It was one year ago today...

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

…that my son was killed in a car accident. Two weeks ago (February 8) would have been his 21st birthday.

And I am falling apart. I have been a basket case since his birthday. Right now it doesn’t seem like I will ever be able to rejoin life.

My method of dealing with his death has been to do my absolute best not to think about it. That’s definitely not the most healthy way, but it’s the only way I’ve been able to keep going for the past year. I’ve stuffed him into a box in the back of my head, locked it closed, and labeled it “do not open under any circumstances.”

Like I said, not the best way, but the only way I could keep going.

Then came his birthday. The box opened up and all of the emotion that I wouldn’t allow myself to feel came pouring out. I don’t know if I will ever stop crying. I may stop momentarily but as soon as I do I will see something that reminds me of him and I’ll start again. I have been totally unable to function for the past two weeks.

My God do I miss my son. The pain is indescribable. I would give anything to have him back. He was so full of life, and so full of potential. A part of me is gone that can never be replaced.

I was talking with my two daughters today. They are hurting also. I love them and want to be there for them, but I have no idea what to say. We are going to go visit his grave tomorrow.

What I wouldn’t give for one more minute with him.

I saw a counselor today. She has diagnosed me as severely depressed (No shit, Really???) and has referred me to a doctor who I will go see tomorrow. Somehow I have to keep going. Somehow I have to make it through this. Somehow I have to pick up the pieces and move on.

I have no idea how though. I want the pain to stop but it won’t. I want to think back on my son’s life and smile when I think of his accomplishments during his short life. I was so proud of him. Right now there is only despair.

I realize I’m rambling. I don’t post here much. In fact, I signed up a few months ago to participate in a single thread. But you people seem like a caring bunch. I want to be alone, but at the same time I want to talk, let it out.

Maybe this will help. I don’t know.

2

I am very, very sorry for your loss. I hope that counseling will help you cope with your grief.

3

One thing I always tell people right around this time in their grieving process is “It’s been a year now, so all of your ‘firsts’ are over.” That’s a good thing. You had the first holiday season, the first summer season, the first family reunion, the first birthday, Mother’s and Father’s Day, the first everything else and now the first anniversary. Those firsts are horrible and shocking but you made it through all of them. It gets better now.

I’ve never lost a child so I won’t dare say I know how you feel but I have suffered loss, as we all have. And we all move on. It’s hard and sometimes it takes so long that it seems like it will never, ever end and you will feel this way forever. I promise you won’t.

My best to you.

4

I wish I had the words to ease your pain, but I don’t. I don’t even know where to start. But please know there’s a stranger out here, thinking of you, caring about your hurt, and wishing with everything she’s got that you will find some measure of comfort soon. I’m so very sorry you are going through this.

5

I’m so so sorry. My heart is broken for you :frowning:

6

Pann, I can’t imagine your pain. All I can say as I know a number of people (including my own brother) who went through what you are going through, and, eventually, they were able to live their lives again.

I hope you and your daughters can find a way to comfort each other, and I hope your counseling/medication will provide you with some relief.

We’re here for you in whatever way we can be.

7

Pann, I’m so sorry about what you are going through and the horrible loss you’ve survived.

When I lost my husband, the most comforting thing to me was this line: “I cannot live the rest of my life without him. But I can live without him for one day.”

You don’t have to live the rest of your life right now. You just have to get through the next day, or if that seems too long, the next hour, or just the next minute. That’s all. You’ve shown you can live without your son for one whole year. That took courage and strength and you did it. You can do the next day, too.

I hope you find peace.

8

I’m so sorry, Pann. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.

I’m fairly new here, but I have the same feeling you do - this place is a family, and the people really do care about each other. We’re here for you, whatever we can do. Even if it’s just a gentle ear…um…eye.
-D/a

9

I’m sorry to hear about this Pann. I’m not a counselor, but it seems to me that letting the tears flow and the emotions come out may actually help in your healing. Keeping them locked inside of you can only eat you up. I hope that talking about it with a counselor gets those feelings out so you can continue on with your life, only remember your son with fondness and not sadness.

I don’t have the words to comfort you, so all I can say is:

{{{Pann and your daughters}}}

10

Thank you everyone for the kind thoughts and words.

I like the point that “All of the firsts are over.” That’s something I will share with my daughters tomorrow.

