Category: Uncategorized

I wish life was easy.

I wish it was fair. I wish it wasn’t so painful. I wish it made sense. Why can’t things just be EASY? For once in my life. Why can’t they be easy?

I was able to handle the rest of the hard parts of my life. The complicated relationship with my mom. My parents divorce when I was in elementary school. My horrible relationship with my stepmother and her mother. My first divorce. My second divorce. The abusive relationship after those two relationships. All of the lies and deceit. My mom’s death. Raising Carter on my own. Being a single mom for a really long time. Working my way through multiple nursing degrees.

That was all cake.

Losing my son has been the hardest thing I have ever had to endure. 3 months in and I still don’t know how to do this. I am trying but I am currently just considering it a win with every day I survive.

There are things that make me simultaneously smile and cry. That happens a lot. Rory just saw Taylor Swift and the song that always reminds her of Bryce just happened to have full purple lighting.

Coincidence? Sure. You can say that. But the love of his life that he wanted to marry going to a concert and her “Bryce song” happens to have purple lighting? She also went to a music festival the weekend of his memorial and the first music set after she arrived had purple laser lights. Coincidence again?

Just like the purple bird that multiple people saw while I was speaking at Bryce’s memorial? Or all of the purple that we’ve all been seeing since he was taken? It’s been fucking everywhere.

The purple is still a comfort to me. And I can use all of the comforts I can get. Some days are okay. Some days are bad. Some days are horrible. Even the okay days aren’t 100% okay though.

Like today. I had a good midday. Went to lunch with the girlfriend. Good convo. Laughter. Got my nails done. That part of the day was good.

But then was later still triggered. I had to get hangers out of Bryce’s closet because I needed more. I am usually okay with going into his room. Not always…but usually. Today was a “not” day. I went into the room, my eyes scanned the room, the squishmallows that him and Rory always had on the bed and the ones she has kept there since the accident, the boxes that he never unpacked when we moved in here last summer, my guitar that my dad gave me that I let him use to teach himself to play that I haven’t been able to take back yet, and I caught a whiff of his scent…such a faint scent now after 3 months…so faint now. I went to his bed and just laid down for a minute. Put my face on his comforter. The smell is fading fast. Especially since Rory sleeps there sometimes too. But I can still smell him. Faintly like his scent mixed a little with boy B.O.

Looked over and just stared at his shoe rack, still just like he left it 3 months ago. Only missing the pair I gave to his brother-in-law because they were good friends and the pair he was wearing that night. With shit on top of it because he was a damn ADHD slob who never put things away.

One of these days, I will need to clean out his room. One of these days, I will need to take the snacks still in his closet and get rid of them. They’re old now. I’d rather pretend that he is coming back and would be pissed if his Oreos went missing. One of these days, I will need to throw away his workout supplements in my hall cabinet. One of these days, I will need to throw away his beard products and razor from the hall bathroom cabinet. One of these days, I will need to start wearing my own clothes instead of his.

But today isn’t that day. So fuck grief.

I know that healing takes time. I know that grief is a slow process. I have now seen firsthand how long it takes to even make a dent into feeling even slightly like the “before” version of myself. I know that you don’t “get over” something like this…you simply learn how to function around it.

But I wonder how long it will be until I learn how to do that?

How long until I am not bothered by the fact that I was basically abandoned by my family when I needed them the most?

How long will it be until I don’t feel like I’m hurting someone I care about because I am always feeling like shit?

How long until I don’t feel like I have to wear Bryce’s clothes every day? I know I don’t need to rush it but how long will it take?

How long will it take until I don’t feel my heart break more every time I see my baby’s smiling face in a photo? How much can a single heart break anyway?

How long will it take before I find the desire to be social again?

How long will it take before I don’t feel peopled out at the end of every day? At the end of every week?

How long before I am able to sleep well again without needing meds to help? And on that note, how long until I actually feel rested when I do sleep?

