Walk in my shoes

You know what? I feel like complaining. If you don't want to read it, go ahead and close the window now. I'm giving you plenty of warning. Not only complaining but venting. I need to get it off my chest and so if you aren't in the mood for me or my rantings about the immense sadness I feel day in and day out then go ahead, hit the X now.

Why is everything so hard? Not only did our son die but I feel that we have had to suffer beyond his death. To know that he shouldn't have died and to be made to feel time and time again that we are just to accept it is very frustrating. To the 12th hour, here we are, hoping against hope, wishing against wishes, that for once, just once, someone would help us and take up Lucas' cause. We know that he should not have died. Do you know how insane it is for me to think that he would be 3 1/2 years old right now, running around this place like he owns it (and rightly so) but I can't see him in the thought, I can only imagine a vision of a child who I have no idea what he might look like. And he's my son. I'm only 36 years old and I have a son who is dead. That is such a foreign thought to me. Yes why is it? It's been our reality for almost three years and it still rains on me like golf ball sized hail. It still stings horribly.

I look at my husband and we are both reaching, stretching to make it all make sense in our heads. Right now this very minute. I am afraid that one day soon, there will be an explosion I cannot control. And truly, there will be millions of bits of figurative shrapnel falling all over my head and his head. I'm sure it will try to rip us apart. I cannot possibly explain to you the feelings I get when he brings certain things up about Lucas. My insides turn all over themselves. My toes dig in to the ground. A wall goes up. I can hear it shreiking as it flies up. My ears get hot and I'm sure, but I've never looked in the mirror, they get flaming red. I don't want to, can't, talk about it. If the oldest is around, I use it as an excuse to not talk about it at that moment and hope against hope he forgets for later. Not now I'm saying in my head, not now. If not now, when? If not then, when? I have been to a therapist. I think she helped me. But we only got to a certain level. I would not allow further delving. Who knows what she thought, I don't know and I can't control that. I think she helped me get to a stable place where I could show society a certain game face. I have a good game face.

These past two to three weeks, my game face has been good. I don't even want to talk about it. Talk about him. Lucas. How he died. Why he died. Why we can't seem to get things legally to where we need them to be. I can't let it die, I can't let go. Not till it's all done. And it's not done. Not by a long shot. For my husband, I pray it's not over. He needs this for his sanity. He needs some closure. I believe he has not grieved; truly grieved. I have only halfway allowed myself to feel what I need to. I push away what I can not deal with. I have perfected the art.

One day this will all make sense, I have said this before. Right now it's senseless. Right now, my memory of that sweet little boy who used to fall asleep on my shoulder night after night and for many of his naps, is just that. How fair is that? Oh, that's right. Life's not fair. Gotcha.

I'm done now. Pissed. But done.

-J