Tag: #siblingloss

Time is a bitch now too

17 months. It has now been SEVENTEEN FUCKING MONTHS.

How is that possible? I am still trying to understand that one. My brain literally doesn’t process it. Or can’t process it. I am not sure which. I do know that I don’t like it. Just more time that he has missed. I have missed another Mother’s Day with him. So has his bonus mom. I know that she struggled that day just as much as I did. Any issues that we may have had in the early years post divorce from Bryce’s dad were already resolved long before we lost him but losing him has only made us closer. We talk often. We send each other birthday wishes. We send each other Mother’s Day wishes and flowers. The same applies with my ex-husband. The friendship that we started with back in the day when we first met has returned but now only strengthened with years of knowing each other, making a beautiful boy together, and then us losing that boy. We have all even vacationed together and have stayed over at each other’s homes when needed.

With the newfound closeness and family I have acquired with them came a new closeness with their kids. Of course, I have known them their entire lives, but not to this degree. They’re my kids now, too. We jokingly call me bonus mom, just like she is a bonus mom to Carter. One of those kids just celebrated a massive milestone. She graduated high school. It is obviously a massive celebration but even with celebration, we are all reminded that Bryce should be here to participate. In all of the photos of her with various friends and family, there should be one with her big brother too. They grew up together. When their parents married, Bryce was only 5 and she was barely out of diapers. Oddly enough, they even slightly resembled each other. Her day shouldn’t have had to be marred with the feeling of loss. I am glad that I was be able to be there with her but if I could have had him there in my place, I would have done so without a second of hesitation.

Screenshot

While this may seem like a sudden change in topic, it is actually connected. On the recent visit for the graduation, the parents were speaking late that night before everyone separated for bed. I knew that we all had our struggles with grief but I am not sure that I was aware that our struggles were as similar as they are. I was speaking recently with Bryce’s girlfriend about how we both had a bizarre brain fog/amnesia from the “after” that seemed to last roughly 6 or so months. Not that we don’t remember anything, of course, but just that what we DO remember is sporadic. I won’t share her specifics because it isn’t my place. But I can share mine. My memories of that night are broken. I remember pieces but not everything. I remember his dad and bonus mom on the phone. Their reactions. Hearing the kids try to come into the room and then sending them out at first and then later them letting them in and hearing the kids reactions. I remember the words of the officer but not his face. I remember falling on the ground in the middle of Bell Rd. It was ice cold. It was very cold that night. I vaguely remember an officer helping me up and sitting me in his car to stay warm. I don’t remember driving home. I don’t remember much from the first week. I remember too much from the funeral. And that first 6 months is a bit of a blur. I remember spending a lot of time with Rory. We tried to distract ourselves. Lunches. Relaxing and watching movies. I spent a lot of time with Shae. I tried hard to focus on school and work but I didn’t do well. I struggled to help focus on Carter. I had panic attacks. Cried a lot. I was even called into my boss’s office because patients were noticing that I was off. My work was slipping. The night we all spoke after graduation, I realized that us parents were more similar than I realized and his dad had very similar reactions to mine. I won’t share everything from their story, because like Rory, it isn’t my story to share. But they don’t remember their reactions. Only the reactions of their kids and my reaction over the phone. I don’t remember screaming. But they say that I screamed. Loud. Pained. Primal. I don’t know why I don’t remember.

I have only recently, 17 months later, realized that my memory issues are not just the “after”, but also a little from “the before”. It hit me when I was looking for a movie to watch on Prime and thought that I hadn’t seen it. I started it and then realized that I had but I have no memory of watching it or who I saw it with. I found it strange but then just stopped to think about how my memory is spotty on other things from before too. Not that I completely forgot them but did they happen here or here? Was this with this person or this person? Did I do this or did I do that? Did I do this at this time or that time? I thought I was going crazy for a bit. Maybe it’s just me? I mean, I literally have pieces of my childhood, even teenaged years, that I can’t remember detail on so it’s probably just me, right? But then I asked others. They have the same experience from at least the couple of months before. What the fuck is that about? I have no idea and I don’t completely understand it.

I am just glad to know that I’m not alone.

the passing of time

I know time passes. As parents, we see it every day. When they’re little, we say that we can’t wait for them to sleep through the night. Then we can’t wait until they are potty trained. Until they are past puberty. Past the talking back phases.

Once they’re grown, we miss the old days.