How long will it take before I have the energy to keep up with work, school, and home again? I’m keeping them all going but the dishes in my sink might argue that the home is suffering a tad. The clean clothes on the dining room table might join the sink in that argument but at least they’re clean, right?

When you’re fighting through the waves of grief, you never know what might trigger a “normal” bad day into a horrible one. A song. A show. A saying. A sunset. A person. A time of day. Or simply nothing at all.

Yesterday was a rough day for me. I had my first actual counseling session. We haven’t even yet dug deep into anything but just being there and starting to scratch the surface of the need to deal with my depression, anxiety, and grief and loss was overwhelming. This is on top of taking Carter to his session. And doing some things around the house. By the end of the day, I was exhausted. The combination of being exhausted plus starting counseling left me feeling so incredibly antsy by the end of the day. The usual crawling out-of-my-skin kind of antsy.

I hate that feeling. I hate that I feel so less “normal” than I used to feel. I just want to feel like myself. I know I need to someday find a way to learn to live with these feelings. I am sure I will learn some of that with counseling. It’s hard enough trying to find a “new normal” in our routines when such a huge part of our daily life is missing. When we walk past his room multiple times per day with its closed door. When we were so used to him coming and going and seeing him every day but now…we don’t. Add emotional regulation into the mix? It’s hell. I’m learning that these feelings are all typical parts of grief but that doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t make me feel like any less of a burden to those around me. Or like any less of a freak or anomaly. Back to the logical mind vs the emotional mind for a minute…the logical mind knows that I am not a burden..that I am not a freak or an anomaly. But my emotional mind…the emotional mind feels like something is wrong with me. Like I will never recover.

Another weird thing causing me anxiety tonight is that I’m going to a conference for the next couple of days. Not overnight but a local conference for those in my work specialty so I’ll be spending the day there for two days in a row. And for this conference, I have to wear business casual…which means not being able to wear Bryce’s clothes like I’ve done every day for 3 months. It might seem silly to some but wearing his clothes has helped me feel closer to him when I’ve missed him so much. Not having a way to wear anything of his for the next 2 days until I get home each night has me feeling anxious. I know I need to someday wear my own clothes again. I’m not stupid. I know it.

But I don’t feel ready for it. And I almost feel like I’m being forced to do it before I’m ready. I know it may not seem like it makes sense to some who might be reading this. But for those of you who’ve dealt with grief, or who are in the middle of it now, I’m sure you understand. Whether you have your loved one’s shirt made into a pillow or a stuffed animal or a quilt or you simply do as I do and wear their clothes, there is something about it that just makes you feel closer to them. Even once those clothing items have lost the scent of that person.

I do it with my Bryce. I still push my face into his blanket and pillow to try to catch a super small whiff of his scent. A scent that is now barely discernable. A scent that will someday fade completely. I try not to think about that day.

I’m sure you feel the same.

In 2 more days it will be 3 months.

3 months since I’ve seen your face. Not counting the day that I’d rather forget.

3 months since I’ve seen your smile. 3 months since I’ve heard your laugh. 3 months since I’ve hugged you. 3 months since I’ve kissed that bearded cheek. 3 months since I’ve told you to be safe.

3 months since the worst day of my life. 3 months since a living nightmare started. 3 months since I had to give your baby brother life-altering news.

3 months since I had to tell your dad and Tina the news because they couldn’t hear the officer over the speakerphone. 3 months since I had to tell Rory the news. Your Aurora.

3 months that we’ve all been waiting for justice. 3 months that we’ve been waiting for that man to face consequences. For the pain he caused you. For the pain he caused us. For what he stole from you.

Sometimes it feels like yesterday that I last saw you as I was pulling out of my driveway to leave for work that morning at the same time you were coming home. Since we last texted. Since we last hugged or laughed together or since you last called me a weirdo as you laughed. Other times it feels like so long ago and I wonder how it’s “only” been 3 months.

