Tuesday, July 12, 2016
"I don't believe time heals. I don't want it to. If I heal, doesn't that mean I've accepted the world without (him)?"
- Jandy Nelson
Two months. Two months without our sweet boy. Without his smile. Laugh. Sounds. Smell. Voice.
Two months without being able to grocery shopping with him, driving in the car, jamming out to music, talking with his device, watching movies with, swinging or riding his scooter.
It's summer time now. The summer I dreamed we would explore the entire state and have epic adventures. We always thought he would get better. That he would get through this and shine even better. We never dreamed that he would stop breathing. That he wouldn't recover from his lack of breath. That he would die in our arms. Nothing. Nothing in this world prepares you for this.
The agony. Guilt. The way your mind replays every second of the end and you keep thinking what maybe we should have done or could have done. And always come to the same conclusion that our boy was gone. The sadness. Grief. Emptiness. The death of the only life we've known. The death of our own souls. The way our hearts stopped when his stopped. Except we still look like we're living, breathing.
The way it hurts by breathing, knowing he was out of breath and it took him from us. It hurts to get out of bed. To do anything... because we can and he can't. The guilt. Cuts us straight through like a hot knife. Searing. Burning. Exquisite pain.
When you lose a child, the act of living is the most painful existence. The grief comes in waves, at times tidal waves as we drown in the swirl of emotions: guilt, sadness, emptiness, agony.
Every second of every day we live in excruciating pain. All you want is for the pain to end but it won't. Because every morning when we wake up, Kreed is still gone. He's still buried in the ground away from us and we don't get to call his name and see his dimpled face. We walk around ghosts of our former selves. In a life that doesn't feel like ours. In a life we didn't agree to. A life we didn't expect. And Kreed left his life unfinished.
We have to pick up the pieces...but all the pieces won't be there. Our life will always be empty. A shell of what it once was. Kreed's passing took the joy. Two months. Two months without joy. Unconditional love. Without the main part of our existence. With a life full of complete and utter emptiness.
Two months without our buddy. Two months.
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Today. Today I wish I wasn't a behavior analyst (BCBA). Today I wish I hadn't worked in the special needs field for fifteen years. I wish I wasn't an AAC specialist. I wish I wasn't a specialist in working with medically fragile kids. Or kids with autism.
Two months ago I was going to stop my career and be with Kreed full time because he required two people at all times and Colorado will pay for one to be a caregiver. I was going to be able to have epic adventures with my boy and continue to give him an amazing life. On May 12th that ended and the day would come soon that I would have to return to my former life and not be one of Kreed's moms. But just people's behavior analyst. It seems so cold now. Removed. Different.
All I can think of is what I could still be teaching Kreed. The epic life we could still be having. Filming his progress, finding new ways to help him be successful and finding new ways to feel joy. Now I have to help other people's children. I have to watch them grow and learn and achieve success. I cry the entire way to work and the entire way back. Because that should have been us. That should have been me and Kreed always. His life was unfinished and my job, my work, my parenting of Kreed is also unfinished. I never wanted to be anything other than Kreed's mom once I became one of his mom's. There was no more rewarding job on earth and nothing I would rather do.
But it's not. And I have to go back to a career and a job without him. Feeling empty. Different.
The only thing that saves me is coming home to Carie who shared my grief, on a much larger level, and we can be together in that emptiness and try to find our life again. But there will always be something missing.
Today. Today I wish I wasn't a behavior analyst. Doesn't mean I'm not good at my job, because I am very good. Just means it's one of the most difficult parts of our life now that he's gone.
Empty. Cold. Different. Our lives are all unfinished.