Grief blisters like third-degree burns, trying to form
scabs, struggling to heal, ripped off without warning by the sight of his
favorite things: iced tea, his gray
sweater which he should have gotten rid of a long time ago but was his
favorite, his favorite cologne still clings to the air. I see him in all of these things now, but he
quickly evaporates, setting off a silent alarm that plays full volume in my
head.
A single moment in time divided my life into before the
after. I most remember just feeling numb
to the bone. I didn’t even stay in the
bathroom with him. I touched his face,
so blue – so cold, and all I could manage to say was “Oh Charlie….” and then I
walked out and told my husband, who was already talking to 911 that we was
dead.
At first, his death leveled me in such profound ways I
wondered if I could ever feel human or sane again. The loss of my baby boy, my heart,
transported me to the ends of the earth and then dropped me into an abyss of unimaginable
proportions. You are dropped into a
foreign country filled with darkness, cavernous landmines, silence and
solitude. You crash land there, exiting
the world as you once knew it – now stark naked, without a passport, luggage,
any sort of itinerary or knowledge of what to do or how to act. In that precise moment, it felt like a
one-way ticket to hell with no way out.
I remember thinking – “I want my life back.”
And then telling myself
“this IS your life.”
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