I should be doing homework. And I will. But first, I need to process shit in my mind. Even now, 5 months later, the emotions still flip from one to another to another, often with no warning. Sometimes I’m okay-ish. Sometimes heartbroken. Sometimes sad. Sometimes I love the memories. Sometimes I hate them. Sometimes I am angry. When I am angry, I am almost stewing.
Stewing with the fact that the man who caused the accident that killed my son is still walking free. I’m upset. I’m hurt. I’m angry. I’m impatient because we’re still waiting. Waiting to see what the prosecutor will decide to do.
But even with that anger, I’m mostly just in pain. Even if you know me “in real life” and see me regularly, and I am smiling and laughing, I might genuinely be laughing. The smile might be genuine. But even then, I am in pain. So much fucking pain. Never-ending pain. Because I just miss my son. No amount of crying or wishing to go back in time will bring him back. My beautiful and loving baby boy. Five months later, and the pain isn’t any better…it just seems less suffocating, maybe? The best way I can explain is that it is just like anyone with a medical condition with chronic pain. The pain is always there. Nothing makes it better. You just get so “used” to the pain that you are able to function despite it.
Nothing will “cure” my pain because nothing can turn back time. Nothing will take me back to be able to warn him. To protect him. I am his mother. I was supposed to protect him. Logically, I know we can’t protect our kids forever. My Bryce was no exception. He was an adult. He was almost 20. There is only so much you can do to protect a 19-year-old young man just trying to find their wings.
Just stay home that night. Just leave 30 seconds earlier. Just leave 30 seconds later. Stop at that intersection because there will be someone who won’t yield and won’t even look before turning. He will be so preoccupied with making his turn while it’s still yellow that he won’t even look for you. You have so much life ahead of you and so much promise, and so much love to share. Just wait.
I know I’ve said all of that. It’s something I’ve said here multiple times. It’s something I’ve thought of multiple times. But it’s also something that just goes round and round in my mind.
It wasn’t a bad day today.
It wasn’t a bad grief day.
It’s always there, like one of those obnoxious apps always running in the background. And just like how those apps can slow your processor, the grief can slow you too. Maybe you get a full night of sleep. That doesn’t mean that you feel rested. Because that “background app” named grief is slowing your processor. Your energy will be down. You may deal with brain fog. Maybe those items are one way one day and the other way the next. Maybe you have no appetite one day and want to eat your feelings the next. If those things seem similar to your experience, maybe you’re just like me.
Like the varying emotions, grieving your child will leave you wondering what might have been. What might they have accomplished in their life? For Bryce, I think about where his career might have led. He was being trained to be a foreman supervisor. Would he have gotten married? Would he and Rory have gotten married? Would he have had children? So many questions and so much life left to live.
All gone in an instant. Because of one man…who still walks free…because the justice system is obnoxiously slow.
For now, I have to be patient. I am not good at being patient.
So along with okay-ish, heartbroken, sad, and angry, I am also impatient.
And I have no choice but to tolerate each of them.
Family photos, Spring 2014. Bryce 11, Carter 3.
Grief is a B!tch 