We never think that there will someday be a time when we will miss them altogether. Not because we simply don’t see them, although that happens too, but because they’re gone. They have been taken from us, whether by illness or addiction or by an accident caused by the actions of another.

It is now a couple of days shy of 16 months since I last spoke to my baby. Since I last truly saw his face. Every second has been a new piercing stab into my heart. Every day that I wake up and he isn’t here just breaks my heart over again. I am still unsure if I am grateful or upset that I don’t remember my dreams. Do I wish he could visit me in my dreams or would it just hurt me even worse?

As time passes, it sometimes hurts to see those his age living their lives. I am seeing them grow in their careers. Graduate college. Get engaged. Make pregnancy announcements.

I love them and I am glad for them. I am glad that their parents are getting these experiences. Truly I am. But I can’t help but hurt too. Not because they don’t deserve these experiences because they all absolutely do!

But because Bryce deserved them, too. Because I deserved them. Because his dad deserved them. His stepmom deserved them. And Rory deserved them.

He’d be 21 now.

We deserved to experience him having the 2 birthdays he’s missed.

We deserved to experience him having the 2 Christmases he’s missed.

We deserved to experience him having the promotion he was training for and missed.

We deserved to experience he and Rory having the life they had planned.

We all deserved all of it.

I hate it here

I was thinking yesterday about my 13-year-old. My boys have different fathers. I’ve been married…and divorced…twice. Yeah. I’m totally great at the whole marriage thing.

But my 13-year-old lost his big brother in December 2022. He loved Bryce so much. They were almost 8 years apart and Bryce was SO EXCITED when I told him I was pregnant. He even wanted to come with me to my ultrasounds. He was there at the ultrasound when we found out it was a boy.

When I asked if he wanted a brother or a sister, he said “I want a brother because I have WAY too many sisters!”

Even with such a large age gap, they loved each other. Bryce loved helping take care of his brother. As they got older, Bryce sometimes helped take his brother places if I worked. He’d take the two of them to buy dinner. Carter loved his big brother so much. Looked up to him. Nearly idolized him.

Then 10 months after losing his big brother, Carter lost his dad to suicide. His dad wasn’t a particularly involved father. We divorced when Carter wasn’t quite 2 and he was inconsistent with seeing Carter. His wife caused drama. He caused drama.

But aside from all of that, he was still Carter’s father. It was yet another fracture in my child’s heart. The hope that he had of his dad someday actually being a dad was taken from him.

And now we’re back to yesterday. I was thinking about my poor 13 year old. I’ve had talks with him. Basic ones. But now he’s at the stage where puberty is hitting and a dad is usually there to talk to him. His first basic one had to come from mom. I gave Bryce the sex talk about talked about being safe and I can do the same with Carter but I know it can be embarrassing for boys to have mom talk about that stuff. What boy wants their mom to talk to them about this?

And now my poor kid doesn’t have his big brother who could have helped. He doesn’t have his dad who could have helped.

It’s no fucking wonder that his last 15 months have been hell and have been a battle of stabilizing depression and unraveling a ball of anxiety.

This is a part of grief that I don’t think people think about…the trickle down of how it affects every facet of your life. I feel like I am a hot mess all the time. I am broken. When you lose your child, you lose part of yourself. When his heart stopped beating, part of mine died too.

So I am a partial person with horrible depression, anxiety, and ptsd trying to function through my day to day life, work, school, and some semblance of “normal”, let alone trying to date. And while I wrestle all of that, I’m trying to help a new teenager through normal hormones, depression, anxiety, and the grief of losing both his brother and father in less than a year.

Fuck. Grief is a bitch and I’m sick of it. Sick and fucking tired. I hate it here. I want my life back. I want my Bryce back. I want my happy and carefree Carter back.

Cathartic bullshit

The other day, I was driving around running errands. I have almost always been a bit of a lead foot. And I often drive my current far fast when able…and when it is safe, of course. Well that day with the errands, it was so nice outside. Warm but not hot. A soft breeze. I had my windows down and my sunroof open. I had my music blasting as loud as my stereo will go. And I was able to drive fast.

As I was driving, it hit me how I tend to find fast driving and loud music to be cathartic. Especially when the wind was blowing too.

Is that part of why he loved to ride so much? I know that riding gave him that sparkle in his eyes again. It made him happy. Was it because it was also cathartic for him too? I have never ridden but I can assume he felt the same as I do. His dad used to ride. I don’t know if he felt the cathartic feeling but I know that he enjoyed it.

