Not even on my worst enemy

Sometimes, this mask can be so heavy. I can go through my days and probably appear “normal” to many people.

I will be laughing, smiling, or joking. I will chat with people just like in the “before days.”

But that isn’t how grief works. I know that. Everyone in the trenches knows that. The sadness is always there, lingering. There is always a reminder of how much I miss him, of what he is missing.

He has missed 2 Christmases. 2 birthdays. 2 Mother’s Days. 2 Father’s Days. 1 anniversary with his longtime girlfriend, with another coming soon. Many sibling birthdays. One of his big sisters found out that she was pregnant for the first time. Then she lost the baby. His second niece. His little sister is graduating high school soon. So much that he has missed. So much in the future that he still will miss. So much of our lives. So much of his.

I have so many random thoughts in my mind, but I can’t always make sense of them. I can’t always get them organized from the random jumble in my head to coherent thoughts that can be put down here.

Sometimes, the thoughts are coherent. Sometimes, it’s just intense feelings of grief. Sometimes, it’s just intensely missing him. Sometimes, it’s a flood of memories, often like a slideshow that starts during my pregnancy with him and ends that last night. There are even times that I just feel HEAVY. Like the weight. A heavy weight on top of me and I just lay there until I can get up again.

I hate this. I hate how I feel.

And I hate that you aren’t here with us. I hate that we are all struggling so much. I hate that my brain almost has an ADHD quality to it now and it’s sometimes hard to focus. I hate that I go in and out of being “okay” vs struggling to get through each days. Some days are manageable. Others revert back to the early days where simple things like bathing, eating, and sleeping are nearly impossible tasks. I keep disposable Colgate Wisps in my bedside table for bad depression days when I can’t get out of bed to brush my teeth.

Sometimes, I drink just as much caffeine as water because I was lucky to get 3 hours of sleep the night before. On other nights, I get 6-7 hours and I think about how I just got an amazing amount of sleep.

I remember, shortly after losing Bryce, someone told me to “just focus on my other son”. As if I am not focusing on him? On his heartbreak? To that person…have you ever had to fucking tell a 12-year-old that his brother was never coming home again? Have you ever had to explain cremation to a 12-year-old? Or walk a 12-year-old through the process of seeing the big brother that he idolizes in a fucking coffin? All I do is focus on how he is doing…and how his mental health has been affected since we lost Bryce. How my mental health has been affected. How his dad’s mental health has been affected. How his step-mom’s mental health has been affected. How his SEVEN OTHER siblings other than my “other son” have had their mental health affected. Along with his niece. His brother-in-law. His longtime girlfriend. His best friend. His childhood friends. So many people that I worry about non-stop, even if I am not checking on them all daily, I am thinking about them daily and how they were affected. I am thinking about myself too. How could I not? Have you ever felt this pain? I hope you never have to feel it.

I wouldn’t even wish this on my worst enemy.