Every other event in the world that personally happens to us we usually run around yelling and screaming about it, telling anyone that will listen to our big moments in life. Grief happens and maybe the initial reaction is loud and scary, lots of people are usually there, but as it wears on, it becomes a whisper.

I only talk about my grief with a very few select people. Yes, I share pictures and memories of Patrick just about every day, but most people know very little of how I am handling everyday life. Most would probably say I’m handling it just fine unless they really know me or spend a lot of time with me–those are the few people that I get to be myself around.

To those people my actions and behavior are screaming to them that everything is not okay. I still feel like I’m whispering, ‘hey I’m barely hanging on over here’ but they know…. they see through the façade.

Truth be told I am barely hanging on. I’m exhausted from nothing and yet exhausted from everything. I don’t eat or I don’t eat the right things. I never sleep and if I do it is filled with nightmares and anxiety. At dinner tonight the conversation went something like this: Our lives are so fucked up. I want things to be normal again, but they are never going to be normal again. Then we cry and try to recover and go on to have a normal evening… it’s anything but normal.

I whisper all day long that I am OK. No one knows what’s going on the inside. I make jokes about things that happen. Things really bother me, but no one would understand why they bother me so I find something funny about the situation so I can laugh at it and maybe, I’ll share it with you and you can laugh, too. I whisper I’m not ok but you don’t know that. You think I have a great sense of humor. I make small talk, I smile, I listen to you tell me your secrets. Inside I’m whispering I’m not ok. You say I’m a good friend, that I’m trustworthy. I’m envious of your problem because I can see a solution to yours. I’m whispering I need a solution. I’m whispering I’m not ok.

I want to be naïve again. I want Patrick snuggled up next to me reading a book, watching cartoons, or complaining about having to go to bed. I want to yell and scream and tell you sweet and funny things, but I’m stuck in this corner, going in circles, whispering I’m not ok…

The body remembers and earlier this evening the sadness started drifting in and I kept pushing it aside. Not now, please just not now… I’ve had a good day. Here I am 4 or 5 hours later and I figured it out… Alan Jackson is my go to when I’m feeling really sad, that deep down despair where I beg God for an answer to my two questions–1) Why did Patrick die? 2) Why couldn’t I have died too, why did they revive me, dear God why didn’t you let me die that day, too?

For weeks I listened to Alan Jackson sing the same simple gospel songs, over and over again. I listened to them awake and I listened to them as I tried to go to sleep every night after Patrick died. They are the songs I grew up listening to and singing in church. They are the songs I taught my boys. Patrick always said, ‘Mama, Amazing Grace is just so beautiful. It makes me cry every time I hear it.’ I hear him say that every time I hear that song. Sweet Hour of Prayer, Jesus, Jesus, How I Trust Him, When the Roll is Called Up Yonder, Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus, Love Lifted Me…

This sadness wasn’t going anywhere, so it was to the shower with Alan Jackson blasting on Alexa as loud as I could stand it. Pretty soon Amazing Grace was on and I hear Patrick’s little voice… ‘it’s just so beautiful it makes me cry.’ Then everything from the accident on ran through my head–the utter chaos, all the unknowns, the doctor and Rory trying to tell me that Patrick was not going to make it, words that made no sense and had no context to me at that moment–life flight, broken leg, broken neck, craniotomy–NO!

The songs played on… Wherever He Leads I’ll Go, Only Trust Him…their familiarity brings comfort…it’s been a good day. Why, why now? Patrick’s birthday is Wednesday. Yes, but that’s not it. I’ve been ‘prepared’ for weeks now for his birthday.

Oh it’s Saturday before his birthday… typically the day the birthday party would have been… Precious Memories plays… today we would have had his birthday party… today we would have celebrated that sweet baby’s 10th birthday with friends and family…

Power, power, wonder working power… I feel my grandma tapping the notes out on my shoulder as I sat next to her in church… I hope she’s baked Patrick her famous chocolate, peanut butter cake for his birthday… Alan Jackson has saved me again… I Serve a Risen Savior… the hope of all who seek Him…

I think I’ve used that title before… maybe… I can’t remember. I’d have to go back and look at my previous posts. Rambling thoughts because as I come up on the 2nd anniversary of Patrick’s death, it’s still so unbelievably hard to comprehend that all of this happened. I have so many things running through my head. Saturday will be 2 years since the accident.

Organ donation. We’ve anonymously mailed one of the organ donor recipients family for about a year now. In organ donation talk that’s about 2 letters each because of the process of sending the letters to the agency for review and then they forward the letters. A few months ago we were given full disclosure and I finally decided to go ahead and contact them. It is a strange feeling to talk to another person whose child is alive because mine is dead. I’m thankful for the opportunity to get to know this family. But dear god, what an overwhelming brain twist and overload of emotions it brings.

