When Bill and I finally got together, Billy was 15. It could have been a very awkward arrangement, me crashing their bachelor pad. But Billy made it so easy. He was sweet and welcoming and even a little shy in the beginning, But never angry that I was there or resentful in anyway ever.
We both had scars at that point and he wasn't a child, neither was he grown. I had just learned a very bitter lesson about how my control issues, my best ideas to say the least pushed those I loved away. I knew Billy's history and I felt it was not my place to weigh in on issues of behavior and discipline. He was fragile and I have a straightforward way about me that is not always gentle. I was afraid to hurt him.
And Billy's scars well they went back his whole life. Aside from my sister in law, Bill's sister, the women he had known were by and large unstable, uninterested, and in the case of his grandmother, abusive. In short, we were both mighty leery of each other even though our hearts told us that this was different. Many years later, shortly before he died we talked about it. I am grateful that we had that talk.
So we spent a few years making small talk, laughing at jokes, watching stupid tv shows. Anything serious we talked through Bill. No it wasn't healthy but it was the best either of us could do. And there were serious issues, even then. Billy brought alcohol in the house. He had left school and was working full time. There were slight but progressive bumps with the law.
After Bill and I married, my family needed me in Colorado. My daughters, who I lost to my own addictions years ago were reaching adulthood and I felt if I was ever going to have a chance to make up anything at all to them, it would be then. I have already said I was not the mother of the year, I made my own mistakes. and Bill and I sort of felt maybe Colorado could be a new beginning for all of us. And for me and my girls it was, the relationship I started to build with them in Colorado continues today. My girls are what have kept my heart beating then, now and especially the past 5 months.
Soon after arriving in Colorado, it was evident that Billy's addiction came with us with a new twist. He began spending massive amounts of time in his room. This was the first time I saw his depression raise its ugly head. Although I wouldn't understand until it was too late. Eventually he decided to go back to New York to live with his mom who was living on her own finally.
He was there two weeks before she kicked him out. He moved across the street from her house with some friends. She never once tried to visit him.
One day, the phone rang. I was in the middle of making out Christmas Cards and distractedly answered the phone. Billy was on the other end. He was crying. He said, "Can I come home". My heart about jumped out of my chest. I was so happy to hear his voice saying those words and heartbroken that he cried all at the same time. I told him OF COURSE! and we had him on a plane that week. The very first one we could get him on after he tied up loose ends there. In retrospect, that was the first time of many that I remember where I felt like Billy's mom and not just Linda. My son wanted to come HOME. Not back to Colorado, but Home.
He came back home and found a job doing construction work for a military contractor. He was barely 18. He was so proud of that job and the badge that came with it. When Billy worked and was productive, he changed. He was happy and confident. He was Billy as Billy was meant to be.
Soon we found a house with a workshop which Billy claimed as his own with our blessing. The house had a basement apartment with a semi private entry and Billy paid us rent. For all intents and purposes, he was independent. He would come home from work and eat and go straight to the workshop where he would spend hours. He was also sober for a short time, going to meetings and making friends who were also sober.
Soon however, he changed, quickly and ominously. We found in the garage dozens of electronic devices and household appliances completely disassembled and piled everywhere. Money started coming up missing from our accounts, he seemed to be sleeping too much or not at all. It was the beginning of Billy's dance with Meth and it almost killed him.
Soon the job was lost. I would come home from work at lunch to find a half dozen nefarious creatures lounging in the living room. His sober friends stopped calling. He had big bruises that he could not explain. And then we began to find the needles. We were terrified we were going to lose him.
We offered him the choice of leaving the house or treatment. I had friends in the area who had pull at a few treatment centers and a bed was waiting for him. Billy chose to leave, to come to Tallahassee to live with Bill's sister. Putting him on that plane was the hardest thing we had done to that point but we felt like we were saving his life. Later he would thank us and tell us we did.
Billy as far as I know never danced with Meth seriously again but his addiction would take many twists and turns over the years. It was so frustrating, because Bill and I are both in recovery for many years. We help other peoples kids recover but we could not help our own.
