It’s been 2 years since my son died and I still cry every day at least 10 times. I will never be better.
I’m sure this feeling will never leave me. It’s constant fear and sadness that lives in my chest. It’s like I’m both going up to the top of the rollercoaster and seeing my son’s body for the first time. I actually don’t remember the first time I saw his body. I had a full body shock and collapsed and got a concussion on a corner of a table. Not a good week.
I didn’t have anyone to cry with. His dad left when he was only 3 months old. My mother was there, but emotions haven’t computed with her right since her stroke. She was a shoulder, but there wasn’t a lot of heat coming from it, if that makes sense.
His death was meaningless and empty. I cry so much. I’m crying now. Little sobs. It’s gotten easier to see through tears. I’m a barista now. What a joke. A 29 year old barista. He was only 5. He liked marvel and the Flash, but none of the other DC superhero’s. He’d always say that he was a marvel hero, and he’d draw him with Spider-Man and would jump with happiness when I’d look at his pictures. And at night when he’d finally want to go to bed he could never fall asleep if I wasn’t in the room, preferably in bed next to him. He’d throw fits in toy stores if I didn’t look at what he wanted. He’d apologize in the car and draw me a picture when we’d get home. He would run around the yard for hours, just in laps.
I didn’t go to his funeral or anything. I was in bed. People visited me. They said stuff. It didn’t matter. Like really it didn’t. They didn’t know what it felt like. It was crushing. It still is crushing. It’s like a whole planet on top of me.
I’m so full of sadness and hate and anxiety and fear. I’m very aware of my emotions, my therapist says that’s good. But it doesn’t make anything easier.
This was good to type out though. I’m not crying right now, not anymore. I don’t have work tomorrow. I cleaned my room tonight while crying. My mom brought me some cookies and tea. That’s how she shows her love. No words, just warm food. I have those dumb strip lights. My rooms purple right now. I just want to hold him again. I’ll never ever ever hold him again. I miss him so much. I would take anything. I’d take the week he and I were terribly sick and he threw up all over me and I had to clean up while sore and sweating and holding back vomit. I’d take that, just a minute of that. Of pain and illness. Just to see him again. I never got to say goodbye. I wasn’t e en the one who took him to the bus stop that day. My mom did. I don’t remember if I even said good night to him the night before. Everything’s on fire around me. I don’t know how to put it out.