I still haven’t figured out how I’m supposed to live the rest of my life without you here with me. I don’t know how. I might not ever be able to do it. I guess I’ll have to just wait and see.

Your little brother is being so strong. You’d be proud of him. I hate that he has to deal with this but I think that he’s even stronger than I am.

I still wear your clothes every day. I still sleep with the fuzzy black blanket from your bed and the 2 soft round pillows. Usually with the black one pushed either in my face or under my chin. The one you always had under your head.

3 months since I’ve laughed at your crazy hair.

3 months since I’ve seen you passed out on the couch after work because you were too tired to move to the bed. Or maybe just passing out snuggled with the pupper.

I have learned more about grief in the past 3 months than I ever thought possible but yet I feel like I still have so much more to learn. I still need to learn how to care about being social again. I still need to learn how to be around people for long periods without feeling overwhelmingly exhausted. I still need to learn how to allow myself to feel any happiness when you’re no longer here.

I still need to learn how to survive without you. I need to learn how to keep my heart beating while it feels so broken without one of the lives that it helped to keep alive while it grew into its own person. I need to learn how to mourn the loss of the life you were supposed to have. I need to learn how to mourn the loss of the life I was still supposed to have with you.

How am I supposed to be happy without you here with us?

That is the question. That is what I haven’t figured out. I am not sure I ever will.

Today, a friend helped me get Bryce’s beloved truck running. Bryce bought it with cash a few weeks before he died. With the help of friends and google, he’d done quite a bit of work to get it running well. He wanted a truck so bad and owning a 2003 Ram was his goal and he was able to buy it only weeks before his accident, thanks to a small loan from mom.

Since his accident almost 3 months ago, I have started the truck only to move it from the street to my driveway to keep it safe. After that, it wouldn’t start again so it’s been sitting for over 2 months while I’ve waited for help to get it running again. Bryce had changed many small things and had also changed the water pump, the radiator, and the lower radiator hose. Today, a friend from work came over and helped me put in a new coolant reservoir, an upper radiator hose, a coolant overflow hose, and a new battery. We got it running. And we let it run for 40 minutes, including some time with the ac on and the hood closed to maximize the heat under the hood. We drove it around the neighborhood for a bit. There was no check engine light. No overheating. It didn’t trigger any codes on his tool.

I should be in the clear to finally pass emissions and get it registered.

Bryce was so fucking close.

He literally changed the radiator only days before his accident. Today’s work didn’t take very long. He was almost finished with this initial work. Almost able to pass emissions. Almost able to get the title in his name and get it registered. Almost able to sell his car and use the truck as a daily driver like he wanted.

THISFUCKINGCLOSE.

Today was bittersweet for me. I am so grateful to Ryder. Grateful that he, as he jokingly said, “broke his rule” of not working on Dodges since he’s a Ford guy and helped me out. So grateful that he wanted to help me finish this first piece of Bryce’s dream. I had to hold back tears until he left, though I did warn him that I might be unable to help letting them fall once we got it running.

But while I am so grateful for his help today and while it makes me so happy to see it running, it also breaks my heart a little. Because Bryce didn’t get to do this. He wasn’t able to be the one to get it running well with no overheating. He wasn’t able to be the one who got a “Pass” at emissions. He wasn’t able to be the one who got to see a title in his name.

So many dreams that he didn’t get to see through because of that one man not paying attention one night. And this was a small dream. A dream to have this truck running. To get a lift kit. Fix it up. Get a sound system so loud that I’d likely have been irritated anytime he turned it on.

This is why life after loss is bittersweet. I am now continuing with his dream to fix up his truck. 2003. The same year he was born. Now I will slowly fix it up. Under the hood. Make sure the electrical is good. Headlights. Tail lights. Likely new interior carpeting. Fix the sunroof. Stereo. New tires. New paint job with accents to honor Bryce. By the time I finish slowly getting all of this done, Bryce’s 12-year-old brother will be old enough to drive the truck that his big brother dreamt of fixing up for himself.