Addiction is an ugly, ugly disease. Its ruthless and vile and in the end for Billy and many others fatal. This was the second epic struggle my son dealt with every day. It was one of the things that killed him. Abuse, neglect, addiction and depression...A lethal combination, a perfect storm.
I hate addiction. Hate it with everything I have in me. It takes beautiful people and destroys them. I have seen it too many times over the years. I saw it happen to my son.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Friday, January 25, 2013
Insanity, the beginning
It has occurred to me that I haven't properly introduced myself or my son. Its important that you know who he was and I can't tell you Billy's story without intertwining my own. Billy and I were connected like that, long before I became his mom.
Billy was my stepson. He and I met for the first time when he was eleven. His mom and I had become friends and she stopped by one day with Billy. What I remember most about him that day was his disarming smile. There was something about it that was pure charm with a hint of melancholy. It would be a few months before I truly understood the melancholy.
As I got to know Billy and his mom a little better I began to see the whole picture. Billy's mom was a drunk. Its not libelous, its a fact. Her addiction to substances both prescribed and poured forced Billy, his younger brother and his mom to live at home with her parents. In my opinion they were prudish, bitter folks who viewed all but the youngest child as a terrible burden, an imposition so great that the fact that they bore it at all should propel them to sainthood of the highest order.
I am not judging the addiction. I observed 23 years sober the day we said good bye to Billy. I messed up every family I touched in and out of sobriety. I didn't then nor do I now by any stretch of the imagination deserve mother of the year. I am just telling the story the best I can.
Billy seemed to get the brunt of the anger in household from Grandma and Grandpa. I often urged his mom to move, to get out of there but free rent meant more money for beer and clothes and parties. Every time I would visit, Billy would be grounded or about to be grounded. They all would explain he was out of control, no good and needed to be punished. Later we would find out that when nobody was around they did and said much worse than what I witnessed.
That beautiful child was called the spawn of Satan, stupid, bad, no good and much worse by these God fearing Christian folks for many years, most of his life. He was screamed at, berated, shamed and made to live most of his time in his room away from the rest of the family. His biggest offense was that he was his father's child who they would openly tell you was Satan himself disguised as Bill.
I saw what was happening. But I did nothing. There were no bruises, right? What is there to do. Sometimes the deepest wounds, fatal wounds are the kind that don't bruise. I know that now. I wish to God I had done more then.
Several months later I would meet Bill. It was a moment of blinding sparks of undeniable chemistry and a deep feeling of recognition I coud neither explain or deny. The timing was not good for either of us, we were both on different paths then, just able to gaze at each other on our distant roads. It would be 4 years before our paths would merge. But at that time Bill and I became friends and I liked him, who he was. He was witty and sweet and remarkably sane compared to the other parts of Billy's family I had met.
When Billy's mom began to talk about putting him in a program called PINS, which is a sort of voluntary probation I started trying to talk her into sending him to live with his father. Her parents too seemed to like the idea and so it was decided that they had all had enough of him and Bill welcomed him home. By this time he was 12 and the damage had been done. The spirit of this beautiful child had been inexplicably altered and though the wound would fester for a long time, it would be eventually fatal. There was never an antidote that we could ever find, even though we tried.
I wish I would have done more. I wish Billy could have seen the beautiful soul that he was. I wish many, many things but most of all I wish that abuse did not happen to innocent young children who should not have to fight to survive inspite of their circumstance or conditioning.
Billy, I am so sorry. You were beautiful and special and loved. You still are beautiful and special and loved. You always will be.
Billy was my stepson. He and I met for the first time when he was eleven. His mom and I had become friends and she stopped by one day with Billy. What I remember most about him that day was his disarming smile. There was something about it that was pure charm with a hint of melancholy. It would be a few months before I truly understood the melancholy.
As I got to know Billy and his mom a little better I began to see the whole picture. Billy's mom was a drunk. Its not libelous, its a fact. Her addiction to substances both prescribed and poured forced Billy, his younger brother and his mom to live at home with her parents. In my opinion they were prudish, bitter folks who viewed all but the youngest child as a terrible burden, an imposition so great that the fact that they bore it at all should propel them to sainthood of the highest order.
