I’ve been in a fiery pit of hell since Ian died, and just when I think I am able to come up for air I get sucked back down. And I’ve been pretty low for a few weeks now. Low like I was last year this time. I haven’t been walking this path of grief without any expectations. I trust that I will find my way. I believe that the pain someday will be less sharp. If I am being honest though, I don’t really want to feel less pain, or be able to breathe, or miss him less. I will always be defined by how much I love him, and how deeply I will always miss him.
but this time thing…
I hate the distance that time has put between me and the last time I knew my son was alive. I hate that my introduction phrase to new people is “my son passed away last year“. I actually miss the shock, jaggedness and gasps from people when the awareness struck just how fresh his death was. How does that even make sense? It’s almost like if more time passes and the pain fades, that I am moving farther away from him.
I still don’t know who the fuck I am without him.
Its always been he and I.
When life was busy for everyone else, it was me and Ian.
I know that each of us is hurting in our own way. Bella lost her lifelong buddy. The one kid who would have her back and push her buttons all at the same time. Someone that she could make fun of and protect when everything was seemingly falling apart. I remember Ian doing laps around the living room on the hover board with Bella riding piggy back. He’d dump her off and they would chase each other, hit and hell and fall into a heap of giggles. Kat lost her best friend. She and Ian would disappear for hours to home depot and come home with some of the craziest projects. No one could do the silliest things with her the way that Ian could. I remember once getting a picture of Ian, on top of the freezer section of the grocery store. He was sitting on a lawn chair on top of the ice cream section, just hanging out.
But I lost my son.
I know there’s not a single person in my world that knows what I feel like. When he and Bella started Sunday School, I was the one who went to catholic classes all damn sunday long just so I could learn what they were learning. When Ian started jiu jitsu, I got my own gi, and took a few classes from his coach too so I could feel what it felt like on the mat getting squashed by people bigger and stronger than me. When he started baseball, he helped me pick out my own glove so I could play catch with him in the ally. I am an awful athlete. But he would always compliment when I did something well. I took him to every club team tryout , every practice, game or tournament that showed up on the schedule. Ian and I talked a ton. But sometimes we could just be. And that was enough for he and I.
As Bella is off getting ready for college and living her very best summer and Kat is traveling, coaching and working; tI am here, frozen on the couch, trying to figure out who the fuck I am when everyone else is moving through life and I just want him. He should be here, begging me to drop him off at the Landing to run around with his friends all summer.
I talk a lot about being transparent with the all consuming grief of Ian’s suicide. And this little post is a steady stream of consciousness to match the tears tonight. I don’t have words of wisdom today or plans for how I think I can help end teen suicide. All I have is a broken momma’s heart, trying to figure out how to breathe and who to be.
~ But I am going to keep trying ~