Mother's Heartbreak

A Story of Addiction & Loss

Category: grief sucks (Page 1 of 4)

Walking On Thin Ice

February 3, 2025 /

Matt,  January was a tough month for me.  First it was losing Scarlett right after Christmas, then your tenth anniversary, then my CT scans were all piled up on my literally breaking shoulders. 

I felt so overwhelmed.  My heart kept racing or skipping beats.  That familiar tightness in my throat found me again.  I became a walking mess as I tried to navigate through these emotional moments in time.  

Honestly, I’m still feeling off.  Like I just can’t hit my reset button like I always could in the past.  I’m finding my coping mechanisms are just not kicking into gear and my anxiety continues to greet me everyday with some new challenges.  

I’m thinking this ten year mark has just hit me harder than I could have ever imagined.  Thinking of all you have missed here on earth.  Thinking I haven’t seen you or heard your voice for what seems to be an eternity is becoming too much to bear.  

I had a meltdown yesterday as those feelings began to overwhelm me and my anxiety beat me into the depths of despair.   I cried for all you have missed.  For all I should have said and done.  I just cried for the unfairness of it all.  I cried and cried for both of us and for all those dreams that were crushed by your death.

I feel like I’ve lost both my boys.   Your brother barely speaks to me.  I know he is grieving your loss but I really just need to hear his voice and share memories of you with him.   We are all that’s left of our original family.  He’s the only one who shared our story who is still here on earth.   He’s the only person who loves you like I do.   

Somedays I feel so defeated.   I can’t believe this is my life.  I miss who I used to be.   I miss the future I envisioned for our family.   Both my boys married with children.  Weekend get togethers.  Bonfires on the beach with kids and dogs running on the sand.   So many dreams now gone up in smoke.  

I pray for you everyday.   That you have found your peace.  That you are surrounded by love, light and beauty.   That you have been reunited with our family and your pets and that you have met Jesus.  I pray for my peace and healing as this grief journey becomes harder to navigate.   

I really don’t know what else to do.   I can tell you time doesn’t make a difference all is does is make me wonder how I have survived this long without you here.

I wish you peace.  Until we meet again.  Love you forever Mom  

 

6:23 Ten Years Ago

January 2, 2025 /

Matt,   6:23 on January 2nd 2015 was the last time I heard your voice.  I called you in Florida as you were on your way home from work.   You were headed back to your sober house and planned to just relax.

We talked about your day.  How in just a few weeks we would be together again.  Ray and I were heading to the Keys and we planned to visit you on our way down.  

I was so excited to see you again.   You’d been living in Florida for six months and I missed seeing your physical presence.   I missed seeing your smile, being able to hug you and I really missed walking on the beach and discussing life.  

All I could think about was seeing you again.   You were going to show me where you lived and worked.  Introduce me to your friends.  We planned to go to your favorite beach and have dinner every evening.  

I can still hear your voice.  Our conversation burned into my brain.   You sounded so good, so happy as if life was finally going your way.  It never once crossed my mind that this conversation would be our last.  I never felt any red flags that you could possibly be using again.  You sounded absolutely perfect.   

Looking back, I wish I kept you on the phone longer.  I wish I could have recorded your voice.  I wish I could have visited you sooner or brought you home for the holidays.   If I had seen you I would have known you were still struggling with your demons.

We ended our conversation as we usually did.  I told you I loved you and was so excited to see you in 3 weeks.  You told me you would look around for hotels and let me know what you found.  Before hanging up you told me you loved me and would check in tomorrow.  

Ten years ago had I known I would have been on the next plane to get to you before you left me behind.  I would have held you and never let you go.

Now I’m left with replaying our conversation in my mind.   I’m so grateful we ended it with I Love You,  it’s what I hold close to my heart as I continue to navigate life without my beautiful boy.  

Ten years feels like yesterday and forever all rolled into one…….

 

 

A Not So Happy New Year

January 27, 2024 /

Matt,  we’ve passed the 9 year mark of me surviving your death.  For some reason, this 9th year has hit me harder than I could have ever imagined. 