I am not judging the addiction. I observed 23 years sober the day we said good bye to Billy. I messed up every family I touched in and out of sobriety. I didn't then nor do I now by any stretch of the imagination deserve mother of the year. I am just telling the story the best I can.
Billy seemed to get the brunt of the anger in household from Grandma and Grandpa. I often urged his mom to move, to get out of there but free rent meant more money for beer and clothes and parties. Every time I would visit, Billy would be grounded or about to be grounded. They all would explain he was out of control, no good and needed to be punished. Later we would find out that when nobody was around they did and said much worse than what I witnessed.
That beautiful child was called the spawn of Satan, stupid, bad, no good and much worse by these God fearing Christian folks for many years, most of his life. He was screamed at, berated, shamed and made to live most of his time in his room away from the rest of the family. His biggest offense was that he was his father's child who they would openly tell you was Satan himself disguised as Bill.
I saw what was happening. But I did nothing. There were no bruises, right? What is there to do. Sometimes the deepest wounds, fatal wounds are the kind that don't bruise. I know that now. I wish to God I had done more then.
Several months later I would meet Bill. It was a moment of blinding sparks of undeniable chemistry and a deep feeling of recognition I coud neither explain or deny. The timing was not good for either of us, we were both on different paths then, just able to gaze at each other on our distant roads. It would be 4 years before our paths would merge. But at that time Bill and I became friends and I liked him, who he was. He was witty and sweet and remarkably sane compared to the other parts of Billy's family I had met.
When Billy's mom began to talk about putting him in a program called PINS, which is a sort of voluntary probation I started trying to talk her into sending him to live with his father. Her parents too seemed to like the idea and so it was decided that they had all had enough of him and Bill welcomed him home. By this time he was 12 and the damage had been done. The spirit of this beautiful child had been inexplicably altered and though the wound would fester for a long time, it would be eventually fatal. There was never an antidote that we could ever find, even though we tried.
I wish I would have done more. I wish Billy could have seen the beautiful soul that he was. I wish many, many things but most of all I wish that abuse did not happen to innocent young children who should not have to fight to survive inspite of their circumstance or conditioning.
Billy, I am so sorry. You were beautiful and special and loved. You still are beautiful and special and loved. You always will be.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Reprieve
Today was one of those days. One of those rare days of being ok. I woke up on time with a full nights sleep. Outside, the sun was shining, the temperature perfect. I got to work, got the shop opened and had a busy day. Even with unusually steady business, I was able to get most of the urgent things on my to do list done.
BBD it would have been a normal, ordinary day. A day I would have taken for granted and not thought twice about. But its not BBD, its ABD. Today was rare, precious and surreal. There were moments in the day that I didn't feel like my insides were being ripped to shreds. One moment in particular, I was waiting for a customer to check out and I realized that I almost felt normal, like before. Those were my exact thoughts. Then of course, the guilt and confusion follows.
How crazy is it that my world switches from blackest black to shades of gray with a little light and back again? And if I don't hurt, did I not love? These are the questions that bother me when things are ok. When that precious numbness washes over me and the pain ebbs.
A regular customer who had not been in the store in a long time came in today. He asked why we were closed in August. I told him without breaking down, like I was telling him about what I had for breakfast. I could hear myself telling the story but it seemed like somebody else was talking. How weird is that?
I got home from work and my precious husband, Bill had a candlelight dinner waiting. He seemed much better today. For the first time this week, I could see he too had gotten a momentary reprieve today. He is sleeping now and he looks so peaceful. I pray that in the mornings light, he will hold on to a bit of the peace that today brought.
I know its not over. We have had this happen before. These times give us time to heal to regain our strength for what comes next. What comes next is never good. I sound so negative. I am not a pessimist. I am realist. A realist who is very grateful for this one day.
BBD it would have been a normal, ordinary day. A day I would have taken for granted and not thought twice about. But its not BBD, its ABD. Today was rare, precious and surreal. There were moments in the day that I didn't feel like my insides were being ripped to shreds. One moment in particular, I was waiting for a customer to check out and I realized that I almost felt normal, like before. Those were my exact thoughts. Then of course, the guilt and confusion follows.