Grief. 2 years of grieving. It’s not better. I’d argue it’s worse. I don’t think it will ever get better. For it to get better I’d have to stop missing and loving Patrick.

God. I still get angry with God. Every day I have to make a choice whether or not I’m pissed off at God. It’s tiring. I think a lot of times it would be easier to just forget God and just move on. Instead of thinking God is sovereign, I could stop trying to understand why or look for some bigger meaning in all this and just believe something really bad happened in our family and there’s no loving creator of the universe that was supposed to take care of us and keep us safe. Still I pray…all day…every day… I hope someone is listening.

Aggravation. I wish(and this is on me because I don’t have to participate in social media or read certain posts) but I wish people would stay posting stuff like God will give you double for your trouble–No he won’t. Stop making bullshit up.

Hymns. Why do I doubt God but almost at the same time I can sing a hymn and for a brief moment in time everything is ok, makes sense, etc. In the Sweet By and By–one of my grandma’s favorites can make everything right with just the first few words. She sang that song and I’ll Meet You in the Morning every time she put us down for a nap when we were little. Then I wonder is she taking care of Patrick? He never knew her but surely there’s some connection since she loved me and took care of me, so she has to know him, love him, and somehow be involved in watching over him for me, right?

Strained relationships. Family and friends. My relationships have taken a beating the last 2 years. People that I thought were close are no longer a part of my life, people that I classified as acquaintances check in on me more than those that I thought were good friends, other relationships became strained and are completely severed. Do I want to restore these relationships? I don’t know. New people have shown up and become dear friends that I trust with my best and worst secrets. Old friends. There’s something about an old friend. They may weave in and out of your life but when the going gets rough they show up with the kleenex, the chocolate, dinner. Somehow that connection you made when you were 5 is still there. You don’t have to pretend about anything–you are just you and they are just them.

Work. It has been quite the school year. A lot of good, nothing terribly bad, not ideal because that will never exist again or did it ever exist?, but I’m making it and I survived and got a great evaluation. I don’t know why so many people keep saying, “I can’t believe you went back to teaching.’ I don’t know what else to do. That’s what I know and what I’m good at. It’s comfortable. It’s a routine that I recognize. The school is different, the grades and co-workers are different, but the routine is pretty much the same and it keeps me distracted and occupied. I also get paid which helps with my amazon addiction.

Triggers. Yep, they are still there. Maybe I’ve learned to deal with them a little better on some days… other days not so much.

Crying. Yep still happens every single day.

Worry. Maybe I should say fear. I fear I’ll forget Patrick’s voice and the memories of him that I have. Yes, fear because I don’t sit and obsess over it. I don’t even think about it all that much but it is worth mentioning because I don’t ever want to forget anything about Patrick. I look at my pictures from years past and my facebook memories every single day. It’s all I have left. If I keep looking at them, hopefully I won’t forget.

Emotions. Yep, I have them. What a party they have in my head. Most of the time I can keep them in check. They don’t like it, but better to have emotional regulation( 2 of my new favorite words) than not.

Brain. I can’t remember a lot of things. It’s starting not to bother me as much as it did right after the accident. Will my brain ever function like it used to? I doubt it. I’ve started to embrace the idea that I can start a conversation and 4 words into it I will completely forget what I was saying. I exchange similar words ALL. THE. TIME. I laugh it off. It doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it used to.

Marriage. Just so hard sometimes. People saying building a house is stressful on a marriage. Building a house is nothing on a marriage. That’s just two people arguing and trying to get their way on what kind of kitchen cabinet handles they want. 2 people devastated by the same loss but dealing with their grief and emotions in ways that are as different as they are, the pushing and pulling of grief, the toll the emotions take, the distance and walls that can be put up, knocked down, and put up again, that makes building a house look like a cakewalk. Grieving changes everything. Neither of us is the same person we were 2 years ago. We love each other very much. We’re doing okay. He’s still my favorite and I’d still choose him every time.

Next. I don’t know what’s next. Does the third year of grief get any better? Probably not–see above.

I usually have a running list in my head about things I want to write about. Sometimes it’s a full thought out post and other times it’s some bits and pieces. Sometimes if I don’t sit down and write it all out I lose whatever bits and pieces I had floating around. It is so frustrating when that happens! Last night I had a whole thing on grace that I wanted to write about. It sounded so good in my head but I was crawling into bed and I just wanted to go to sleep. This afternoon I thought I still had it all stored there in my brain, but when I started writing it out, it was mostly gone and it didn’t sound near as good as it did last night… Note: write things down when you first think of them!