Also, thank you jsgoddess for the “One Day at a Time”.

I still feel on the verge of tears, but for now they have stopped. Tomorrow will be the most activity I’ve done in the past two weeks. I will be going to see the doctor in the morning and will go to the cemetery in the afternoon.

Since his birthday I have effectively cut myself off from human contact. A question that I keep asking myself is “Why now?” I’m more of a wreck right now at this moment than I was during the first month after his death.

My son was a pianist. My oldest daughter made a cd for me after his death. I’ve had it all this time and couldn’t bring myself to listen to it. I just listened to it for the first time. He was an amazing talent. I remember watching him play, hands just dancing all over the keyboard. It was beautiful. Crap…here come the tears again.

11

My thoughts are with you, and many others’ are, as well. I don’t know how I’d live through what you have, but you have. And you will, one day at a time. We’re here, and we’re listening.

12

I am so, so sorry that you are hurting so much right now. Next month it will be two years since my beloved husband died. I still hurt, but it is better now than it was. My grief, and I suspect other’s as well, tends to come in waves. It gets better, then worse, then better again. I have been sad, angry, wistful, disappointed, and every other emotion you can name. It is the hardest thing I have ever done.

What helped me more than anything was to find others who were grieving, both online (www.dailystrength.com), here, and in a support group. I hope your counselor can help you find a community of grievers.

In the meantime, keep talking and writing. Try to reach out. Be patient with yourself.

13

This is a blog beautifully written by a friend of mine who lost her daughter in a car accident last July. She was on her way home for her birthday with her boyfriend and his Dad. They also died. My friend’s eloquence and pain are almost too much to bear, but maybe you will receive some comfort from the fact that there is, literally, someone else who could understand exactly what you’re going through. Please check it out. Peace and Comfort to you and your family.

14

I’m so sorry Pann, I can’t imagine anything worse than losing your child

15

I am so sorry. I can’t imagine what you are going through, and I wish you didn’t have to go through it.

16

I’m so sorry. Your post moved me to tears. I can’t even imagine…

17

Because when it happened, your mind knew you needed protecting, and so it insulated you from all these feelings by making you not feel them. It’s totally normal, and it kept you from going crazy. It kept you eating and washing and putting on clothes every day. But it’s very hard for your mind’s protective part to do that long term, and it’s getting tired, and you’re getting safer, so you’re starting to feel these things now. You’ll probably continue to have some numb days, but the pain is going to keep breaking through, just like the pain of a physical injury.

I’m so sorry for your loss. As other posters have said, I can’t begin to understand the pain of losing your son just when he was really blossoming into his own self. Please, keep taking care of yourself, and hug your daughters a lot, and feel free to come here and vent whenever you need to.

{{Pann}}

18

Hey, she’s good at her job… are you going to continue seeing her as well as the doctor? There’s a distinction about depression which I hear often from Spanish doctors but very rarely in English: “endogenous” (caused by a chemical problem, can be fixed by pills and only by pills, will probably be taking the pills forever) and “exogenous” (triggered by something external, pills rarely work). Since yours is exogenous, it’s very possible that the pills will not work at all - be ready for that possibility, please. If it happens, it’s not that you’re broken, it’s that pills simply happen to be the wrong solution for the specific problem that ails you.

I don’t think the pain will ever totally go away. I’m as far from a crybaby as you can be and still be human, but there are still times that something unexpectedly reminds me of my Dad and takes my breath away quite literally and painfully - and he was just my Dad, not my son, and it’s been 11 years (well, 10 years and 363 days to be exact) and it wasn’t unexpected and… yeah, whatever, when it hurts it hurts. You already know how to live through the pain, though - and that will, eventually, get smaller. When that happens, remember that it’s not a betrayal of your son… living the rest of your life the best you can is the best way you have to honor his memory.

Damnit, I’ve gone all mushy now! I hate it when I do that…

19

I’m so sorry. Almost four and a half years ago, I held my baby son in my arms and rocked him as he drew his last breath of air, then cried for days and weeks.

I see little boys close to what his age would be, and I wonder what he would be like.

Each year on his birthday, I write a tribute to out little angel who wasn’t strong enough for this world.

But I can’t image how much more painful it would be to raise him to be an adult and then lose him.

Take care of yourself and your daughters. May you find peace.

20

I’m so sorry for your loss Pann and that you are going through this. Many prayers your way.