How crazy is it that my world switches from blackest black to shades of gray with a little light and back again? And if I don't hurt, did I not love? These are the questions that bother me when things are ok. When that precious numbness washes over me and the pain ebbs.
A regular customer who had not been in the store in a long time came in today. He asked why we were closed in August. I told him without breaking down, like I was telling him about what I had for breakfast. I could hear myself telling the story but it seemed like somebody else was talking. How weird is that?
I got home from work and my precious husband, Bill had a candlelight dinner waiting. He seemed much better today. For the first time this week, I could see he too had gotten a momentary reprieve today. He is sleeping now and he looks so peaceful. I pray that in the mornings light, he will hold on to a bit of the peace that today brought.
I know its not over. We have had this happen before. These times give us time to heal to regain our strength for what comes next. What comes next is never good. I sound so negative. I am not a pessimist. I am realist. A realist who is very grateful for this one day.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Losing Bill
My husband, Bill is the most honest, kind, compassionate man that I know. He has a self effacing affability about him that is both disarming and refreshing. He has a gentle soul, a quick wit and eyes that light up my world. Those eyes are losing their light. In losing Billy, I am also losing Bill.
We both have had horrible, soul wrecking dark days since Billy passed. There have been days we couldn't crawl out of bed, days when we took turns picking each other up off the floor. But there have been waves of numbness that have saved us from insanity. Those waves are ebbing now and what is left is raw, and ugly. And Bill, my friend, my soulmate, the one person I respect more than any other on this earth is disappearing before my eyes. I don't know how to help.
At first I thought that it was just a bad day for him. We both have them. But one bad day has turned to another and another. He has lost the will to keep going. He is here by a sheer sense of duty not to hurt the ones he loves by leaving. I know what he wants more than anything is to go to Billy. It breaks my heart.
When Bill and I first met I was broken, closed off from the world and suspicious of everyone. I lived in a world of acquaintances because with only a few exceptions I would not let anyone close. Too many bad choices, too many broken hearts left me isolated by choice from the world. Bill never accepted my reality. He grabbed my heart and soul and broke through those walls. He was and is and forever will be my hero. He saved me.
And now, I don't know how to save him. I get where he is at, I go there too for short periods. But Billy was Bill's only son. All of the things I think to say sound so trite. How can I tell him that things will get better? I don't know that. Tell him he needs to live for me and my two girls? As much as he loves us, I feel that diminishes his connection with his boy. I could tell him I need him, and I do, but is that selfish of me? I don't know. I don't know how to save this beautiful man who sleeps in the next room. I wish to God I did.
All I can do is refuse to give up on him just like he refused to give up on me all those years ago. I can tell him I love him. I can keep fighting to survive for both of us until God willing he is one day strong enough to stand. I don't know what else to do, but I do know I won't give up. I won't give up on living life, I won't give up on loving Bill and I won't give up on honoring Billy.
We both have had horrible, soul wrecking dark days since Billy passed. There have been days we couldn't crawl out of bed, days when we took turns picking each other up off the floor. But there have been waves of numbness that have saved us from insanity. Those waves are ebbing now and what is left is raw, and ugly. And Bill, my friend, my soulmate, the one person I respect more than any other on this earth is disappearing before my eyes. I don't know how to help.
At first I thought that it was just a bad day for him. We both have them. But one bad day has turned to another and another. He has lost the will to keep going. He is here by a sheer sense of duty not to hurt the ones he loves by leaving. I know what he wants more than anything is to go to Billy. It breaks my heart.
When Bill and I first met I was broken, closed off from the world and suspicious of everyone. I lived in a world of acquaintances because with only a few exceptions I would not let anyone close. Too many bad choices, too many broken hearts left me isolated by choice from the world. Bill never accepted my reality. He grabbed my heart and soul and broke through those walls. He was and is and forever will be my hero. He saved me.
