I haven’t written in a long time. Not because you haven’t been on my mind. Quite the opposite really.
It’s been nonstop.
So many things you’re missing. I just had my graduation and I hate that you weren’t there.
Carter said it too. There was an empty seat next to him. He said that it made him think about how you should be in that seat.
You and your brother have been my motivation for finishing this program. I truly was shocked to find out that you were telling everyone that I was back in school. As a parent of an adult child, I guess you just don’t think about your kids being proud of you. You don’t think about them bragging to everyone about you. I didn’t know until you were gone. Maybe you were as proud of me as I was of you?
I could have taken a semester off after losing you. No one would have blamed me. But my mind was picturing you saying “Why the fuck would you do that?”
So instead, you have been my motivation. You and Carter both. Better myself so I can be better for the both of you. Give you better than I had. That is all I have ever wanted for you two.
I am sorry that I couldn’t protect you.
As a kid.
And that night.
It’s all I ever wanted.
It was my job and I failed.
But I promise that I will do everything I can to protect your baby brother. He misses you so much.
We both do.
I have a few weeks left until I am officially done with school.
I don’t like the days that I feel angry. I don’t like the days that the anger mixes with heartbreak. Even now.
Almost 2 years later. Almost 23 months. 1 year, 10 months, and 25 days. 695 days.
695 days since I have heard his voice in person. Seen his smile. Heard his laugh. Had one of his hugs.
As another anniversary approaches, I feel myself changing again. Just like I have for each of the 2 birthdays he’s missed and the Thanksgivings and Christmases, and just like I did for the last anniversary.
I think that it’s possible that people don’t understand that we don’t just lose them once. We lost them that day. But we also lose them with every holiday that they miss…every birthday…every big event…every major milestone in our lives. Over and over again every single year.
Every morning, I wake up and remember that my Bryce is gone. Every day, I go through my day and it is in the back of my mind, even when you see me laughing and smiling. Every night, I go to sleep thinking about how much I miss him. I miss him plopping onto my bed and talking my ear off until my eyes glaze over about his grand plans for his life, even if those plans probably never would have worked. I miss him talking my ear off about whatever he was planning to do with his bike, even though I usually had zero idea what he was saying. I miss him talking to me about his plans with his truck. I miss him chatting with his brother. I miss laughing at him when he’d wake up in the afternoon after working all night and he’d walk into the kitchen with his hair all messy and eyes half open with a goofy look on his face because he was still half asleep. It always reminded me of when he was a baby and he was waking up from a nap.
I miss who I was 2 years ago. I miss the truly happy me. I miss the me with plans that included both of my boys. Seeing Bryce finish growing into adulthood, getting married, and having kids, I miss seeing Carter happy and unburdened with the grief of the loss of his brother. I miss the me that didn’t have to cut out family because I found out how completely unsupportive they were in the worst moments of my life just because they were uncomfortable with grief and my pain. I miss when driving down the far part of Bell Rd was just for the annoyance of heading towards Arrowhead and not because I’m heading to do one of my regular clean-ups of my son’s roadside memorials. I miss when my family photos included both of my children and not just me and Carter with a photo of my oldest child. I miss when I had shelves in the living room that just had happy photos instead of shelves with my son’s ashes and photos for his memory. I miss when we didn’t need a “Bryce wall” in our living room. I miss when I didn’t have to say that I refuse to ever work February 13 or December 23 for the rest of my life.
I want to introduce new people in my life to my son instead of just telling them about him and showing them photos and videos. I don’t want Carter to lose the memories of his brother, and I hate that some are probably already fading. I don’t want Bryce’s niece to know about her uncle instead of actually knowing him because she was so young when he passed and her memories fade. I don’t want the rest of his siblings to have their children after he’s gone so they learn about him instead of getting to be spoiled by him.
I don’t want to live the rest of my life with part of my heart missing.
As time passes, I keep thinking of the parts of his life that he’s missing. The parts that were all missing.
I’m thinking of the grandbabies I won’t get to have. The shared grandparent experience I won’t get to have with his dad and step mom. Carter is almost 14 and maybe he will want kids someday when he grows up. Maybe he won’t. And I’ll still have my honorary granddaughter and any other honorary grandbabies from all of my chosen kids.
But I won’t have his. And he won’t get that experience. He wanted to get married. And he wanted to be a dad. Cute little Bryce babies with those dark, long lashes and big dimples. I’d have spoiled the fuck out of those babies too. Just like I do with my honorary granddaughter, C. I can’t help it. She’s so damn cute. And honestly, she kinda looks a little like Bryce. Her mom is his older half sister so she has enough of the features from that side of the features that are similar to the ones that he got from his dad that they actually look a little alike from when he was little.
