Archive | May 2016

Christmas #4

An entry that never got posted…

This is my 4th Christmas without Drey. That is so hard to believe. Time has gone by very quickly.

Last year after Christmas, Robbie announced that “next year we will have a tree and decorate.” I thought I might send cards too. Well, we made progress this year… We still didn’t go downstairs to get the tree, ornaments and decorations because all those memories are just sitting there waiting to jab at my heart. It’s still just too much. But we did buy a little pre-lit table top tree and have had it out since Thanksgiving. We even have one ornament on it. The rest of the ornaments are laying on the table around the tree. They didn’t quite make it onto the tree. The ornaments are from the past 3 years. A few were gifts, some have been handmade by us in remembrance of my baby, and the rest are from vacations. We are making new memories.  Happy memories.

I also thought I might send cards this year. Well… I sent business-related cards but not personal ones. Progress.

For the most part it just takes too much emotional energy to fully engage in the holidays the way we used to. It’s still too much to even think about Christmas’s past. David has grown up in a home where we celebrated each year with Christmas decorations in every room – even the bathroom. Where we celebrated Easter and I hid eggs even as the kids were older. Where we went to Disney every year. And on and on. Then Drey died and it all stopped. I couldn’t engage in any of it. Hell, I didn’t even see David that first Christmas after Drey died because I packed up and stayed at my parents. I won’t be winning any stepparent of the year awards anytime soon. I did the best I could, truly. And I spent enough time beating myself up for letting everyone down. No point in rehashing that misery.

I am blessed beyond words to have Robbie, David, my parents and my dear friends who have stood by me. I was reminded of that this morning as I had coffee with another bereaved Mom and she shared some of her family dynamics after her son’s death. Grief is unique, intimate and exhausting. I used to think “loss is loss” and “pain is pain” – it’s all the same. Wrong. Never have I experienced such excruciating sorrow as losing my baby to suicide.

A poem written 1 month before Drey died

July 8, 2012

I’m not the person I thought I was.

I’m so fragile.

I’m not the person I thought I was.

I’m so unsure.

Please affirm me.

I don’t speed any more.

I’m unsure where to get my motivation.

I’m supposed to slow down and be relational I suppose.

I have slowed down.  But I don’t know what to do now.

Please direct my path, Oh Lord.

Note written in 2013: It’s hard to believe that was how I was feeling a year ago.  Moving to a new neighborhood, leaving my job, my son’s graduation and entrance into adulthood… so many changes I was struggling to adjust to.  Then the bottom fell out just a short month later.  And still God was there.  Loving me, holding me, carrying me.

“I love you”

I heard those words this weekend from one of drey’s closest friends… “I love you.” It meant more than words can express. 

This morning I went through the last 30ish days of text messages between Drey and I. I saw “I love you’s” exchanged a few times. And those were the last words he communicated to me. It’s torture thinking of him in those last moments. Pure torture.  Sobs of protest come out of my innermost being just as if it were 8.8.12 all over again. There’s no fixing this. There’s no getting used to this even after almost 4 years. Scream it out in His arms.

I was relieved to see our text exchanges… the frequency. We went 4 days one time in July without texting but that was they exception. I was relieved to read what I said too. I was a doting mom even in texting. He initiated meeting me for lunch the week before he died. It was hard that he wasn’t living with us anymore. Robbie told me after drey’s grad party that, “you’re acting like you just came from his funeral rather than his graduation party.” I couldn’t adjust to not seeing him every day. I moped daily for the 8 months we weren’t “home base” for him. Then it was over. 

I love you. I miss you.