And now, I don't know how to save him. I get where he is at, I go there too for short periods. But Billy was Bill's only son. All of the things I think to say sound so trite. How can I tell him that things will get better? I don't know that. Tell him he needs to live for me and my two girls? As much as he loves us, I feel that diminishes his connection with his boy. I could tell him I need him, and I do, but is that selfish of me? I don't know. I don't know how to save this beautiful man who sleeps in the next room. I wish to God I did.
All I can do is refuse to give up on him just like he refused to give up on me all those years ago. I can tell him I love him. I can keep fighting to survive for both of us until God willing he is one day strong enough to stand. I don't know what else to do, but I do know I won't give up. I won't give up on living life, I won't give up on loving Bill and I won't give up on honoring Billy.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Exhaustion
Yesterday I cleaned my house. Now that seems simple enough, right? Its a small house. It took everything I had. My bones ached after. I just can't get used to the fatigue that this grief brings. It is a monster that hangs on to my coat tails and drags on my days and some of my nights.
I try to sleep, but the nightmares come. Last night I dreamed I was stabbed. A crowd gathered round. I was screaming for someone to call 911. I told the people my husband just lost his only child, he couldn't lose me too, that he needed me. But no one called and just as everything faded to black, I woke sweating and shaking to my core. The dreams are never the same but they all involve being forced to watch a death. Last night it happened to be my own.
At about 6 am I got a second wind. I found some fight deep inside me. and I made myself get up and walk the dog. Angie is Billy's dog. She was here when he died, she knows. He always took her for walks, play dates in the park, rides to the river bank to chase squirrels. She was his world and he was hers. Nowdays she doesn't get the exercise that she should and she was so happy she pranced her way out the door and across the yard. She is a black lab mix, she needs to run. and so we ran. I didn't mean too, it just happened and for a minute it elevated my mood to almost normal and I forgot I was tired or sad. I could feel Billy laughing, running beside us.
That second wind carried me a few hours. I opened the shop and fought my way through paperwork I had been putting off. That felt good too. and then I crashed. I coudn't find things in front of my face, the lunch I had been so hungry for an hour before lay like a rock in my stomach and the saddness enveloped me once again. For every task I completed I could suddenly see 10 more that were undone. and the exhaustion was palpable.
The property manager from the complex our shop is in came in at that time to ask me to take care of some exterior clean up that needed to be done. It was a perfectly reasonable request. Something we used to do all the time. One of the many things we have let slide. I was embarrassed, ashamed we had let it go. Bill had gone to run an errand, pale faced and shaking like he always is when a migraine is getting too bad. I told him bill wasn't well but we would take care of it tomorrow and we will. I didn't have it in me to do it right then. It is a small 10 minute task that involves stacking some chairs and I can't even do that.
What is wrong with me? What the HELL is the matter with me? That I can't handle the things that used to come so easy? What is going to happen if I let all the things I used to juggle drop while I am trying to find the strength to stand? I know I should ask for help, but its embarrassing. People have their own lives, their own struggles. I feel like I have already been helped more than I deserve.
I have only slept six of the last 48 hours, I am so very tired, I need to sleep. And so tonight I pray for dreamless sleep so I can accomplish more tomorrow. Billy...why can't I feel you tonight?
I try to sleep, but the nightmares come. Last night I dreamed I was stabbed. A crowd gathered round. I was screaming for someone to call 911. I told the people my husband just lost his only child, he couldn't lose me too, that he needed me. But no one called and just as everything faded to black, I woke sweating and shaking to my core. The dreams are never the same but they all involve being forced to watch a death. Last night it happened to be my own.
At about 6 am I got a second wind. I found some fight deep inside me. and I made myself get up and walk the dog. Angie is Billy's dog. She was here when he died, she knows. He always took her for walks, play dates in the park, rides to the river bank to chase squirrels. She was his world and he was hers. Nowdays she doesn't get the exercise that she should and she was so happy she pranced her way out the door and across the yard. She is a black lab mix, she needs to run. and so we ran. I didn't mean too, it just happened and for a minute it elevated my mood to almost normal and I forgot I was tired or sad. I could feel Billy laughing, running beside us.