Another bittersweet situation.

So many situations in life that shouldn’t be happening. That wouldn’t be happening. Wouldn’t be real life if that man hadn’t have been driving on that suspended license and had actually looked before making that fucking left turn. Wouldn’t be real life if the state hadn’t have given him so many chances with his past infractions. Chance after chance until he finally killed someone. Killed a fucking kid. Do we think that the state will finally hold him accountable for his behavior now that he killed someone? I sure as fuck hope so. It won’t bring my kid back but maybe it will stop him from killing someone else’s baby.

It is so hard to have a good day now. Bittersweet.

You have a good day. And then you feel guilty for having a good day when they’re not here. You have a good day and feel guilty because they don’t get to have good days. You have a good time doing something and then your mind is reminded why you’re ultimately not happy even if you had fun for a short time. Having fun for an hour or two or four seems to not want to override the grief that overwhelms every cell of your mind and body. You do something fun that you know the person you’re missing would love and after a short time, you’re reminded that you’re doing it because they can’t.

And that was today with the truck. I was happy that it was running. I was happy to do that for him. But then remembering that I was doing it because he couldn’t…because he isn’t here to do it…

Bittersweet.

Grief is a bitch. Grief can kiss my ass. Grief is ruining my life. Grief is making Carter suffer at school and in his head. Grief is surrounding both of us. It is everywhere and I am doing the best I can to keep my head above water. But I feel myself being pulled down. Like I have weights around my ankles and I don’t know if I am strong enough to hold us both up with the extra weight.

I should be sleeping. I should have taken the sleeping pill that I need to be able to sleep. But instead, I am sitting here. Thinking about him. I can’t stop. I can’t get him out of my mind. I can’t stop picturing his face. I can’t stop looking at his photos. I can’t stop watching videos. I can’t stop watching the video that his best friend sent me that has him laughing.

I can’t stop. Even this screenshot of him from the video. Laughing. Having fun. His genuine laugh that those of us who truly knew him knew was the REAL laugh.

I can’t stop. This screenshot is from a video his friend took that night. This was probably only maybe an hour before he was taken from us. From me. My heart was once connected to his. My heart once kept his beating. We were connected. I gave him life. And how without him here, my heart doesn’t want to keep beating. My heart doesn’t want to beat without his. My heart doesn’t want to beat after it was unable to help keep his beating that night nearly 3 months ago. I keep staring at his face. Into his gorgeous eyes and wish I could have protected him. Wish I could have kept his massive ass encased in bubble wrap forever. I wish he’s stayed home that night. Or had left a minute earlier. Or a minute later. Or that that asshole had looked before turning. Or that he hadn’t have been driving at all since he shouldn’t have been anyway. I wish I’d told him I loved him just one more time. So many “I wish” moments. Staring at that beautiful face and I just picture him lying in the casket. I picture him looking like him but yet not him. Slightly distorted. Not counting the makeup they put on him. And it just makes me cry even more because I know exactly why he looks not like himself. Why his brow ridge was too pronounced. His eyes weren’t quite right. His neck. Fuck. I am surprised I didn’t accidentally knock over the casket when I had to grab it for support when I saw him for the first time. I hadn’t seen him since the morning of the accident as I was leaving for work and he was getting home and we were just passing each other. That brings another “I wish” because I wish I’d stopped to give him one last hug. I have wracked my brain for almost 3 months to try to remember when I last hugged him. I can’t remember. I am trying so hard and I can’t. It can’t have been too long before but I can’t remember and it makes the pain worse.

I can’t shake the fog in my head.

I can’t people anymore.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t stop crying.

I just need my baby back.

