A Story of Addiction & Loss

Category: complicated grief (Page 2 of 8)

Haunted By A Hug

Matt,   After all this time my brain continues to go back to the memory of our last hug.   You were staying at a treatment facility in Pennsylvania and it was visiting day.   

I remember seeing you walk toward me as I sat outside waiting for you to join me.  I remember thinking how great you looked.   How clear your eyes were.   How your smile lit up your face.   How healthy you looked and how great it was to be wrapped up in your bear hug.

We sat and talked about your future.   You talked about finally having that monkey off your back.   You were so excited to begin a new life in a sober home in Florida.   Although I was not in favor of you moving so far away from your family,  your excitement was contagious and I finally got on board.

I felt that you deserved a fresh start and you always loved living by the sea.   I remember thinking how great it would be for you to leave the cold weather behind and enjoy life under the warmth of the Florida sun.

Never did I think our last hug goodbye would be the last hug.   That 6 months later you would be gone.   That monkey followed you to the sea you so loved and took you from me.

Now I sit with closed eyes and remember.   I remember feeling your breath on my hair.   I remember the smell of your clothes.   The Axe body spray was your signature scent.  To this day I fight the impulse to spray the scent as I walk by the aisle full of mens body products knowing that if I do I will fight to remain in control of my emotions.

Oh how I wish we were given the chance to spend more time hugging.   More time talking about the hopes and dreams we both had thinking your disease was under control.   How I wish I had more time to tell you how proud I was of you.   How I loved you unconditionally through your addiction and the aspirations I now had for you in your recovery.

The memory of that hug now haunts me.   How I wish I knew then what I know now.   How I wish I held on longer and never let you go………

Mother’s Day For the Bereaved

Matt, With Mothers Day around the corner you can’t go into a store without being swallowed up by Mothers Day gift displays and cards. Commercials are full of suggestions on what to give mothers on their special day.

What if you are a bereaved mother? Where are cards for us? None of us wanted this title. None of us wanted to watch our children leave us behind. None of us wanted to stand in a church listening to stories about our child’s life that ended too soon. None of us wanted to spend birthdays, holidays, and yes, Mothers Day at the cemetery. 💔

Mothers Day for a bereaved mother is filled with heartbreaking, gut wrenching grief. One of the hardest days for many of us. We have lost a piece of our hearts. It has been said that child loss is one of the worst traumas a human being can endure. Yet, here we are enduring another holiday that so many other mothers cherish.

We feel as if the world has walked away. Friends of the past have disappeared. Our grief too heavy a burden for their unknowing hearts. Many feel we should “move on” and forget that our child is gone. After all grief does have a time line until it becomes your grief.

Many of us suffer silently as we hear of others plans for Mothers Day. Many will retreat to a safe space until the day has passed. Whatever we do and how we survive is up to us. It’s ok not to be ok on Mother’s Day.

My wish for you is to know you are not alone. Be kind to yourself on this painful day. Buy yourself flowers or a favorite candle. Bring out the photos of your child and let your love pour over the faces we can no longer touch except in our hearts and minds. Let beautiful memories wash over your soul with its healing balm. Recognize we are still mothers and will be until our lives are gone. We must hold each other up and reach out to other mothers who share our grief.

We must encourage each other to find healing and hope. We must be sensitive and acknowledge that our grief like our love will last forever ♥️

My fellow bereaved moms who have become my dear friends I wish you peace on a day that will bring tears and pain. None of us chose this path but together we will walk each other home into the arms of our loving children.

Hugs and Love,
Matt’s Mom. 🌹

Thankfully Broken

 

As Thanksgiving approaches I’m finding it hard to be thankful.  My grief has returned and has decided to batter my already damaged heart.  My family is broken and can never be returned to what it once was. A son is gone and will never take a seat at my holiday table again. 

I will never hear his voice.  Never see his smile.  Never welcome his wife or children into my home.  I will never see my two sons, now men hug or laugh about childhood memories. 

I tell myself it will be ok.  That I am ok.  My mind tries to by into my thoughts but my heart knows the truth.  I am not ok and never will be again. 

Precious memories flood my brain.  Past Thanksgivings when my house was full of family and friends.  Not an empty seat in the house.  Conversation and laughter filling every room.  Everyone healthy and happy sharing stories of the past year.  Three generations under one roof seated at one table. My precious boys letting everyone know what they wanted from Santa. 

As the years marched on everything remained the same. Year after year the ritual of Thanksgiving remained unchanged.  Boys became teens who became men always coming together to celebrate our blessings. 

Oh how I wish I could turn back time to the simpler days before old age, illness and addiction began to steal pieces of my life.  Days before your death broke my heart. 

You would think after 7 years, the holidays would have lost that relentless grip on my heart.  You would think I would have mastered how to survive the day that society emphasizes with such an ungodly expectation of perfection.  You would think I would have had enough of the I wonder, I should have or could haves to last a lifetime. 

You would think that after 7 years I could control the tears as I shop for the fixings that you will no longer eat. That seeing a pumpkin pie would not be like a knife in my heart. You would think that after all the therapy I’ve had I would have the tools to get through the day with a smile on my heart. 

