Yeah I know. I’m back already. But my mind and body are bitches too so I need to vent.
How long will it take before my heart rate doesn’t increase anytime I drive through the intersection from Bryce’s accident? Where my stomach doesn’t drop every time I drive through it? Where I don’t feel sick to my stomach every time I see his short skid mark, showing me how little time he had to react to seeing the car that turned in front of him? Where I don’t feel like vomiting every time I see the gouge marks in the asphalt from his bike where it laid down and skidded as he collided with the car that didn’t look before making that left hand turn?
I can’t avoid that intersection. It is the most direct way to get from our home to the area just east of us where one of my doctor’s offices is located. And where my new therapy office is located where I will soon be starting. How fucking ironic that I will be driving through the intersection where my son died on my way to therapy to discuss the fact that it even happened. Life is a bitch, isn’t it? Just like fucking grief. So many bitches in the world.
The weird thing is that I am oddly comforted by sitting at his memorial at the corner of that intersection. I’ve mentioned that in a past post. It feels like I am sitting at a cemetery. Sitting at his gravesite. I stare at the flowers. At the teddy bears. One from me. One from mom pt 2. One from a complete stranger who felt such sympathy at the fact that an asshole kept ripping it down that she gave one of her own to place there. I stare at the candles. I stare at the gifts Rory leaves for him. I stare at his name. At his smiling face. I just sit and stare and think about how much I miss him and love him. And I think about how much I hate that man. How much I hate this fucking horrible world. I hate it so much. And I fucking hate that man. I don’t hate much. But I hate him. With every fiber of my being. I fucking despise him.
But even though that spot feels oddly comforting sometimes and I am okay driving through it to get there, even making the exact left turn that that fucking asshole made, driving over the exact spot where he and my baby collided all because that dickwad was so anxious to make the light before red that he couldn’t bother to check for oncoming traffic…it’s driving THROUGH it that affects me. Coming from the other direction. Driving west. The same direction Bryce was going. I try to avoid the center lane. That’s the lane he was in that night. He didn’t usually ride in the center lane but he was that night. It’s driving west. Driving through that intersection. Seeing his short skid mark that shows me that he barely had time to react, meaning that ass pulled right in front of him. Seeing the dig in the street from the metal of his bike. Mental images of him hitting his brake. The rear tire probably locking. Laying it down and skidding.
Every fucking time. My heart races. My stomach drops. And I feel like throwing up. I try to hide it if someone else is in the car. Like if Carter is with me. I don’t hide when I am upset or crying or that I miss Bryce. He needs to know that he isn’t alone and his feelings are normal. But I don’t want him to see me in a near panic. So I shove it down. When I am alone, I let the tears fall.
The first time I drove that intersection after the accident, I did have a panic attack. I couldn’t breathe. I could barely see through my tears. It was raining that day. But it had slowed to a sprinkle. As I approached the intersection, driving in that center lane and seeing the skid mark, the rain suddenly started falling heavier and heavier, matching my tears and gasping breathing. As soon as I was through the intersection, the rain slowed again. Back to a sprinkle. It was almost as if he was with me. As if Bryce was crying with me. Telling me how much he loves me and missed me too. I don’t even think believe in shit like that but that’s almost how it felt.
How many times have I already said that I can’t believe this is real life? That I can’t fucking believe this is happening? That this is the kind of shit that happens to OTHER people…to other kids…
But this stuff doesn’t happen to ME. It doesn’t happen to MY Bryce.
He should be here. He should be here with me. He should be here with us. I should not be feeling this immense pain. The rest of his family shouldn’t be feeling this immense pain. My baby boy shouldn’t have to miss out on his life. Ripped away from him after only 19 years…because a fucking dumbass can’t look before making a turn.
THIS SHOULD NOT BE REAL LIFE.
Grief is a B!tch 