Author: Grief_is_a_b!tch

People don’t like to talk about grief. And I get it. It makes you uncomfortable. It can be awkward. The person you’re talking to might cry or be angry or be dealing with a variety of different emotions, sometimes all at once. Sometimes it might seem as if all they talk about is the one they lost. About their pain. About their grief. If it’s uncomfortable for you, imagine how it is for THEM.

But this is their life now.

This is MY life now.

It consumes me. Yes, I go about my day, every day. Naturally. But do you think there is a moment that I don’t think about my son? Think about Bryce and the life he isn’t having now because of that split second decision by that man one Friday night in December?

My 12 year old is going to think about this for the rest of his life as well. Grief will be part of his life for the rest of his life. Bryce’s other siblings will have the same life. As will his father and step mother.

This *IS* our life now.

I now follow different social media pages with grief support and quotes. People comment their experiences and I’ve seen that I’m not alone in some of mine. Some of the unhelpful comments, such as telling someone that their loved one is “in a better place”. No. Just stop. No one likes that. Or telling someone to get over it. Or to move on. Or saying “still?” when they tell you that they’re struggling. Yes, people actually say those things.

Another thing that sucks is that people eventually drift away.

They stop asking how you’re doing. They stop checking on you.

They stop talking about the one you’re missing deep in your heart.

Even family is guilty. I have family that started by texting every day to ask if I was okay. How I was holding up. How my other son was doing.

Then…just…stopped. Nothing.

I have a family member who has NEVER messaged or called. Never. Not once since my son died despite calling my dad every single day while he was at my house for an entire week after my son’s accident. Sometimes multiple times per day. But to check on me? No. To talk to him. Can’t take 3 fucking seconds to text me. Can’t take 3 fucking seconds to check on their other grandson. Nope. I suppose that’s too much to ask for. But I don’t want fake bullshit sympathy anyway.

This experience has shown me who truly cares.

It’s been my best friend who came to my house in the middle of the night and just sat there while I sat on my couch, numb. Came over the next day and just sat with me so I wouldn’t be alone. My son’s big sister who checks on my often even though she’s hurting too. My son’s girlfriend who calls me almost every day to tell me she loves me. My son’s friends who check on me. My coworkers who check on me, ask how I’m doing, follow my blog and social media posts, and give me hugs. My manager and medical director who don’t care that I wear Bryce’s t-shirts to work every day. My girlfriend who lets me be a total hot mess when I need to be one, listens to me vent, listens to me talk about Bryce, asks how I’m doing, asks how Carter is doing, asks how Rory is doing, and even came over one night to sit with me when I was upset and helped me through a panic attack after reading the official police report for the first time.

Even my ex-husband and his wife check on me often. We’ve been divorced longer than we were married. We had years early after the divorce where we did not get along. Where all we did was fight unless Bryce was present. We later started to all get along and now we’re a bizarre family. The two of them check on me. And I check on them.

But blood family? Nope. Too hard to ask how I’m doing I guess? Too uncomfortable for THEM? Too busy? No clue. But it fucking hurts. Of course, it isn’t all of my family. There are quite a few who do check in with me. A cousin who had stuffed bears made for me and Carter out of one of Bryce’s favorite shirts. Other cousins who text or message now and then just to say they love us and ask how we’re doing.

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting when others don’t. Even if I don’t always want to talk about it. A simple text to say “I am thinking of you and I love you” would mean a lot for someone dealing with grief.

To be honest though, I’m not sure if I want them to now. If I have noticed after only 2 months how quickly it stopped, and I’m mentioning it here, which might make its way to them, I don’t want a pity call.

I don’t want a pity text.

Take this as a lesson from someone in the fucking foxhole of grief right now after losing a child.

They know when you’ve pulled away.

YOUR discomfort over discussing their grief is nothing compared to what they’re feeling and all you’ll do by ignoring it is cause them to pull away from YOU.

Grief is weird. Sometimes you’re okay. Sometimes you’re not okay. And sometimes those two things happen in a span of minutes. Back and forth and back and forth.

