Every morning my grief lies in wait until I stir. Opening my eyes allows a slice of reality in as I see your smiling face staring back at me. Grief gut punches. The cold slap of reality. There are moments where I can briefly forget that you are gone. Moments my brain protects my heart and I pretend you are busy. You will call when you can. I allow myself to think you are on the beach enjoying the warmth of the sun while I’m freezing in this cold. Then the wave hits sucking my breath away and I crumble like the sandcastles we built by the sea.
My denial laughing at me. Those books written by parents of addicts. The one’s I though knew what they were talking about. The one’s that became my bibles. The one’s where their children lived have been transformed to an ashy mess burned on a dark, grief filled night. Those books are full of lies. Addiction does not always have a happy ending.
My heart remains shattered with no end in site. The pain of losing you hurts so much more than the pain of bringing you into this world. At least I knew when that pain ended I would hold my precious baby in my arms. This pain has engulfed my world and will never have an ending.
Memories of your childhood flood my brain. My mind has become a movie projector. Both good and bad flood my brain taking my breath away. Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. You and I would laugh dropping to the ground singing that song. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty back together again. Call me Humpty. Shattered beyond repair.