WOW. It has been some time since I’ve blogged here. Actually forgot how to access this site until I got a ‘look back at the past year’ email (thanks WordPress!)
So much has happened: moved, broke up, deaths, birth…I won’t write about all of them in this post but I may eventually. Think I’ll start with the one that has impacted me most: the death of my son in March 2023.
I’ll never forget that call…the first one asked if I knew Michael and how we were related. I remember asking “Is he in trouble?” The officer stuttered stating it was still under investigation and he couldn’t share any details with me yet. He’d call me back in about 15 minutes.
Michael is my middle son. From birth he has been a handful. I remember the only way he would sleep as an infant was for me to turn on my hair dryer. Those were fun days. Having been diagnosed with ADHD/hyperactivity at a very young age, I struggled with my son having to take medication. There were too many to list. I didn’t like how it zombie-fied him. Days he wouldn’t take it the school would call asking if he had; but they also called on days he did. That’s a whole other blog.
Michael moved to Missouri years ago when his older brother was stationed in Fort Leonardwood. He met his wife there and they had a son in 2012. (Love you bubs!) That’s also where he started using heroine. Finally in a stable financial situation, I sent him money on many occasions thinking I was helping him, not knowing that it was actually enabling him. That stopped after his first stint in jail. Mom is no longer an ATM. But that didn’t matter. I suffered addiction myself and know that where there is a will, there’s a way.
He battled this addiction until it took him from us. Blood tests showed he had 2x the amount of lethal meth and 5x the amount of lethal fentanyl. Fentanyl. That shit is deadly. Just an amount the size of a grain of salt can kill you. After his death I watched many documentaries about Fentanyl and learned things I never knew. If someone dies from a batch of meth with Fentanyl, that batch suddenly becomes the ultimate high – they search it out. Can you believe that? Knowing it has already killed someone, others will hunt for it because it is presumably the ultimate high. Maybe I should say “killer high”.
Anyway, that’s not so much what I want this blog to be about. What I wanted to share is the aftermath of losing a child. At first it is unbelievable. You cannot breathe. It doesn’t seem real. Bouts of tears and sadness are expected. Time doesn’t alleviate the pain but it does provide a measure of acceptance. At least sometimes. That’s what’s interesting about the phases of loss: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. You can go through these phases more than once. Over and over again. One minute I accept it, the next I am on my knees crying.
They say the first year friends and family are readily available to comfort and console. The second year is the worse because the ‘newness’ of the loss is gone. People don’t think as much of the second holidays without a child. I’m 3 months from the seconds so I don’t know much about that yet but it does makes sense. What really struck me…what was really hard was the start of the new year. I was so deeply saddened that 2024 would be the first year that Michael will never see. It’s surreal. I felt I was moving forward without him. Leaving him behind. I guess in a way, I am. He will forever be 32.
I have no idea what happens to us when we die. I would like to think our souls go to heaven and that we meet God and all our relatives that passed before us: an amazing reunion that surpasses any joy we could ever experienced here on Earth. A place where there is no pain, no hurt. Yes, that is where I hope Mike is: with my Mother, Father, brother, brother in law, best friend…
The best thing we can do to honor those who leave us behind is to remember them. Share their stories and include them in our lives. They live on through us. I have a small canvas print that I had made of Michael with a huge smile, waving. It is the epitome of him: happy, loving and goofy. It sits on the window sill in my kitchen: I often say hello to him. Kiss his ashes in my ring. Tell him I love him. It makes him feel close – and maybe he is. Maybe our spirit does visit those who love us. That’s what I believe.
I love you son.
Joshua 1:9
“Do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”
My Walk with God...Blog 