We’re getting closer and closer to 2 years and I just don’t even want to think about it. I don’t want to think about how it’s been so long since I’ve seen him smile. Heard his silly laugh. Given him a big hug. I still have our text thread in my phone and it’s still pinned to the top where it was before. I can’t move it. I don’t want to move it. I don’t want to delete it.
I want my baby back. I want to celebrate his adult milestones with him just as I celebrated every one of his childhood ones.
It has been a while since I have written anything here. Over a month actually. Not necessarily because I am doing any better…but maybe more because I am doing better at carrying the pain? Or hiding it? Or both?
I used to trust my gut. I would just be able to tell if something felt right. Or if it felt wrong. That doesn’t mean that I always listened to it, especially in my younger years, but it was still there. But that one night in December 2022, I had no warning. I saw him that morning as I went to work and nothing felt off. I texted with him on and off through the day about various things. He was excited about a free ham that he was getting from work…because it was a HoneyBaked Ham and that boy could EAT. He probably could have eaten the entire fucking ham on his own if I am being honest. He was excited about the nice quality Suntec branded long sleeved shirt that they were giving them with the ham. Because free clothes. Awesome. He asked if I needed him to take Carter to his lesson because he would occasionally help take him when I was working. I said no because they were already out for Christmas break. It was only 2 days before Christmas. He said okay cool and that he was going to go hang with the boys and go for a ride for a while and then meet Rory back at our house later that night. As always, our conversation ended the same as it did every single time we ended a conversation when he was going to be going somewhere.
Be safe. Love you.
Love you too.
Those were our last words.
And my gut had no idea. Not one. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t ignoring a red flag. I wasn’t ignoring a gut feeling. I simply didn’t feel it. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.
So how can I trust my gut now? After all of these years of trusting it, how can I now trust it when it not only failed me this time but it failed my baby? I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t warn him. It didn’t give me that gut feeling that something was wrong so I could stop him. It didn’t just hurt me. It hurt him. His other parents. His 8 siblings. His 2 best friends from the different periods of his life. His love. His massive groups of friends from both Tucson and here in Phoenix. Extended family on both sides. His niece. His future. The future for all of us. My gut has always helped me but this time it failed all of us. So how can I ever trust it again?
Even small shit like school is harder now. Some topics are harder to study. The unit in pathophysiology that related to traumatic brain injuries left me crying multiple times. Taking care of patients around his age is hard.
I am now in the final year of my program. This clinical rotation is in the ICU with an amazing physician. Today, we had to tell a mother that her daughter would likely not recover from her condition. Instead of showing any signs of clinical improvement, she has steadily decompensated and has gotten worse and worse. If she has any improvement, it would leave her highly debilitated and would likely take at least a year to reach that point, if ever. She can not move. Can not breathe on her own. Can not talk. Her body has shut down. As my preceptor and the neurologist were explaining the situation to her mother and 2 aunts, I was doing okay. Eventually I noticed that I was holding my necklace with Bryce’s ashes and was stroking his fingerprint engraving. Just feeling the ridges to stay calm. As the conversation progressed and her mother began to cry, I was struggling. By the time we were finished and they went back into the room after deciding to withdraw care, I separated from the physicians and walked quickly to the restroom. I barely made it before breaking down and just stayed in there and let it go.
Yes, this was drastically different. She had almost 30 years on Bryce. She was critically ill. But I was looking at a mother crying for her baby girl. Looking at a mother thinking about how she was going to have to plan a funeral. Think of final preparations. Think of how she can possibly live in a world without her child. Mothers aren’t supposed to outlive their children. It isn’t natural. I just wanted to hug her and tell her that I felt her pain.
I only wish that I’d have been able to say goodbye to my baby and be with him as he took his last breath so he didn’t have to be alone.
I am just grateful that my last words to him were that I loved him.
There are times that I will be driving and just letting my mind wander. Listening to music. Sometimes thinking. Sometimes trying NOT to think.
I’ll pass riders on the roads or highways. Sometimes alone…sometimes in pairs or groups. My mind immediately goes to him. Sometimes it even sees him in one of the riders. Maybe it’s the way they’re riding and it’s similar to his style. Maybe it’s their posture in the bike and I can tell that they’re also likely fairly tall by the way the back rounds like his did when he wasn’t sitting up straight. Sometimes it’s because the bike is a similar build or colors.
No matter the reason, my mind goes to him. Sometimes a wish. Sometimes a drop of my heart. Sometimes even a double take despite that being completely irrational.
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.
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”
Grief is a B!tch 