And the mind isn’t rational. I know I am not a failure. My logical mind knows that I am not a failure. But that doesn’t mean that the emotional mind dealing with trauma and grief doesn’t think otherwise. Logic knows I am not a failure. Emotion and grief say I am for not doing whatever random thing pops into my head at that moment.

I often even have multiple emotions in one day. I can compartmentalize my feelings when I am busy. When I am at work, I can keep busy. Focus on other things. I can even talk about Bryce and what happened and keep it together. It is like the feelings and the grief are numbed. Work. Spending time in social situations. Focusing on school. It is like lidocaine for my grief.

But then I allow my brain to slow down. I sit to take a break. I come home from work. Take a shower and let my body relax. Climb into bed. Anything where the adrenaline of the day washes away.

And that is when it hits.

Bryce is gone. My baby isn’t here any longer. Stolen from me. People say “I am sorry for your loss” and I am not offended by that. I understand the intent. But the word “loss”…he isn’t lost. He was STOLEN. Stolen by a careless driver who didn’t look before making a left turn. My baby boy’s life was stolen from me. From his dad. From his stepmom. From all of his many siblings. From his friends. From his girlfriend. It was stolen from all of us. It was stolen from HIM.

Grief is never an easy thing. And I lost my child. Suddenly. Traumatically. I am trying to get back to a semblance of who I was before and I sometimes think I see her…and other times I just don’t know. I know I don’t have to rush it and I have no intention of doing so. Especially when I don’t even know how much of the old me I will ever see again.

Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night. When I looked at my phone to see the time, it was 2:13am.

2:13. Bryce was born 2/13.

His stepmom has had that happen before too. Multiple times. Is this my silly and stubborn boy coming to say hi and thinking it’s funny to wake us up in the middle of the night instead of causing some lights to flicker at 2:13pm? Smart ass kid. I don’t know what I believe. Is this the ghost of my kid? The spirit? The energy? Maybe some weird ass coincidence. I guess I’ll never know.

I just know that I wish he were HERE waking me up. I wish he were HERE saying hi. I need to hug my boy. I need to see his smile. I need to hear his laugh.

I need Bryce back here.

After dealing with this man terrorizing Bryce’s memorial four different times, I had enough. One of Bryce’s friends and I started posting in local Facebook groups. I made a public post on my personal page and asked people to share. We did it in the hopes that someone would see it who knew the man destroying Bryce’s memorial. Or that maybe the man himself would see it. Then I had the idea to email the local news. I sent an email to all of the local news stations with information about what was happening. I quickly had 2 emails back for more information and did interviews with those 2 the next day. While interviewing with them, I received an email from a 3rd asking for an interview with them, which was done the following day.

Most of the community feedback has been positive and supportive. A few people have been negative and have said things like “that’s what cemeteries are for” but who is anyone to tell anyone else how to grieve? If having a memorial at the intersection where my son was killed helps my grief process, then why should it bother anyone else? Just like writing here helps me process my grief, that memorial helps me. Having something beautiful for Bryce at the spot that causes anxiety for me helps me. Having something beautiful at the spot where my son took his last breath helps me. Where his heart stopped beating. Driving through that intersection still causes anxiety for me but going to the memorial there brings me a small amount of peace. I feel closer to him. His life was taken there. Is it rational that I feel peace at the spot where my son was killed? Is it rational that I feel peace at the spot where my son took his last breath? Where his heart beat for the last time? No. It isn’t. But does it really matter? Grief isn’t fucking rational. We all process it differently. What helps me may not help the next person and what helps them might not help me. Grief is personal. And having that memorial helps me. It helps Bryce’s siblings. It helps his girlfriend. It helps his friends. And the asshole who keeps ripping it down and throwing it in the dumpster can go fuck himself.