Grief is funny.  You never know when or how it will hit.  You never know what will trigger the pain that seems to hide for months until the holiday music starts.  How seeing another mother walking with her two sons can bring back joy mixed with pain.  How memories can warm my heart as it continues to break. 

Tomorrow I will remember my blessings.  I will remember those days of innocence.  The holidays when my family was healthy and whole. When we shared the joy that comes with gathering together.  When my two sons stood together in the cold, their breath becoming visible in the frigid air as they fried our Thanksgiving turkey. Smiling at me when I snuck out to snap a picture. 

I will be grateful that I had you in my life for 37 years. I will be grateful for all those memories of all the years we shared.  

I am and always will be broken but I am also thankful that I was blessed to have those memories that will carry me through the rest of my life ♥️🙏🏻

Pieces of You, Pieces of Me

Matt,   It’s been 82 months since your death and I foolishly thought I was ready to donate your winter clothing to the homeless addicts living in Kensington.   I have become part of a group of mom’s who take trips to the streets providing food and clothing to those who continue to be forgotten by society.   I must say it’s a part of how I survive your death, by giving back to those suffering from the disease that took your life.

I usually avoid your closet, but that day I felt  it was something I was ready to do.   Opening the door was walking back in time.   Sweaters were on hangers as if you were expected to walk through the door, grab one and ask, Hey Mom do I look ok.  

I stood in the doorway waiting for my breath to settle.  It was shocking how my body responded to seeing your clothing.  Slowly I started to take one down.   Memories of you wearing this sweater flooded my brain.   I held it close, burying my face into the softness hoping to breathe in your scent.   I could hear you voice telling me it’s ok Mom, it’s ok.

As I continued to place those sweaters in a box, I was fighting myself as if this was what I really wanted to do.   These sweaters were pieces of what I have left of you.   My mind was battling should they stay or should they go.  I held each one close and saw you wearing them looking so handsome with your beautiful smile letting me know you approved.   I started talking to you asking if this was what you wanted.   

I remember how you were always so giving.   Memories of you giving your shirt to a homeless man prompted me to keep going.   I held each sweater, running my hand over the material before placing them into the box.  I managed to donate several sweaters, a jacket and a pair of pants.  

Driving to the donation event, my tears were flowing wondering if I was strong enough to hand over the box to those who would take your sweaters to the streets handing them out to people who have nothing.   Pulling into the parking lot I was greeting by smiling faces.   Women thanking me for helping take care of other mothers children.   

As I handed over the boxes I had a feeling of profound sadness mixed with joy.   Knowing I was giving away pieces of what I had left of you re -broke my heart.   Knowing that your sweaters would provide comfort to someone with nothing gave me a bit of joy.

Once again I’ve learned that grief knows no time line.   It lives in pieces of clothing that will never be worn by you again.   It lives in memories that surface unexpectedly.   It lives knowing that even doing the right thing can be the most painful thing in the world.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Broken And Blessed

Matt,   The summer has ended and Fall has begun.   Everyday the geese fly over the house honking as if to say we are here, we are home.   I stop and listen thinking of you.   How we both would stop whatever we were doing and just be still listening to their beautiful song.

Fall also reminds me of my brokenness.   My gardens need tending so badly.   Before my cancer I would be weeding and planting colorful Mums.   Digging in the dirt was always a form of therapy for me.  I look at the gardens and feel such a loss.   I can’t do the physical work to transform the summer gardens into an array of colorful fall beauty.

There are so many things I can no longer physically do.   Cleaning out closets.   Putting away summer clothing and going through my comfortable fall sweaters.  The little things I took so for granted before the back surgery.   Sadly, I now understand the difficulties you lived after your back surgery.   

I’ve learned the saying is true.  Until you walk in someone else’s shoes you can never comprehend their pain.   I remember watching you walk.  It broke my heart to see your young body ravaged by pain.   I remember thinking I would take your pain if only I could.   I wonder if you know that I now know your pain.   Do you see my body no longer capable of doing those physical things that used to bring me such joy.  Do you know I have become you.   

Do you hear me when I ask for forgiveness.   Do you know I would give anything to have a moment with you.   To hold you and tell you I understand.   I now know how it feels to be broken not just emotionally but physically.   Your death broke my heart.   My cancer broke my body and on many days it breaks my spirit.    

Through all this brokenness I also feel blessed.   After chemo, two surgeries and radiation my body remains free of cancer.   My last scan was clear of disease.   I can tell you that waiting to hear the results is maddening.   My mind goes to all the what if’s exactly as it does when I think about your death.   The unknown can become a silent torture.  

On my dark days, I remember all the things I can do.   The little blessings of walking the dogs.   Of being able to stand and make dinner.   Of being able to enjoy the beauty as I kayak through ponds and rivers.   The blessings of friends who continue to pray for me.   The blessing of my Faith.

My brokenness mixed with blessings reminds me of the Japanese art of Kintsugi.   The art of repairing broken pottery pieces using gold.   The gold creates a stronger, more beautiful piece of art.  The gold highlights the scars in the pottery transforming the piece into something new and stronger than before.   

Your death and the loss of my health has left me with many scars.   I think of my blessings as the gold that is slowly filling my cracks allowing me to change the way I think of myself as no longer completely broken but learning to embrace my strengths reframing my pain into something of collateral beauty.   

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