I recently prayed asking God to make me more dependent on Him. He’s faithful to answer…

Hard conversation today. How does someone say the things they do even after I tell them my son killed himself? Shut up already! I almost had a full meltdown after that phone call. Robbie is loving and patient. He’s learning – we’re both learning – how to handle the sudden onset of physical shaking, scattered thinking, and incomplete sentences. The rubbing of my leg or hand. All tell tale signs of being tossed back into trauma. “It’s moments like this that I don’t believe I’ll ever be normal again. And based on that belief I conclude it’s best to just isolate. To self protect.” I know that’s not really true. But I’m so fuckin sick of being “that person.” An unexpected conversation with an old friend got me out of my head and brought me back to the here and now – for a little while anyway. Coming up on six years and I still get triggered? Will there ever come a day when I’ll be normal again?

How did I get here? I miss my boy. I miss his physical presence. I want to touch him, to hug him. I just want to be near him.

I made it through the day in one piece. Thank You God for loving me. For reminding me I MUST take time with You every morning. I’m too vulnerable, too exposed, without my spiritual armor.

Laying quietly at night staring into the dark with eyes shut tight I scream in my head: NO NO NO! I try to push the thoughts out of my mind. “La la la la la. I’m not thinking of this. No, I’m not doing this. I won’t. Just think about anything else.” I give up and turn the light back on and read myself to sleep.

I still connect with my friend who was there for me just a few days after Drey died. On a few occasions she has wondered out loud, “why are you able to support others in the way you do but I am not?” My friend lost her loved one ten years ago.

I had a suicide loss survivor recently tell me, “it’s still feels like it happened yesterday.” She lost her loved one three years ago.

One of the FC LOSS volunteers recently attended a Suicide Prevention Gatekeeper training with the expectation on herself that she, too, would be able to train others. Instead she found herself revisiting the, “what did a miss” question. After some prayer and consideration she realized at least for now she needed to pause on this. She lost her loved one three years ago.

I sat at a restaurant last Fall with a suicide loss survivor and listened to her explain how she still goes into her closet daily, closes the door, and sobs. She lost her loved one four years ago.

Based on what I’ve learned from others and in my relatively brief five+ years experience, we continue healing for many years. But if we don’t take the time to reflect on where we were two, five, or however many years ago we may miss it. We may miss the slow but steady movement from surviving to thriving. We may forget two years ago we couldn’t look at those pictures. We may miss out on being grateful to God for His steady, consistent, love.

I’m not proposing we should walk around 24/7 vulnerable and exposed; always ruminating on heavy emotions, intrusive images, and the why, why, why questions. I am saying occasional reflection on our grief journey may leave us feeling more aware, grateful, and mindful of others and their journey.

This is not as good as it gets for me. I believe as long as we lean into our grief – whatever that looks like –  we will all continue experiencing “healing” in our own way. In 2018 I will laugh, write, dance, and pause to re-read past blogs. I will take note of mile markers and where I was three years ago. I carry Drey with me always. I will never be the same. I may never get out those precious Christmas ornaments. I may avoid Worthington for the rest of my life. But still, I continue to heal.

This is the day the Lord has made let us rejoice and be glad in it. Ps 118:24.

I’ve experienced indescribable pain and loss. The holidays are reminders of precious memories and of what should have been. And (not but) I am blessed beyond words.

God continues to provide for me and my family in so many ways. I am a flippin walking miracle! Not because there’s something special about me but because there’s everything special about God!

Peace. Sweet glorious peace. Thank You Heavenly Father for Your gift of love, life, purpose, and eternity that begins NOW with You. You have overcome death, so we can too. Thank You for loving on Drey at this very moment. Tell him I miss him and love him so much. Tell him when I see him I’m going to kiss him, cuddle him, and call him fucker – but not in that order. Damn that kid.

Those eyes. Oh my goodness those eyes. I’m staring at him. He’s talking to me. No, he’s talking at me. I’m not listening. He looks at the cash register then he looks back at me and I’m still staring at those eyes. What am I supposed to say? “Don’t mind me staring at you. You’re about the age my son should be and you have eyes just like his?” Instead I just stare at him.  He probably thinks I’m some creepy old lady. I let my imagination go it’s own way for just a minute… what if’s, what should’ve beens. 

Why do these experiences happen at Panera so often? Damn you Panera, damn you. 

After a very well attended all day LOSS training I’ve spent the rest of the weekend without plans and taking care of myself. 

Last night I sat in our new hot tub on the back patio and thanked God for His blessings. It’s not lost on me that our peaceful back yard space was paid for with the money from Drey’s college savings. I look at it from the new view of our hot tub and reflect on it. I thank God for it and I let tears roll down my cheeks. I miss my baby. It’s been more than 5 years since he parked in “my” space off the alley. A space I gladly gave up when he was at the house because I knew he loved his car. It’s been more than 5 years since he’s walked up the stairs to the back door and said “hi mom.” 

I wish I could have saved you drey. It’s still so hard to know that my love was not enough for you to just chose life. I’ve got a slightly better understanding now. I’ve had suicidal ideas a handful of times since you died. A few times it’s been very intense but thankfully brief. In those moments nothing else is in focus except the pain. What feels like permanent, all consuming, PAIN. It doesn’t matter how much Robbie or Grandma & Grandpa love me. I just want the ache, the images, the last words you shared to get out of my head. I’ve learned to tell Robbie how I feel. To breathe deeply. And to recall I have felt that way before and it does pass. 

There’s a new thing I’m going to follow up on next week, baby. It’s a big step… one I haven’t been able to engage. Nationwide Children’s is willing to look into requiring their dermatologists do a brief suicide assessment of patients as part of their normal routine visits. Favorable feedback from kids and parents as well as an endorsement from Dr Bridge may be exactly what’s needed to roll out this assessment at all local dermatology offices… then Ohio… then across the country. I don’t know how much of a role that stupid acne medication played in your suicide, baby, but I’m chipping away at any potential “holes” in the system regardless. I didn’t understand how much AW’s suicide had impacted you. I didn’t understand the importance of postvention. Hell I never even heard of the word. But I get it now. And LOSS is up and running. It seems that now the time is right to find my voice – and to help other suicide loss survivors find their voice – in the prevention space. 

“Happy” world suicide prevention day my love, my baby, my drey. 

Weddings

College graduations

Babies

New jobs

New apartments

You’re missing it all. I love you I love you I love you. The years are distancing us but you will always be part of me. Every day. Every. Fucking. Day. 

You’ve become more abstract. I used to hear your voice, your laugh, more readily. I could feel your hug and I could smell you. But it’s fading.  I guess that’s yet another layer of the grief. 

Father God, thank You for carrying me every day. Thank You for all Your blessings. Thank You for loving my boy even more than I do. Please tell Drey how much I love him.