An amazing thing noticed today that wasn’t there yesterday? A DOT sign that can be seen from my son’s memorial, just barely east of it, now says LOOK TWICE FOR MOTORCYCLES. Coincidence or because of my media showings in honor of my baby boy, his accident, and the heartless actions by a horrible man? No idea. But the fact that this sign now honors riders when it never has before and it does so in sight of his memorial and the intersection where he lost his life because someone wasn’t looking for motorcycles made me cry today standing on that corner. And who is this asshole who keeps removing the memorial? Is it someone associated with the accident? Is it some random asshole? I don’t care. I just want it to stop. Putting my foot down and not giving up on my son’s memorial makes me feel like I’m helping him somehow. I know he isn’t here. I know I might not be directly helping him. Yes, this might be more of a selfish endeavor. I don’t give a fuck. I am not the only one who visits that spot often. And even if I was…I’d be doing the same thing. I’d be fighting for my son. For his memorial. To stop whoever is doing this. I had my son’s back for every moment that his heart was beating, from the second that his heart and mine were attached to the second that his stopped beating. And I will continue to do so now even though it no longer beats. And I will NOT let some heartless asshole change that now. Not ever. Interview 1: https://www.fox10phoenix.com/news/memorial-motorcyclist-killed-crash-continuously-destroyed-surprise-bryce-burgess Interview 2: https://www.12news.com/article/news/local/valley/memorial-valley-motorcyclist-repeatedly-destroyed-family-surprise/75-a478e28d-b3e4-4c84-849e-c7b6e819d29b Interview 3: https://www.abc15.com/news/region-west-valley/surprise/west-valley-mother-pleas-for-vandal-hitting-her-sons-memorial-to-stop

3 weeks. He left it alone for 3 weeks.

3 weeks ago, I caught him in the process of attempting to tear down Bryce’s memorial yet again. I scared him away with my car’s headlights and the sound of my motor revving. I’m not going to say that I followed him. I’d never say such a thing.

We know where he’s taking everything. He’s done this multiple times. I have left signs. I have a camera out there. I have moved it multiple times to attempt to get his face on camera and he seems to evade it every fucking time. The day I caught him in person, it was super dark and he was wearing a dark hoodie with the hood up so I couldn’t really see his face.

This is fucking ridiculous. If it is the man who hit him or someone associated with him…ripping down the memorial won’t change anything that happened. Even if Bryce was the one to blame, I would have a memorial up. I don’t have that dude’s name out there. I have not publicly outed him for the accident.

No one else but someone associated with him would be doing this. This is direct targeting and I’m fed up. Mama and the riding group big sis have been posting in local Facebook groups all day to spread the word to the community in the hopes that it reaches him or his family. I made a public Facebook post for people to share across the area. I contacted local news agencies with the story and have already had some return my emails so I am hopeful that I can get the story in the media like we did with the accident itself and riding safely.

This is the post I have been sharing today:

Hello, Surprise neighbors.

This is my son’s memorial at the corner of Bell and Ave of the Arts. He was taken in a motorcycle accident on December 23rd.

Someone keeps stealing the memorial and destroying it in the middle of the night. It has happened 4 times now in the past 10 weeks since we put it up.

To the man doing this:

Sir. We are already dealing with immense grief and pain. This was my son. He was only 19 years old. He had his entire life ahead of him. A longtime girlfriend. So many siblings between my home and his dad’s home. A niece. A huge riding family. He was loved as I’m sure you are by your family. I have not posted your name there. I have not outed you. Your guilt from what happened will not be fixed by removing the memorial for a 19-year-old young man.

His friends, other family, and I go there often to reflect on him.

Show some respect, please.

Have some honor.

This is a public plea to please just stop.

Leave my Bryce’s memorial alone.

Neighbors, thank you for your time.

From a grieving mama

This isn’t being done by the city, or the property management for the shopping center, it isn’t teenagers or the homeless. It is a single man. I have seen him.

We are already dealing with immense pain and grief. I am already helping my 12-year-old deal with a horrible loss. I am already trying to learn how to survive and carry on with a heart that is no longer whole. And someone who has such little empathy to do such a horrible thing not once but FOUR times is doing nothing but making it worse. Doing something like this shows a remarkable lack of empathy. A childishness. If it is the person who was involved in the accident, it shows a lack of remorse as well.

Waking up this morning and seeing that it had been removed made my heart hurt. But it was replaced with anger. I went to where it was all taken last time and jumped my ass right into that dumpster and retrieved it all. It was all back up by dawn with the help of Bryce’s big sister. I wasn’t quiet during that dumpster diving either. Slamming shit around. Revving my engine. My engine is loud. I wanted the complex to wake up. I wanted HIM to hear me. To know I was there. That he didn’t win.