I also love things like roller coasters. So does his dad. Did he get the love of the rush from me? Just like he did those dimples and squinty eyes? Or did he get it from his dad like he did that silly laugh and crooked smile? Or maybe he got a double dose of it just like he did his stubbornness?

Wherever it came from, he loved to ride.

It made him happy. It is hard to reconcile the fact that something he loved so much was what took him. Like how? He absolutely fucking loved it. He loved being with his friends. Feeling the speed. Feeling the wind. Listening to music while riding. Just like I do while driving my car. He was even doing that that night. He was out with friends. It was so damn cold that night. I specifically remember how cold it was. I remember how cold the road was when I fell to the ground when the police told me that he was gone.

How can something he love take him away from me like that?

How can something that he felt to be so cathartic take him away from me like that?

Would he be annoyed if I use Taylor Swift lyrics here? Who knows. I’m watching the Eras Tour movie and Marjorie stuck out to me.

“What died didn’t stay dead
What died didn’t stay dead
You’re alive, you’re alive in my head
What died didn’t stay dead
What died didn’t stay dead
You’re alive, so alive
And if I didn’t know better
I’d think you were singing to me now
If I didn’t know better
I’d think you were still around
I know better
But I still feel you all around
I know better
But you’re still around”

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.

Happy 21st Birthday

February 13th.

Another birthday has come and gone without him here. We lost him only 1.5 months before his 20th. This one was his 21st. The second birthday we’ve had to celebrate without him.

None of us were okay. Some of us isolated to bedrooms and tried to disassociate with things like tv, movies, or video games. Some of us tried to stay busy with various things, whether it be projects or working extra long hours to keep brains distracted.

Not one of us were okay.

In my home, we went to his memorial to clean up and decorate for his birthday and spring.

We also decided to pour some out for him. Not only a couple of his favorite drinks but also the drinks he wasn’t able to have to celebrate the milestone of being 21. He had a couple of his own favorites, there were a couple of mini shooters that he’d left in his room (one was even open and had a sip from it), his sister had found a Joker branded beer can last year that she’d saved for his 21st, and I’d asked siblings if they had anything they wanted poured out for him. We took turns toasting each drink to his memorial, taking a small sip, and pouring out the rest for him.

We set up new spring decorations to join some existing ones along with a couple of gifts for him.

Does it really help me to do things like this? Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. That morning, I’d woken up right before the exact time he’d been born. I laid in bed and just cried. I don’t know how long. Then I fucking rallied. Then I cried again that night.

Because what else do you do when part of your own heart is missing from your chest?

Have you ever been stabbed in the heart?

Or maybe had someone punch into your heart and squeeze a la Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom?

That’s what it feels like to lose a child.

I’ve never suffered a pregnancy loss.

I’ve never had a stillborn.

I can’t even imagine that pain because I’ve never experienced it. But I remember how many people compared it to my loss after Bryce passed. And I remember having to bite my tongue because I know they meant well. I know I loved my boys from the moment I knew I was pregnant so I know those losses must be horrible. But to have them compared to the loss of a nearly 20 year old, living, and breathing child with dreams and ambitions.

This was my child who was there one minute, laughing and joking with friends, texting his girlfriend that he’d be home shortly and then…nothing.

This was my child who was texting me only a few hours earlier about his Christmas plans and then…nothing.

This was my child who only hours earlier said bye to his baby brother and said that he’d see him later and then…nothing.

There are so many things that aren’t helpful to hear when you lose your child. That’s one of them. It’s also not helpful to be told that they’re in a better place, that it’s “god’s plan”, or any other religious bullshit…even for those who believe that religious bullshit. The “better place” for a parent’s child is here. With their family. Not in someone else’s perceived afterlife.

So did I cry on his birthday? Fuck yes.

Do I still cry other times too? Fuck yes.

Because I miss him. Because I love him. Because he should be here. Because he’s missing the life he should have had. Because he’s missing our lives. Because my mind remembers the trauma of that night. Because my mind remembers the last time I saw him. Because my mind *can’t* remember the last time I hugged him. Because he’s missing his sibling’s lives. Because his siblings are missing him. Because he’s missing his niece’s life. Because his niece is missing him. Because the man who caused the accident was not prosecuted due to a technicality despite a long ass list of past offenses.

Because it’s a random ass day and I want my son back.

So did I cry on his birthday and do I still cry other days? Yes

Because what else do you do when part of your own heart is missing from your chest?