That second wind carried me a few hours. I opened the shop and fought my way through paperwork I had been putting off. That felt good too. and then I crashed. I coudn't find things in front of my face, the lunch I had been so hungry for an hour before lay like a rock in my stomach and the saddness enveloped me once again. For every task I completed I could suddenly see 10 more that were undone. and the exhaustion was palpable.
The property manager from the complex our shop is in came in at that time to ask me to take care of some exterior clean up that needed to be done. It was a perfectly reasonable request. Something we used to do all the time. One of the many things we have let slide. I was embarrassed, ashamed we had let it go. Bill had gone to run an errand, pale faced and shaking like he always is when a migraine is getting too bad. I told him bill wasn't well but we would take care of it tomorrow and we will. I didn't have it in me to do it right then. It is a small 10 minute task that involves stacking some chairs and I can't even do that.
What is wrong with me? What the HELL is the matter with me? That I can't handle the things that used to come so easy? What is going to happen if I let all the things I used to juggle drop while I am trying to find the strength to stand? I know I should ask for help, but its embarrassing. People have their own lives, their own struggles. I feel like I have already been helped more than I deserve.
I have only slept six of the last 48 hours, I am so very tired, I need to sleep. And so tonight I pray for dreamless sleep so I can accomplish more tomorrow. Billy...why can't I feel you tonight?
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Time stands still
Tomorrow it will be five months to the day since we lost Billy. I am writing tonight because tomorrow I may not be able to process my thoughts with much clarity. As each month passes the anguish inside us remains. It is unchanging and the only constant that we now know. Sure we have at this point learned how to force ourselves to go through the motions of some semblance of a normal life. But there is no doubt, nothing for us will ever be normal again.
This morning when we got to our store a gentleman was waiting. It was Billy's last boss there to present us with his w-2 and a flyer for a hospice event coming up. How is that for a split paradigm? Bill wept, I held him, silent tears falling as I nestled my face in his hair, holding on the best I could. Then we dried our eyes, unlocked our store and faced the day.
There is a surreal quality to most of our existence these days. Underlying everything is the feeling that Billy isn't really gone. He can't be. Its not possible. It is obviously true but there are parts of us that may never grasp this truth. So we create our own reality. A mixture of the tangible and the surreal. Its the only way we hold on.
Later in the day, a young man was sitting on a bench across from our shop having lunch. I can not tell you how much he looked like Billy. The way he sat, his appearance, how he held his sandwich, I swore it was him. I had to go look. I had to get about five feet away from the poor guy before my brain would tell my heart it wasn't him. I think he must have thought I was crazy. and maybe I am. I might be.
The thing that scares me most is that this grief thing seems to be getting harder not easier. In the early days, there was just raw pain or numbness, no rational thought. I couldn't tell you my name some days. When the officers asked me Billy's age the first day I got it wrong! I added a year. It was shock.
Now, with the mind beginning to think again, comes a different kind of soul searing pain. Its duller but deeper and the realization that Billy will never come through our door physically again is almost unbearable. Being able to contain the pain for periods of time doesn't help either. Because when it gets out, it erupts with a vengeance that is all encompassing.
Five months without that smile, Five months without that laugh, Five months of a closed door behind which lies Billy's room, Five months of longing for just one more of everything.....Time stands still.
This morning when we got to our store a gentleman was waiting. It was Billy's last boss there to present us with his w-2 and a flyer for a hospice event coming up. How is that for a split paradigm? Bill wept, I held him, silent tears falling as I nestled my face in his hair, holding on the best I could. Then we dried our eyes, unlocked our store and faced the day.
There is a surreal quality to most of our existence these days. Underlying everything is the feeling that Billy isn't really gone. He can't be. Its not possible. It is obviously true but there are parts of us that may never grasp this truth. So we create our own reality. A mixture of the tangible and the surreal. Its the only way we hold on.
Later in the day, a young man was sitting on a bench across from our shop having lunch. I can not tell you how much he looked like Billy. The way he sat, his appearance, how he held his sandwich, I swore it was him. I had to go look. I had to get about five feet away from the poor guy before my brain would tell my heart it wasn't him. I think he must have thought I was crazy. and maybe I am. I might be.