And he didn’t win. He won’t win.

He doesn’t know this family. Both sides of my son’s family are so fucking stubborn. For anyone who knew Bryce, you know how stubborn he was. He got it from both of us. My side. His dad’s side. His chosen family. His friends. We are all stubborn as fuck and we will protect that boy, even now that he isn’t here. And that means putting that fucking memorial every time that asshole rips it down.

You’d think he’d have learned by now.

I have been through some random shit in my life but nothing like this.

This loss and this process of grief are like no other loss I have encountered. I have learned things about myself. About grief. About surviving trauma and PTSD. And this is even before I start my own counseling process. I truly am not looking forward to that either.

But some of what I have learned has come from just surviving for the past 10 weeks. Some has been wisdom shared by the girlfriend, C, from her career field. Trauma changes your brain. It explains why I remember some things from that night but not others. Why I remember the words from the officer but not his face…even though he was standing directly in front of me. Why I remember hearing Bryce’s dad’s reaction over the phone but don’t remember mine other than knowing that I collapsed onto the ground. I remember it being ice cold that night. So fucking cold. But I don’t remember any of the people other than Rory. I remember Carter texting me at 11:30pm. Asking where I went. And I started crying again because I thought for the first time about how I’d have to tell him. I don’t remember driving home. I do remember calling my best friend, though I didn’t mean to call her. I just sat down on my couch and did it without thinking. It was the middle of the night so she knew something was wrong and when I just started crying, she said “I am on my way” and hung up.

Trauma and PTSD throw your brain into fight, flight, or freeze. Your brain becomes disorganized. Some parts of it almost “shut down” to protect you. You literally enter survival mode.

When people speak of triggers, they are being serious. When someone is dealing with trauma or PTSD, whether it is from abuse, loss, or any other reason, they are susceptible to triggers.

I am triggered often. Yes, I am dealing with grief. The grief of losing my son. The grief of the loss. But I am also often triggered by my grief. Sometimes it is from a photo. Or a smell. Or a funny story or show. Or hearing or seeing a motorcycle.

However, it is more than that for me. I have not had a professional diagnosis but it feels like there is an element of trauma or PTSD as well. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, my brain replays that night and I see myself driving up to the intersection, I see the lights from so many police cars, and I see the blockades. It makes me sick to my stomach. I still feel anxiety when I drive through that intersection. I feel anxious if I have to speak about too many details. I feel anxious if I have to speak of it for too long. I feel anxious when I approach traffic and police lights. I feel anxious when I stop and think about the details of that night. Sometimes the smell of the blanket from his bed is a comfort to me but sometimes I immediately break down crying. Is that just the grief or is that trauma or are they the same? I have no fucking clue.

Just like I will never be the exact same person I was before losing my son, my brain will never be the same as it was before. I am sure therapy might help some. Time might help some. But nothing will ever fully heal me from a loss like this. I will always have a hole in my heart where Bryce should be.

Fall 2020

That was the last time we had professional photos done. Because we got busy in the fall of 2021 and time just got lost. Then we got busy as fall 2022 approached too.

And then we literally lost our time.

Now we have no time. There is none left. Because Bryce is gone. He was taken from us. So now I am dealing with the grief of losing my firstborn son and also the guilt of not getting any more family photos. I have selfies with Bryce. I have photos of him alone. I have a photo of him and Carter from Christmas 2021. I have a photo of me and Bryce from that same Christmas. I have one of all 3 of us that Christmas. I have one of the two boys with my dad from the summer of 2022.

But I do not have an actual recent family photo. I do not have a photo of Carter and his big brother any more recent than 2 years before he was taken.

I feel like a failure. I feel like I have failed us because of memories I didn’t make for us because we were so “busy” with 2 working adults, my school schedule, Bryce’s social schedule, and Carter’s school schedule.

I feel like I have failed Carter. He already has to go the rest of his life without his big brother and because of me, he also has fewer photos of the two of them.