So just some things that have been running through my head in no particular order and most topics are without a few supporting paragraphs…

Like I said rambling ideas…

Grace–I just hope there’s a whole lot of grace for parents that have lost their children. Does God get tired of me asking why or being angry with him? I need so much grace to handle all the triggers that are right around the corner–some that I know will happen and some that trip me up and make me want to run and hide. Grace, I just need a lot of it. I want some kind of special consideration–as much as that is not me to want something extra, this time I want the extra grace. I want special privileges where grace is concerned.

While I want the extra grace, and truthfully I don’t believe God is withholding any grace from me or from anyone else, I want to stop being offended. I also hope that parents that have lost children can eventually stop being offended. I follow some blogs, I read facebook posts, I follow grief posts on instagram. I’ve become a grief following junkie. I’ve noticed a pattern. We bereaved parents take offense to a lot of things. I understand the offense, the anger, to need to feel justified in our thoughts and feelings. I understand how easy it is to get my feelings hurt over a comment that had nothing to do with me or the intent was never meant to be taken the way I took it…sometimes it still hurts, still makes me angry, still makes me want to be the victim…you know because my child is dead. I want a free pass. I want to get passed that mindset. I remember a few weeks after Patrick died and people had been taking care of us. People cleaned our house, brought us food, did the laundry, etc. It was probably the first time we ventured out into the public and we were at the grocery store. We were standing in line to pay for a few groceries and I remember in my state of mind that I was so angry at having to wait in line. I wanted someone to say, ‘oh your son just died, here come to the front of the line’. I knew then it was absurd, but it’s what I wanted. I’ve gotten over wanting to be moved to the front of the line but I want to move past the words that sting. No one meant for them to sting but they do. I want to take the higher ground and take comments and questions at face value. I don’t want to squirm uncomfortably and make situations awkward. I don’t want to make every comment I hear as some kind of personal attack.

I want the people that have stood by us to know how much they mean to us. Grief didn’t just change us, it changed how we view relationships, friendships, family. Patrick’s death has made us change the way we perceive everything. Patrick died and we’ll never recover. It’s hard to be a friend to a grieving parent. There’s a handful that have been with us every step of the way. You are loved and appreciated beyond measure. As Patrick would say, ‘I love things that are epic and beautiful.’ You friends are epic and beautiful to us. You’ve been with us through the worst and you stayed. Our raw and unfiltered emotions didn’t scare you or cause you to leave us. You may have had some private, ‘what in the hell’ conversations but we weren’t privy to them and you stayed and you kept checking to make sure we were okay. We love you–no matter what. (We always told the boys I love you! No matter what. There’s nothing you can do that will make me stop loving you or love you any less).

2 years–so hard to believe it’s been almost 2 years.

So that’s my ramblings, in no particular order. Maybe I can come back and expand on some of these.

worry: an instance or occurrence of such distress or agitation

I am a worrier. I always have been, probably always will be, but I am trying not to do it as much these days. Most days my brain can’t handle one more thing to think or worry about so at the very least, there is that. But there is something that I consistently think about, am concerned with, wonder about, and yes, it all boils down to one thing that I will always worry about.

What if I forget? What if I forget what Patrick’s voice sounds like? What if one day it all fades away? When your kids are here, everyday is filled with something new. Old memories fade and new ones take their place. There’s a constant flow of new experiences, new days, and new conversations that your brain takes hold of and remembers. I haven’t heard Patrick’s voice in almost 2 years and when I play a video it jars me by just how much I have forgotten what he sounded like. I will listen to the same video over and over again hoping that I am able to capture that moment again and hold onto what he sounded like, what was going on that day, what was he interested in then, just Patrick being Patrick. As much as his constant humming and singing could drive me crazy, now I never want to forget what he sounded like when he sang and when he hummed. I don’t want to forget how he could jump from a topic so easily and immediately be in a make believe world, where dinosaurs and Darth Vader make it into the conversation, where we would start talking about his day and be interrupted by shooting crayons and bad habits.

I know I won’t forget him but I am forgetting little details. Things I wouldn’t have thought twice about if I forgot them. But now, they are all that I have left to remember him by. Why did I take that picture? Probably because he was being cute or asked me to take his picture. Sometimes I have no reference to what was going on and it’s frustrating because I don’t or can’t remember. I want to remember why and what was I trying to capture then. What made that point in time important other than we were spending time together?

Last night this video popped up in my memories. I don’t know if I remember the day or if I’ve just watched it enough in the last 24 hours that I think I remember it. Nevertheless, I am glad that I took time to capture this… a random day in January 2016. Patrick was 5 and in Pre-k. It was after school, we were both getting over being sick, we were spending time together…