I continue to struggle with the fact that time has flown by.  My mind knows but my heart continues with disbelief.  It almost feels like that horrible second year, when the reality replaced the fog and the weight of grief settled into my heart. 

I was a guest on a podcast about grief yesterday.  So many of the topics we discussed hit home for me.  We talked about society and how it places a time limit on grief. Sadly, most people who feel that grief has its limitations have never suffered the devastating loss of a child. 

We also discussed many faucets of grief such as the fear of not remembering the sound of our loved one voice.  Matt, that is one of my biggest fears.  You never left me voice mails.  Texting was your form of communication.  Believe me, I have screenshotted all of your text messages and treasure each one.  But what I crave is to hear your voice once again. 

There are days when I sit quietly by myself, closing my eyes.  I try to conjure up your face, your smile, and your voice.  Some days it all comes rushing back.  Other times I feel like you are drifting farther and farther away.  Those days I feel a panic set in as I never want to ever forget anything about you.  Sadly, the brain can only hold so much memory.  Grief brain is capable of so much less.  

This year will be a bigger challenge than I could have ever imagined.  There is no truth in the statement that the passage of time heals.   For me the passage of time is a tragedy as I struggle to remember the essence of you.  ❤️

Time Doesn’t Lessen Grief, Time Magnifies It

February 18, 2020 /

Matt,   There is a saying that time heals all wounds.  People tell you to give it time.  Time will help.  As if time has the magical power to help you forget that your child is gone.  As if they have a clue as to how it feels to walk around with half your heart missing.  All time has done for me is to deepen my already intense pain.  All time has done is rob me of the blessing of watching my sons grow old together. Time passes and I realize that I haven’t heard your voice or seen your handsome face for 5 years.

Time is not my friend.  Time has become a painful march of family birthdays and holiday celebrations that are no more.  Time deepens the grief as reality seeps in reminding me that this emptiness will be a part of my soul forever.  Weeks have turned to months.  Months to years.  Yet my grief refuses to loosen its grip on my soul.  Grief has taken over every cell of my body.  It pulses through my veins with every beat of my heart.  Breaking it again as I recognize that memories are all I have left of you.  Happy times when life was as it should be.  Family barbecues, laughter and love.  My two sons enjoying each other’s company as siblings do.

But time doesn’t have a clue.  It marches on and with each new day comes the pain of knowing there will be no phone call or visit today, tomorrow or forever.  Time is like that crack.   It starts small and barely noticeable until it transforms into an enormous undeniable rupture separating life into the before and after.

As time passes people forget.  Returning to their normal lives afraid that grief is catchy.  Friends disappearing into the sunset.  Running as far and as fast as they can.  As if I’m contagious.  Time is a great teacher.  It teaches you who gives a damn.

Time does nothing to lessen grief.  It does everything to magnify it.  I now understand those things I took for granted like having all the time in the world to say the things I wanted to say, to do the things we dreamed about doing were never under our control.  Time fools you into thinking you will always have more.

Time marches on and doesn’t care who it mows down as it marches.  It has no respect for the grieving heart.

The only thing I want to do with time is have it rewind.  Go back to the time when you lived.  I call it a do over.  A time when my heart was whole.  A time when life held joy and hope not pain and regret.

Before your death I wanted time to slow down.  I complained that time was going by too quickly.  Days and months were flying by.  I wanted time to give me more moments to enjoy life.  To allow the seasons to change slowly allowing the beauty of each one to linger longer.

Now time can’t move fast enough.  I want the holidays to fly away and be gone.  Birthdays too.  I want my head to spin and not have time to know my reality and the pain it continues to bring.

I was never afraid of getting older.  I take care of myself.  I’m physically active, not bad looking for a sixty something mom.  Aging didn’t really bother me.  Although it does feel like I was only thirty a few days ago.  I’m not high maintenance, never worried about a new wrinkle popping up as I’ve earned every one being the mother of two boys.  Now I want to close my eyes and be eighty.  I want to be closer to the time I will see you again.  I want to see your face and hear your voice.  I want to be able to hold you and tell you it’s ok.   Matt, you were a beautiful man with a terrible, misunderstood disease.  Prior to your death my time was spent keeping an eye on you.