Don’t put things off because you think you’ll always have more time. I thought I had more time with my son. I thought he had decades. I thought I had so many more years left with him. Because that’s how it should be…parents shouldn’t outlive their children.

Tell them you love them often. Give them more hugs. Take more pictures. Because you never know what time is the last.

I’ve been seeing someone for the past quite a few weeks now. We actually met after Bryce was taken from me. There were many things that scared me about the idea of dating after loss. Today she brought up some things that I won’t mention here in this space because it was our conversation but it made me think about things I had already thought about when it came to dating and new friendships. I had already thought about how this would change me…how it HAD changed me so far.

I was afraid that I would be too damaged. That I would be too far changed. I was afraid that no one would want to deal with someone in the grief process, even though that process is a long fucking process that might even take me years. I was afraid that someone would consider it “too much baggage”. That they would think that all of the photos of Bryce, all of the purple, or the shelving in my living room with photos, flowers, and his ashes was too much. I was afraid that someone would find it to be too much to deal with both me AND Carter. I was afraid someone would find it to be too much to deal with me having such a fun and convoluted extended family that includes a bunch of unofficially adopted kids thanks to my son’s girlfriend and friends, my ex and his family, my ex’s first wife and HER family, and my former step kids who are now just basically my kids. They’re my family, for better or worse. It is nowhere near conventional. But it is amazing. It is a huge group of people who all loved Bryce and we all love each other in various ways and they will always be my family.

What I have realized is that I am NOT the same person as before losing him. I will never be exactly the same person. And that is okay. It has only been just over 2 months since I lost Bryce and I already know that I am the same as I was before but yet still very different. There will always be a gaping hole in my heart. I will always be the same goofy person. The same person that my son used to laugh at and say “You are so fucking weird” with a huge grin on his face, showing those amazing dimples. That will never change. The core pieces of my personality and who I am will always be the same. But I am forever changed. Anyone who meets me now will only know this version of me. The version who is somehow still alive despite the massive wound in her heart.

Grief changes you. Loss changes you. Losing your child changes you. Nothing I can do will do anything to stop that change or put me back to the “original” version of me. And I don’t need to…we are human. We evolve. I have been through other things in my life that caused me to evolve and change. It is just part of life. I don’t like this particular evolution but there isn’t anything I can do about it, nor can I stop it. As time passes, I will eventually find out where this evolution will settle. I will see how much of the original me remains.

Any new friend I make moving forward and any person I date will only know this version of me. And they will have to be okay with this version and be okay with knowing that I will sometimes have times that my mind turns into a complete asshole when grief comes ripping back on the scene.

Again…because grief is a bitch.

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.

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.

I hate feeling like shit.

I hate being in pain.

I hate crying.

I hate feeling abandoned by some people.

I hate being without my son.

I hate that I am probably affecting those around me.

I hate that my younger son is in pain.

I hate that Bryce didn’t get to live his life.

I thought we had more time. More time together. More time together as a family. I thought he had more time with his brother. I thought he had more time with his dad’s side. I thought he had more time with his love. And with his friends.

Every day, I wake up. Every day, I go about my day with either work or whatever other thing needs to be done. Every day, I smile at least once. But yet…every day, I also cry at least once.

I am so tired of crying and I am so tired of being in pain. The pain is unbearable. Anytime I have a day where I have some sort of fun or happiness, I find myself snapping right back into the pain shortly after…as if my brain is an asshole that wants me to never be happy again.

Every motorcycle I hear. Every motorcycle I see. They all make me think of my baby. Sometimes I like it…sometimes I don’t. I know that isn’t a bad thing but it also doesn’t always feel the best.

It’s truly hard to think about what might make me feel better when I really think that the only thing that will do it would be to have my baby back. Sure, counseling might help. Sure, meds might help. Sure, time might help.

But nothing will REALLY make me feel better other than having my son back and that can’t happen. I will never be the same person. I don’t want to be an empty shell of a person and what scares me is that that is what will become of me. I feel myself slipping in that direction. Grief is fucked up and does fucked up things to people.

I don’t know how to heal. I don’t know if I will even be able to heal. But I still need to find a way to not become that empty shell.