Daydreams

Sometimes I let myself daydream.

I daydream that Bryce will just come through the door at any minute. I daydream that I will wake up from this horrible fucking nightmare. I daydream that I won’t have this heavy ache in my chest any longer. I daydream that Carter isn’t struggling and withdrawn and dealing with the trial and error of finding the right medication to help him through this.

I daydream of running away. Taking Carter and just running. Somewhere where they don’t know me. Where I won’t have to walk past his room. Where I won’t have to drive through that intersection. Where I won’t have to go places that he has been. Touch things that he has touched. Maybe starting fresh will be good for him too.

Move away to California maybe? Somewhere close enough to the ocean to relax me. California and the ocean has always been my happy place. I don’t have any blood relatives here anyway. They live states away and my immediate blood family, with the exception of my dad, has pretty much stopped communicating with me anyway. So it’s not like getting further from them is a big deal.

But then I snap out of the daydream. I wake up and realize that it isn’t a nightmare. This is my life. I am still struggling. Carter is still struggling.

Bryce is still dead. My son won’t be coming through that door again.

And if I leave here now, I lose the closest thing to family that I have. I lose my best friend. All of my adopted kids. My crazy and bizarre extended family I found in Bryce’s dad and stepmom and their family. I lose my support system. Carter loses his support system.

I also won’t be close to the places Bryce has been…I wouldn’t be able to touch the things he’s touched…I wouldn’t be able to visit the spot where he took his last breath…I wouldn’t be able to hug Rory…I wouldn’t be able to hug his best friend…I wouldn’t be able to hug his siblings…

All of those things hurt like a fucking bitch sometimes but maybe they’re also somehow a help. Maybe they can help me heal. My new therapist tells me that I won’t “get over” this but I will someday learn to survive around it. Like life just grows around it. The thought makes me think of that old photo of a tree that grew around an old bicycle. The photo makes it look as if the bike is growing from the tree. But in actuality, the tree simply grew around it. So maybe the bike is grief and the tree is my life.

Maybe I will “run away” someday. When Carter is older. When I’m finished with my graduate degree. When I have had time to not feel like I need all of those people simply to survive.

But for right now, I need them. And I need to touch things my son touched and go places my son went. I just need to find a way to get my tree to grow around the bicycle.