When Josh died, the person I was died with him. Now I'm on a journey of re-birth. Painful, gutwrenching, full of angst though it may be, I am on it with the intent to grow and learn, and as always, love my son.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Dear Josh,
The two year mark is steadily creeping up on us and I spend my days in a constant state of anxiety. My mind has a way of playing tricks on me without me even realizing what is going on and I realized the other day I had almost convinced myself you were going to "undo it" if I could only survive until the two year mark. Don't suppose your really gonna' pull that one off, huh? Don't get me wrong,I never actually expected that to happen, just used the fantasy as a means to get through the days...As the day itself gets closer and there is nothing to look forward to besides another long endless year without you it is harder to get out of bed and function.
Half the time I spend my days pretending nothing has happened, the other half I'm incapacitated by the reality of you being gone. Sometimes I'm really angry with you, sometimes I just want to join you in order to stop the pain. Then I'm angry with you again for causing the pain.
Oh Hell... nevermind. This isn't helping, you can't hear me, you're not going to respond and I'm not a rational reasonable person right now.
I am so overwhelmed by the knowledge that this isn't ever going away. Not ever.
I'm angry today, so I'm posting something I probably wouldn't post otherwise. Doesn't make it any less true, but it's probably not very politically correct. For that I apologize, but if writing this down will help someone not be bombarded with well meaning, but ignorant, people then it's worth it.
Things NOT to say or do to a grieving parent.
Don't run away. Don't hide behind the justification of " I'm just not good at these things". I'm not either. I'm damn sure not good at it and never want to become good at it. Understand that the pain you feel, no matter how overwhelming, is not the same as mine.
Don't compare my grief to the loss of your mother, your father, your sister or any other person in your life, unless it was your child. This is not my first go at the grieving process. I've lost mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends, loved ones. It is NOT the same.
Don't tell me how he's with God, at peace, in a better place. I am grieving MY loss and I don't want MY child anywhere else besides with me in the physical realm. I truly believe he is at peace... but I am NOT.
Don't tell me "at least you have other children". My children are not interchangeable. Relationships are not replaceable one for another. Each of my children are loved and cherished, as I hope yours are. Which child would you be o.k. with losing?
Don't avoid his name. His life is precious to me and my memories are all I have. Share yours with me. Talk about him. Even if he was an ass the last time you saw him. I survived his teen years. You think I don't know he could be an ass?
Don't be afraid of upsetting me by mentioning him, his death or the word suicide. If I cry, well it's probably a WELCOME release from trying to put on a brave front in order to make YOU feel better. The tears are there whether you see them or not.
Don't tell me to call you if I need something. I'm not going to call and ask you to do my laundry,sweep my floors,wash my dishes or any of the million and one things I am no longer capable of caring about. I'm not going to call. No one ever does. If you want to help, then help.
Don't ask me if I'm better. No, I'm not better. Better than what? Better than I was before my child died? That's never going to happen. I am never going to be the same person I was and I'm certainly not ever going to be better than I was.
Don't put me in a position to have to comfort YOU. I know you loved him. I know your hurting too. I know you miss him also. But I was his MOTHER.
Don't ask me how I am unless you want to know. I am sick of coddling you and your sensibilities by saying "I'm fine". It needs to be alright to say "I'm having a bad day".
Don't wonder when I'm "going to get over it". I'm not. Ever. He was my child. He grew of me, from me, through me. He is dead. So is a part of me. Not all of me, the rest of me will learn to live, love, laugh and survive. But that part of me, the part that he filled, will never be "over it". I am getting "through" it. I don't even have the desire to "get over it".
So after reading this, if anybody wonders what they can say or do, the answer is simple. Show up and be present. Let me be wherever it is I need to be emotionally and know that whether I can express it or even realize it at the moment, I am grateful to not be alone.
Remember him. Say your so sorry for my pain and loss. Call my other children and my spouse to check on them, because I'm not always able to hold myself and them up. Be patient with me. You don't have to understand what I'm going through in order to understand you don't ever want it to be you.
I'm posting this the day before your birthday because I'm not sure I will be able to do it tomorrow. Today has been bad, can't seem to stop the tears from coming and I'm afraid tomorrow might be worse. I can't believe you're gone. Still, almost two years after the fact. I wonder if you are still watching over us like I knew you were in the first days and months? If you are I can only wonder what you would think of the changes your absence has wrought, wonder if you regret your decision, wonder if you are sorry for the pain you have caused. Sadly, I don't know the answers to those questions and I never will. All I know is that I'm drowning in sorrow today and miss you more than you could have imagined.
I've often reflected on your life, and my role in it, and am filled with regret for the things I did wrong, the times I wish I could change, the ways I should have been a better mother. I was so young and damaged when I had you and though I did the very best I could, I know there were so many times I wasn't the mother you deserved. I struggle with the guilt I carry, and yet I try to forgive myself because I know in my heart I loved you each and every day of your life. I truly did the best I could and when I knew better, I did better.
You and I talked about all these things before you died, and I know you had forgiven me, but I can't escape the fact that I impacted your life in some negative ways. Forgiveness or not, I can't take them back or change the effect I had.
The other day I saw pictures of your son. He is SOOO beautiful. He looks just like his mom, and yet everyone who sees him that knew you sees you in him. It's his grin I think... His facial expressions. There is some essence about him, at least in his pictures, that makes you known. I wish I knew him better, and certainly haven't been a grandmother to him, which I think would disappoint you, but I don't know where to put my anger when I talk to his mother. I'm so sorry Josh. I want to be better than that, but right now today, I don't know how.
On a different note, your nephew and namesake, baby Josh, is growing like a weed. Every single day I marvel at how much like you he is becoming. As nuts as it sounds, I deeply believe you were meddling in our lives when his life began. I mostly keep that to myself in order to avoid admittance to the looney bin, but today, I share it with you. Thank you for meddling.
There are so many many things I wish I could say to you, yet I can't think of many I hadn't already said. I love you. I am proud of you. I miss you when you aren't here. My beautiful boy, you were my saving grace. You were the beginning of my life, my desire to be a good mother, to be a better person. I owe you so very much and hope in some small way you knew that before you died.
Twenty Eight.... I wish you were going to be twenty eight somewhere other than in my heart.
Josh was born on Labor Day Weekend. He was my first true labor of love. Sunday is his birthday... the day he won't turn twenty eight. Because he didn't turn twenty seven last year. This year, for the third time, I will labor through the day, but the pain I will experience will have no happy ending. No 8lb 2oz bouncing baby boy screaming his way into the world. Instead, I will labor to remember the bass of his voice, his shit eating grin, and the very essence of his being.
Oh Josh, I wish you were here. To blow out your candles, to make a wish, to celebrate.
On October 2, 2008 my beautiful twenty six year old son, Joshua McBeth, died by Suicide due to depression associated with bipolar disorder. This blog is about my journey to learn how to live without him. It may not be what you want to read, but it will be what I need to write, when I need to write it.
