I have tried to write this for almost a week now... I'm still not sure I will get through it, but here I go.
Great. Pain. Death. Shock. Pain. Sadness. Fear. Being strong. Crying on the inside.
This is my life over the last 10 days. Two Saturdays ago, it was absolutely beautiful out. I decided to venture out into the sun and get some things done around the yard and do some work on my vehicle that has needed to be done for the last month or so. I dove right in and got things started! I finished the yard stuff and started on the car when my hands started aching. I had a friend over that was helping me (doing most of the work!) and I had to get up and get an ice pack for my hands. Within an hour after that, I couldn't make a fist with either hand. My knuckles were swollen and on fire. We had to stop working on my car and I went inside and tried to rest. After a few hours of pain, I finally went to the Urgent Care and saw a doctor. She gave me steroids and offered pain meds, but I turned down the pain meds because I hate the way I feel on them. That evening, I took my meds and crawled in bed with a heating pad for my hands. I tossed and turned all night and finally the next morning, I went back to the Urgent Care and took the doctor up on her offer of pain meds. By Tuesday, my hands were 90% normal, then Wednesday happened...
I get a call from my son at college, 2 hours away. His best friend for most of his life had suddenly died. It was quick. He had died in his sleep. But still... 22 years old and gone from this Earth. My son was inconsolable and I couldn't hold him. I couldn't be there. There was literally NOTHING I could do to calm him down but talk. I was dying on the inside. Finally, after lots of tears, my son calmed down and we began talking about him coming home. He had to gather some things up and make arrangements for work and he would be on his way and be here as soon as he could. Then we hung up and the shock sat in. 22 years old and gone. That is a call a parent NEVER wants to get. The knock on the door that makes you scared of answering the doorbell. The words a parent never should hear.
After getting off of the phone, I made a few calls... his mother, my mother, friends, and then I sat here at my desk and just stared at nothing. I don't know how long. I don't know what I was thinking. I don't know if I cried or not. I don't remember anything but grief, pain. Then I just started praying. I prayed for my son, his friend and family. I prayed for strength. I prayed for comfort. It was all I knew to do.
After several hours, my son walks in the house and comes walking towards me, arms out, bawling... I didn't see my 23 year old college student, I saw my 4 year old baby boy. I saw my sonshine as a boy, as a teen, as a child... everything but an adult. This was my baby with his heart crushed. There was nothing I could do or say to calm him down, so we just held each other for what seemed like an hour as he cried and I fought back my tears. I had to be the strong one for him. He has always depended on me to be the strong one. But on the inside, I was torn up.
After a few days, his sadness had appeared to turn over to acceptance. He told me he had prayed and felt it was time to be strong for others. We smiled, joked, laughed and it was so great. We ate dinner with family and talked about his friend and what a great person he was and how he had so much to offer the world (the kid was crazy smart and didn't even know it). But the whole time we were laughing and reminiscing, the laughter and smiles would fade and I would catch myself staring at my son and thinking, 'It could have been him'. I could have got 'that' call. I could have had that knock on the door. Panic sat in. Over the last couple of days, I have had numerous panic/anxiety attacks. Prince Valium has been my best friend and worst enemy. I have felt good and been sleeping. Too much sleeping. Luckily my son and I have similar sleep schedules, so I have been able to spend time with him in the middle of the night, but I have not done a damn thing around the house. It is a literal pit. I rolled the BIG trash can in and left it in the kitchen for the take-out boxes, cups and sacks. Nothing has been home cooked, no one has felt like it. I have just been numb and unwilling to do anything. I want to let him sleep, so I don't clean when he is sleeping and I want to be with him and talking when he is awake. I just want to be there for him, but I am being strong. I have to be strong one more day.
Today is the day my son becomes a man. He is going to be a pallbearer and bury his best friend and I can't be there. I have to take my mother in for surgery (that has been planned for a while now and can't be postponed) and I can't get my sister to take her. I don't know how well I would do anyhow, I'm on the verge of crying as it is and I don't want to lose it at the funeral. I don't take death very well. It hurts a lot of people.
Well, I made it through. I guess I made sense. Don't really care if I did or not. I just had to get it out. Looks to be a weird day today. It is actually foggy this morning. Been a while since it's been foggy. Thunderstorms this afternoon and then rain for most of the next two weeks. I guess it is that time of the year. Time for storms, rain and blooms. Maybe we will get a rainbow from heaven...