The thing that scares me most is that this grief thing seems to be getting harder not easier. In the early days, there was just raw pain or numbness, no rational thought. I couldn't tell you my name some days. When the officers asked me Billy's age the first day I got it wrong! I added a year. It was shock.
Now, with the mind beginning to think again, comes a different kind of soul searing pain. Its duller but deeper and the realization that Billy will never come through our door physically again is almost unbearable. Being able to contain the pain for periods of time doesn't help either. Because when it gets out, it erupts with a vengeance that is all encompassing.
Five months without that smile, Five months without that laugh, Five months of a closed door behind which lies Billy's room, Five months of longing for just one more of everything.....Time stands still.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Love and Shopping
Yesterday I was pulling up in my driveway after a long day. I was tired, the kind of bone weary tired that has become so familiar. I had been to the grocery store. Let me tell you, retail therapy no longer works for me. Shopping has become a time of high anxiety and maddening confusion. The lights, the people all cause me to fall down a rabbit hole into a world that depicts a microcosm of life speeding along without me while I am barely moving. Shopping is the epitome of the feeling that the world continues on while I stand still. I get so confused and so lost so fast. I wander aimlessly, try to follow my list and end up leaving most times with half the things I needed and a bunch of things I didn't.
I remember the first time I went to a large store ABD. It was to find something to wear to Billy's service and to pick up a few incidentals. I remember breaking down, watching all the people, the families with children, the young adults about Billy's age going about their lives. It was the first time I realized I see Billy everywhere. I remember wondering if anyone there was like me, broken, damaged, missing a child they would never see again. I was so embarrassed for breaking down, but nobody seemed to notice.
Yesterday when I got home, I pulled into the driveway and thought, "I wonder if Billy is home, to help me withe groceries. And at that moment my headlights flashed across the memorial garden where the flowers from Billy's service are planted, the exact spot he took his last breath. And I remembered....There have been a few times I have done that. Something is broken in my head. I don't know if it will be right again. I don't think so.
But this how much my son loves me. I pulled myself together, wiped my eyes and took a deep breath. I brought the first batch of groceries inside, loved on the puppies for a minute, and started back out the door to get some more groceries. At that moment Billy sent an Angel.
One of his previous roommates and best friends drove up. Dav was like a second mom to him. She is a wonderful lady with a great smile and a big heart. To be honest, there was a time I was a little jealous of Dav for no good reason I will admit. and I really, really wish to get to know her better now. I think Billy would like that too.
Dav came by to give me a hug and share a story about a Billy visit. She came at a time when I really needed it. She was without a doubt an Angel sent by my son.
So thank you Billy for the gift you gave me. And thank you for reminding me to let people in, to love and to accept love. You are awesome!
I remember the first time I went to a large store ABD. It was to find something to wear to Billy's service and to pick up a few incidentals. I remember breaking down, watching all the people, the families with children, the young adults about Billy's age going about their lives. It was the first time I realized I see Billy everywhere. I remember wondering if anyone there was like me, broken, damaged, missing a child they would never see again. I was so embarrassed for breaking down, but nobody seemed to notice.
Yesterday when I got home, I pulled into the driveway and thought, "I wonder if Billy is home, to help me withe groceries. And at that moment my headlights flashed across the memorial garden where the flowers from Billy's service are planted, the exact spot he took his last breath. And I remembered....There have been a few times I have done that. Something is broken in my head. I don't know if it will be right again. I don't think so.
But this how much my son loves me. I pulled myself together, wiped my eyes and took a deep breath. I brought the first batch of groceries inside, loved on the puppies for a minute, and started back out the door to get some more groceries. At that moment Billy sent an Angel.
One of his previous roommates and best friends drove up. Dav was like a second mom to him. She is a wonderful lady with a great smile and a big heart. To be honest, there was a time I was a little jealous of Dav for no good reason I will admit. and I really, really wish to get to know her better now. I think Billy would like that too.
Dav came by to give me a hug and share a story about a Billy visit. She came at a time when I really needed it. She was without a doubt an Angel sent by my son.
So thank you Billy for the gift you gave me. And thank you for reminding me to let people in, to love and to accept love. You are awesome!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)