Sunday, June 27, 2010

What is the definition of brave?

I'm wondering who decided that living was brave and dying was not. Who said that? Why is staying alive and breathing air brave?

It seems to me that for as long as I can remember, breathing has been hard. I have made the decision time and time again to keep on doing it and I'm wondering why. What the fuck am I doing this for?

When my son died everyone told me he's in a better place...really? What place is that? It's not here with me. How and why is that better? I don't believe in Heaven and the only Hell I believe in I'm living. I have been living, it's been endless and I'm tired.

I have seen, felt, imagined the end so many times. It seems like it would be releasing and pleasant but I can't do it because it is considered being a coward.  It would hurt the children I have left. The children. They are grown men. And now instead of 3 I have 2. I have this gigantic hole where he used to be. He needed me the most and I let him down.

I guess now I see why living is brave. Because when you suck at it and everything you do is just one more mistake it IS brave to face another day. Eventually it's going to catch up to you and everyone will know you for the fraud you are...and that day, you will either fight for your life or you won't.

Friday, June 25, 2010


So I'm talking to my granddaughter about her time at camp....she said she had a blast, but the canoes were too old and the pond too dangerous. A dangerous pond? Old canoes? Where exactly did she go to camp!

I asked her if they at least had camp fires. She says yes, she got burned at one on her collar bone. Burned? What the heck? So I'm asking her how burned? Is it bad? Did it blister? How big is it? Nickel size? Dime? Quarter? And she says...."it's like a medium sized vampire bite." Hahahahaha!

God I love that girl.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010


Today was just another day. I woke up, I stretched, and then I remembered how my son died. I decided today I had to do something, one thing everyday.

I went to work, that was one thing, but not one extra thing so I called to get the police reports on what had happened. On the third call I got a nice lady who told me the investigation was still pending...whatever that means, the officer is working so I'm sure he's not too worried.

Then I decided to go withdraw from school. My books are sitting here, I've moved them around some, but I certainly haven't done anything about them. I should withdraw so at least I don't have an "F" on my record. I haven't had an "F" since highschool and I wasn't paying for my education then. I just don't care. I want to care, I try to care....I just don't.

So I go to the school to withdraw and she thinks my reasons are valid but there are forms to fill out. Ok. I'm ok, I can do this, I fill out her forms. 

Then she hands me ONE FINAL PAPER. This is the one where I explain why I'm withdrawing, and it asks for proof. I ask "Do they want my son's death certificate, I don't know where to get that, do you?" She gives me a website. Oh My's got ancestry in it's address. I say "He died two weeks ago", she gives me the address to the Wisconsin court house.......he lived in New Mexico.

She says, "An Obituary will work." I say, "I don't even know if he had one. I'll look. I hope my ex didn't list my name as 'unknown'." Ha. Ha.

I came home and looked it up....jokes on me. I wasn't listed at all. My son was motherless.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010


Sometimes all you can do is just keep on breathing. It's not that you want to, it's that you have to.

My youngest son died 11 days ago. It was ugly and unwarranted and in front of his brother. He was shot in the chest by a police officer. I have a moment where I am not just living and I see him, even though I didn't see him, trying to get up...the shock that must have been on his face, the shock that had to be on his brother's face as that shot rang out.

The shock that I'm living....

I wake up every morning and for five seconds I just wake up, then I remember that I lost a son. He will never, ever be here again. Ever. Then my mind moves on to the son that is living with that vision in his head and I know he will never, ever be the same person he was on June 3rd.

To this day no one involved has called me to tell me my son is dead. I know he is, I read the news story on the internet & called the hospital where they told me he was never brought in. Eventually my middle son borrowed a phone since the police took his and called me to tell me that my baby was gone. I knew. Then I went to his funeral.

He wasn't perfect, he had problems, but he also had many, many people who loved him. He had a kind soul.

I remember asking him one day if he was mad at me. I wasn't the best Mom and he had every right to be, but he wasn't. "You did the best you could, Mom"......he was forever forgiving. 

One day I'm going to wake up and for more than five seconds I am going to be ok, for now I will say I am. No one wants to hear that I'm not. What are the stages of grief? Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression & Acceptance? I'm hanging out in Anger. I love the sounds of little children, I loathe the sounds of young adults having fun. I have no patience. I am very ready to hurt someone, and I'm not sure it matters who. 

I heard a song the other morning and it struck a chord. Anna Nalick "Breathe" Life is like an hour glass glued to the table.

The end.