This is so true of motherhood when you lose a child. Tim and I and our beautiful family came to a crawling halt just nineteen months ago when our oldest son Jeffrey chose to take his own life. To say that we were and are still shattered is an understatement. Our lives have totally changed. The way we love has changed. Even the way we view God and life has changed. It changed our friendships. It changed our extended family. It even changed our family dynamics. Our lives are ripped apart. The is no seam. There is no sense. There is just a hole buried deep within our hearts that will never fully heal. It is horrid. It is painful. But mostly, it just is.
Everyday, no matter how hard I try, the wound is still there. I have written about him. I have sought help.I have eaten my way through many days. But I still cannot get over this huge hole in my heart. I cannot get over the loss of my son.
My son was always hard to handle. He was moody. He was angry. He was sometimes downright unbearable. But he was also beautiful. He was humorous . He was fun. He was kind. He was giving. He was the silver lining in his own little cloud. And I miss him. I miss him every day. I miss his friends. I miss his athletic events. I miss his smell. I miss his smile. But mostly I miss his voice. I miss him laughing with Katce. I miss him telling me he loves me. I miss hearing him cry. Yes cry, getting out the pain that he so often kept bottled up.
I cannot bring him back. I cannot heal this hole. People say time will heal this wound. But I do not believe it. I do not believe this wound will ever heal. Sure, it will get bandaged. I will nurse it , and put many different salves on it, but basically there will always be a hole in my heart that not even God can fill. You see the loss of a child is every mother's worst nightmare.
I have come to the conclusion that when you lose a child, especially by his own hand, that a piece of you dies with him. Suddenly, he is gone. His body is put beneath the cold, lonely earth , and you are left with an empty grave and an empty heart. But when you bury your child, you do not bury your hopes, your dreams, your memories. You only bury his lifeless body. And so, as life moves on for everyone else, you are left with these burdens, these struggles, these successes, and even these needs. I cannot just stand by while his friends go to college, get married, and start families and not be physically affected. And while I am more than thrilled that they are moving on, there is still a piece of me that aches for his diploma, his career, his marriage, his wife, his children, and his life.
You see, I spent many long days and nights dreaming dreams for this son, for this child who was always so much work. I put a lot of mothering and friendship hours developing a relationship deemed by professionals as impossible bonding. I cried many tears over choices I had to make to help a child whom no one wanted to commit to and adopt. But I did it, and I'd do it all again if I could. His body is gone, but his life is not. It is still here with me, with my husband, with our children. It is here with Melissa, Makenzi, Cody, Jesse, Sarah, with John, with Olivia,...Jeff will always be here. And when they live, he lives. When they hurt, he hurts, at least for me.
I know that I have changed. I know that I am callous to important drama, to current events, and even to some people's needs. How could I not be changed. I am a Momma Kitty who had lost her kitten.I searched for him and what I found was my son's blood splattered all over his clothes. The clothes that I had washed, the clothes I had dried, the clothes I had folded, and the clothes I had carefully mended so the patch over his tiny hurts wouldn't show. I have a memory of a little lost boy in a man's body begging me to never leave him, begging me for help. I have a memory of him crawling up on my lap that last day, laying his head on my lap , and placing my hand on his fuzzy head and stroking his head with more love than I thought I could ever feel for him again. Then I have a memory of stroking that same precious head as it laid on a pillow in a casket, and pretending that I wasn't dieing inside when they pulled me away from him for the last time. I am changed. How could I not be. I have a hole. A hole that was once filled with challenge, with hopes, with dreams, for a life so precious that I couldn't live without it and now I must.
I guess I write this today because I feel different. I do not fit anymore. I am no longer the mother of all the adopted "Burd" children. I am the mother of the boy who committed suicide. I am not normal. I am crazy. Crazy with grief everyday your child does something that my child never will. Crazy because I cannot support gun control or care who you vote for or even care if the ozone layer burns up. I now care about today. I care about the little faces who call me Momma and Grammie. I care whether they are happy and safe and loved and feel needed. I care where they are at and if they are healthy. I care so much that I am obsessed. I care because I have lost my kitten. I am patching my hole. I will not survive another hole this deep and so I must protect my other kittens from the bad world. It is my job. It is all I know.
So next time you see a Momma who has buried her child. Know that she always needs a hug, that she isn't crazy, that today she may be smiling, but tomorrow she may be putting flowers on her child's grave. But mostly, just mostly, have some compassion for her as she watches your child grow up and live, because you , my mothering friend, are blessed beyond measure ...and may you never, ever, have to patch a hole this big within your blanket of motherhood....
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