Before your death time was of short supply.  Working and trying to keep you safe took every second of every day.  Now time is empty, standing still, endless.

Time has also taught me a life lesson.  I have no control over it and what it may bring.  We’ve all heard the saying “In Gods Time Not Ours”.  Now I finally get it.  Time does not belong to us.

The gift of time for me is a double edged sword.  Sharp and cutting one minute.  Peaceful and too quiet the next. I’m learning that time stops for no one.

For as long as I have left I will cherish those beautiful memories and wish I knew then what I know now.  I would have stayed longer and cherished our time sitting together by the sea.  I would have hugged more and argued less.  I would have fought harder to save you.

Living through time without you is hell.  I’ve read that “ Life isn’t a matter of milestones, but of moments.”

Until we meet again I will treasure the moments we’ve made in the time we had together.  Precious moments that time cannot erase 💜

Rogue Waves……

January 23, 2020 /

Matt,   You would think after 5 years, I would have a handle on my grief.   Maybe a small part of my heart started to believe the myth that time would soften the blow of your death.   Maybe to survive I had to think the pain would not always have the crushing power it did in those early days.   Perhaps to continue my journey on earth without you I had to live briefly the fantasy that society wants me to believe.

My reality is the polar opposite.   This grief continues to hit unexpectedly, but just as powerfully as it always has.   I call them rogue waves.   I thought that the passing of time would at least soften the edges of my grief.   Sadly, I’m finding those edges remain sharp.   Like jagged pieces of glass ready to rip my heart to shreds once again.

These waves continue to hit at unexpected times.   Days when I think I’ve got a shred of control over my emotions  I find quite the opposite.   I don’t know if it’s the stress of my cancer diagnosis or just the fact that I continue to rethink your struggle with addiction.   Perhaps I’ve got too much time on my hands now as I recover from back surgery and have had to put my advocacy work on the back burner.   I’m no longer physically capable of running to meetings or being your voice in Legislative Hall.   I’m no longer able to keep my mind busy with changing the broken system that took your life.   Time gives my mind the opportunity to relive it all over and over again.

My empathy for your pain is heightened.   I now get it.   Back surgery is no picnic and this recovery has tested my patience.   I think about how I just didn’t understand your pain.   It’s like any other situation.   Until you live it you can’t get it.

So now my insides churn like an unsettled sea.   I feel like I’m being turned inside out.   I want to lash out at people who think addiction was your choice.   Who think addiction is a moral flaw.  My anger rises to the surface when I least expect it.   Like those rogue waves it leaves me struggling to regain control.

I rethink your last days until I can think no more.   I want to physically hurt the man who dumped you off at a motel to die rather than doing the right thing by taking you to the ER or a detox center.   I want him to hurt physically and emotionally like your death has hurt me.   I want him rotting in jail with no hope of ever seeing the blue sky or hearing the birds sing.   I want him to die alone as much as I want you to be alive.

My grief is now multifaceted.   I grieve us both.   I grieve for what used to be.   I grieve the son you once were and the woman I once was.   I grieve for the future that could have been but now will never be.    I grieve the grandchildren my arms will never hold.   I grieve watching my boys grow old together.   I grieve the years we have lost, the future we will never share.

My grief and my anger walk hand and hand.  Dancing through my mind.   I am helpless to contain either when the reality of life hits with the power of those rogue waves knocking me off my feet  leaving me struggling to find the surface to catch my breath.   Grief is a powerful and never ending emotion.   It does not tell time.  It does not conform to societies perception that time softens the blow of death.

I’ve learned that my grief will last a lifetime.   As will my anger over your unnecessary, untimely death.   I’ve learned those waves are out there and will hit again and again.   I’ve learned that I am helpless when they hit and all I can do is ride them to the best of my ability.

Surviving my reality, your death and my cancer is a challenge.  Never did I see either coming.   I’ve learned life is fragile and full of unexpected events.   I’ve learned that grief is a part of who I am and will remain a part of my life until I cease to be……….

 

 

 

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