Today Defines Me

My son died.

Perhaps if I say it often enough I will believe it.

My son died.

Three days after his twenty third birthday, he ate cake for breakfast and went to work. He came home. We exchanged a few words and he left to go shopping. He never made it back home.

My son died.

In that moment all that I am, the words that I've said, all that I believe about life and death, God and love, everything was put to the test.

This was my opportunity to decide if I really was the person I thought I was. Holding love in one hand, holding fear in the other, which would I chose?

Someone said that this moment, this tragedy, this accident, would not define me.

I rather hope it will.

I've learned so much about myself from wading through this tragedy.

I've learned to speak my truth, loudly, without apologies. I know that I will never again stay silent out of fear.

I've learned to ask for help and accept it graciously.

I've learned that I am surrounded by people who love me and if I reach for them, they will help me up or sit with me until I am once again ready to rise.

I've learned that I will never again play small to make someone else comfortable.

I've learned that that while in the midst of the worst pain imaginable I can chose love.

I've learned that I am strong. I am strong enough to break and put myself back together. I am strong enough to fall and get back up. I am strong enough to cry and then laugh again.

I've learned that I am a person who lives life with all that I am. I love deeply. I laugh freely. I sing out loud. I dance with abandon. I dive into every emotion and feel it with all that I am, even grief.

I've learned that the deeper the love, the deeper the pain.  I've learned that I would never undo the love to save myself the pain.

Because I've learned that the adventure is always worth it. 

Today I'm Fine

"How are you?" people ask me over and over.  Sometimes it's a stranger in the store. I ignore them because I have no words. Other times it's someone I know and I tell them that it's a bad question. 

It is a bad question. How do you think I am? My son is dead.

I'm fine.

Fucked up. Insecure. Neurotic. And emotional.

Just fine.

I cry. A lot.

I have bad dreams over and over. Waking, gasping, with tears and a heavy heart. I never dream of Zac. I dream of car accidents. I dream of bad things happening to my other kids, my family, my friends.

I'm fine. Really.

One day I went to the scene of the accident and I cleaned debris from the side of the road. A headlight. A fender. Tiny pieces of a shattered red car.  I cursed and cried and kicked the hubcap that was frozen in the ice.

I'm fine. Thanks for asking.

One day I came home to find the driveway marker that Zac put at the end of the driveway missing. I called my guy in a panic, sobbing. I don't want a new one. I want THAT one because that's the one Zac put there so he could find his way home.

I'm fine. It's all good.

One day Zac's big brother called me to see how I was doing. I laughed and I cried.

I'm fine.

I can't go to the store where he worked. I can't even drive by it without crying.

But I'm fine. Don't worry about me.

I keep counting the days and the weeks. I keep crying. Tears leaking out of my eyes while I drive, while I shop, while I cook dinner.

His boots sit in my kitchen. His sweater is folded in my drawer. His jackets hang in my closet.

I'm fine.

The stuffed elephant he bought me sits on a shelf in the living room. I carried it around for weeks after he died. It sits with his flashlights, his dice, his dragon.

People ask me over and over "How are you?"  How can I possibly answer that? Did you really want to know?

Well I'm fine. Just fucking fine. Thanks for asking. 

Today I Reach Out

Life is fragile and fleeting. One minute all is well. The next moment nothing will ever be the same again. The world changes in a heart beat. This moment, right here and now, is the only one guaranteed to us.

In this moment, I choose love. In choosing love, I reach out to those who matter to me. I surround myself with the people that I love, with those who love me.

I reach out and call someone, spending an hour on the phone. All is forgiven. I love you still.

I walk into someone's arms in the store. Holding tight to them. I have missed you. I love you.

I make a date for lunch, catching up for hours over soup and salad. I haven't forgotten you. I love you.

I listen to songs sung from an aching heart, meant to soothe my own aches. We don't grieve alone. I am here for you. I love you.

Texts, phone calls, visits. Tea dates and brownies.  You matter to me. I will love you always. You are one of my people.

You have held me up when I wasn't strong enough to stand alone. You have fed me chocolate. You have drank tea with me. You have laughed with me and cried with me. You have checked up on me. You have listened to my anger, to my sorrow, to my fears. You have given me a safe space to sit with my emotions. In surrounding me with love, you have helped me to choose love.

 

If this moment is all that is guaranteed to me, than in this moment I will reach out to all of those who have touched my life and my heart to say I see you. I hear you. You matter to me. 

Your love sustains me.  

From now through the end of time, never doubt my love for you.