What would have become of your life? I know you wanted to get married someday. And I know you wanted to marry Rory. I know you wanted me to be the one who walked you up the aisle to the alter to wait for her. I found out about that after you were taken. Why me? Does that mean that you were able to tell how much I loved you, even when I got on you for the time you cheated on a test in middle school? When we talked about how much I appreciated that you were honest with me but that you knew it wasn’t okay. Or when you decided that drinking in high school was cool. No. It wasn’t. Or maybe when you were fighting with your dad and Tina? You knew I had your back when appropriate but you also knew that I was going to tell you when you needed to get your shit together. You knew how much I loved you even when I had to constantly nag to keep your bathroom clean. Or not keep food trash in your room.

But if you were still here…what would be happening in your life? You’d be 20. Would you and Rory still be talking about getting married sometime in the next couple of years?

Would you have someday given me the most gorgeous grandbabies anyone ever saw? I don’t care what other people think of their grandbabies. The ones you’d have given me would have been the most beautiful. Those gorgeous eyes. The lashes. That smile with those dimples. Would they have dark hair like you? Maybe they would start dark and then go blonde before going back to dark like you did. Would they be as stubborn as you? Holy shit. I don’t think those kids would stand a chance of not being stubborn.

What kind of grandma would I have been to your babies? I still have your brother, of course, if he chooses to have them. But I think about yours. The ones you wanted but didn’t get to have.

Who would I have been had I not been changed by grief? Who would I have been had I not been consumed by this overwhelming feeling of depression and anxiety? Sometimes I don’t know if I can do this. Sometimes I wish I could just lay down and sleep until the day that I find out if I will see you again. Sleep until the day that I find out if I will get to hug you again. I truly don’t know if I can do this sometimes. Most days, most times, if someone is seeing me smile, it isn’t a true smile. It isn’t a smile from happiness.

That isn’t to say that it never happens. But most days…most times…

How can I be happy without you here? How can I be happy without your hugs…smiles…love…laughter? How can I be happy without my firstborn baby here? When life has been so fucking cruel to you? To all of us?

I fucking loved watching you grow up but I hate that it was taken from you just as you hit adulthood. Just as you were finding yourself. Just as you were making plans for your life. Who would I have been if I had been able to continue building a relationship with my adult child?

Who would your brother be if he weren’t dealing with grief? If he weren’t dealing with the loss of his only big brother? He’s never known life without you. Who would he be if you were still here? If he grew up with a big brother as a role model like he did for the first 12 years of his life. If he had you to look up to as he continues to grow up. Someone to teach him things that he might not want me to teach him.

Who would I be if I wasn’t feeling myself spiral into nothingness? Who would I be if I wasn’t completely lost in the grief of missing you? Who would your brother be if he wasn’t struggling to learn how to live without you in our lives?

Who would you have been if you were still here?

How has it been almost 3 months without him?

Next week will be 3 months.

THREE.FUCKING.MONTHS.

3 months without his smile. His hugs.

His love. His laughter. His smart-ass sense of humor.

I thought that the numbness wore off a long time ago. I thought I’d started to cope. To process. Then I started to sink again. Some days, I am back to numb. A numbness that keeps me from feeling. From wanting to see anyone. From being around people. From going about my days. I don’t want to do anything but lay in bed and pretend life isn’t happening around me.

Then there are other days. Days when I’m in pain. A pain that feels like my heart can no longer beat because it’s either too broken or just far too compressed. Days when my lungs can’t expand. As if my body is trying to shut down.

I’d imagine that this is just part of how things go with grief. As I’ve said, I know that it isn’t linear so I know that it might not necessarily move in the “typical” patterns and it might even go back and forth.

But it feels like I’m emotionally back to the beginning. Where I alternate between numbness and pain. That’s where I was in the beginning and that’s where I feel I am again. Back to where I have that “emotional quota”. Where I can’t handle “peopleing”. And when I’m topped out on those things, I need to shut myself off from real-life people for the rest of the day. Back to where I need to ignore the world. Back to where I can respond to texts from some people but others are almost on a first-come, first-served basis because if you’re not first, you’re not catching me before I’ve totally shut down. Back to where I’m so done with peopleing that I’m almost twitching by the end of my work day because I’m so overstimulated. Twitching like a fucking tweaker. By the time it’s time to clock out, I’m ready to bolt out the fucking door and floor it out of the parking lot. And I hate it. I’m far from being an extrovert but I have always enjoyed socializing with coworkers and with my patients but it’s been so hard to do that lately.

