Over 2 months later and my grief still feels like my soul is screaming. And I don’t even believe in souls. But if I did…mine would be screaming. Screaming as loud as humanly possible, even though no one but me can hear it. Screaming and banging on the walls for help. If only the walls weren’t soundproof, keeping everyone from hearing the screaming. From seeing the pain I am feeling. That scream is like a battle. Anytime I start to have fun…have a good day…have a good time…the scream cranks up the volume…drowns out the laughter…screams louder and louder in my ear. Reminds me why I am in pain. Reminds me why my heart feels strangled. Reminds me that part of my heart was stolen from me. Reminds me of the gaping hole left where he used to be. Because grief is a bitch.
To everyone else, it appears that I am handling this okay. But I know that isn’t the case. I know that I am struggling. I know that I still can’t understand how my heart is still beating. I know that I can’t understand how the Earth is still turning. I know that I can’t understand how the sun is still shining. Because it doesn’t seem possible for those things to be happening without Bryce here anymore. He was the sun.
I wish the past 2 months were nothing but a horrible dream. And it seems that I am not the only one who feels that way while dealing with grief considering I found this online…
This resonates with me so strongly. In the beginning, there was an odd feeling as if he would come through the door at any minute. It felt oddly unreal. Now it is only my heart wishing he would. It is only my heart wishing it were a bad dream and that I would wake up anytime. Wake up to the sound of Bryce’s multiple work alarms all being snoozed one after another after another. That used to annoy the fuck out of me…now it would be music to my ears.
I read that evenings and nights tend to be hardest on those who are grieving. During the day, my mind is busy. I am working. I am shuttling Carter around. I am working on school. I am working on things around the house. Even on a “lazy day” when I am watching tv, my mind is busy with whatever I am watching.
But in the evening…the adrenaline of the day rushes away. My body relaxes. And my mind…my mind starts racing. Racing with thoughts of Bryce. My heartbreak. The accident. Hopes that he didn’t have time to feel fear or pain. Heartbreak at his missed opportunities. Heartbreak at his lost life. Heartbreak for his siblings. Heartbreak for his dad and mom pt 2. Heartbreak for his Aurora. Heartbreak for his friends. I want my baby boy back. I have always told my boys that they will always be my babies no matter how old they are or how big they are.
Bryce is no exception. He was my 6’4″ baby boy who was more than happy to give me a big hug anytime I asked. Who wasn’t afraid to sit next to me on the couch and lay his head on my shoulder. The 6’4″ baby boy who wasn’t afraid to come into my room with tears running down his face to tell me how sad he was and how much he fucked up when he had his first real heartbreak.
He had his faults. He had flaws. And he had finally come to terms with them and was making changes. He had an amazing heart and would do anything for his friends and his siblings. The world was a better place with him in it.
I was a better person with him in my life. Who am I without my son?
I truly don’t know.
Because grief is a bitch.
Grief is a B!tch 