It’s been hard to even feel like talking to those I love like friends and family.

I still love texting with my girlfriend but there are some days that I’m so emotionally fried and peopled out that I don’t want to have to physically speak and then I feel bad for not having the energy to talk on the phone with her. But I know she wants to hear my voice. And I love hearing hers too. But actually speaking…it’s so hard when I’m peopled out. But I don’t want her to feel unwanted. Or like I don’t care. Because I truly do. I’m just…tired.

So tired.

I know it’s all normal.

I know it’s to be expected.

But I don’t like this new normal.

I don’t want this new normal.

I reject this fucking bullshit.

Just give me my kid back and none of this “new normal” shit even needs to be a thing.

I know it’s okay to slip back sometimes. I know it’s okay to not be okay. I know it’s normal to fall backward.

But I don’t like it. I don’t like the discomfort. I don’t like the antsy, anxious feeling that comes with having to pretend I’m okay for a 12-hour shift and wearing a fake smile. I don’t like the near panic I feel by the time I walk out of those doors to head to my car because I am so incredibly overstimulated. I don’t like feeling like I am going to crawl out of my skin. I don’t like feeling like I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t like feeling like I am going to push people away anytime I fall backward again. I don’t like my mind being in such chaos.

And I don’t like feeling myself spiral.

I don’t fucking like it.

I want to believe.
I want to believe in an afterlife. To be honest, maybe it would make this easier. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe having a strong faith or belief that I will see my son again would make it even a tiny bit easier to get through each day. Maybe it would make it easier to get through each night that he isn’t coming to say goodnight before leaving for work or letting me know that he’s home after being out with friends.

Maybe it would help on nights like tonight when I am sitting in bed, curled up in my son’s blanket, and wearing his shirt with one of his soft pillows tucked under my arm. Is all of this on my mind because I am exhausted? And am I physically exhausted or am I emotionally exhausted? Or both?

It has been a long fucking week.

Four news interviews about the asshole repeatedly destroying Bryce’s memorial. School stuff. A full work week. And my first counseling session. Which I really don’t want to be doing but I know that my head is not in a good place right now.

So maybe if I believed, it would help me. Maybe if I believed that I would see my son again. That I would someday be with him again. I would someday have a paradise where there is no pain. No hurt. Only happiness and my baby waiting for me to welcome me with his big, beautiful smile and a big hug.

I honestly don’t know what I believe happens to us when we die. I fall somewhere between agnostic and atheist. I know I don’t believe in the Christian god. I know I don’t believe in the bible’s version of “heaven”. There is no logic to either of those things. But what happens to us after we die? Do we just…stop? Cease to exist anywhere but in photos and memories? Does the electricity and energy that makes our bodies function linger around?

Fuck. I hate this so much. I hate that I feel alone when I’m not even alone. I hate that I feel alone even when surrounded by people. I hate that I feel overwhelmed when I didn’t before. I hate that I am struggling so much when I want to stay strong to help Carter.

Grief is horribly uncomfortable and it’s lonely and it changes you. There is no fixing it. There is no speeding up the process. Some people say that time helps. But I don’t know if time actually helps or if it simply helps numbs the feelings so that you can learn to live with them. So that you learn to build a life around the pain.

I wish I had the answers. I wish someone had the answers. I wish there was a magic pill. A magic fix. A time machine would be even better so I could go back in time and save my boy because I don’t know how to live the rest of my life without him here. How to live the rest of my life without the baby I gave birth to here with me. I feel sick to my stomach at the thought.

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.