4 Years

Four years ago tonight I was in an ICU room finding out that Patrick was probably not going to pull through and survive his injuries.

I was in and out of consciousness at the accident. When I’d wake up, I’d ask where my boys were. I got a couple of different answers. They are working on them, I don’t know, or no one would answer me. I would later find out that Patrick had already been life-flighted from the scene of the accident. Bits and pieces of information were eventually given to me. Bryan was hurt, but okay. He had been admitted to the hospital. I figured Bryan was going to be okay. I had been able to see him at the scene of the accident. He was standing up and talking. I never saw Patrick.

I hadn’t seen Patrick since I had told him how proud I was of him and how well he handled the trip. He had horrible car sickness and car rides over 15 or 20 minutes were difficult for him. Information that I was given about Patrick consisted of Patrick has a broken leg, Patrick is in critical condition, Patrick could possibly be paralyzed.

That evening Rory and the neurosurgeon came in and told me that Patrick had a craniotomy and was being life-flighted to Texas Children’s. I was asking questions and preparing to care for him when we all got home. Rory held my hand; he’s not going to make it. I asked what’s the diagnosis, what percent of surviving are we talking about. I’ve never had a child survive with injuries this severe was the response I received. I’ve never prayed so hard, and I’ve never been so disappointed, crushed, and heartbroken that my prayer went unanswered.

It’s hard to believe that he’s not been here in 4 years. I try so hard to imagine him being 11. I remember Bryan being 11. I think Patrick would be similar, but still different, because they were different. He’d probably be almost as tall or me or maybe already taller. He’d be in that in-between space where he still wants to play and be little, but so ready to be older and not be treated like a little boy anymore. He’d probably stopped rolling his eyes just for fun and would be rolling them for real… He’d still be funny and even smarter than he already was. I could go on imagining because I have no real way of really knowing.

The grief is still very present. “They” say it gets easier or different in time. It has not. In fact, I think this year has been harder. The harsh reality is there. Patrick is dead. Killed. Never coming back. The numbness of everything that has happened ‘to get you through’ the first or second year of loss is gone. Year 4 and It’s just me. It’s just Rory. It’s just a handful of friends that for some reason can still take me however I show up. It’s just a weekly counseling appointment. Year 4 grief is unending. I don’t expect year 5 to be that much different.

We visited his grave today. We ate donuts and kolaches for breakfast. All week we will remember Patrick in some of his favorite ways.

I miss him every day. I still cry every day. A friend that is going through this loss journey asked me recently if I still cry. I assured her that I did. It was relief for her to know she’s not alone and crying every day is still a normal thing. I can’t imagine that there will be a day that I don’t cry for what I’ve lost. Maybe that will happen one day, but right now I can’t imagine that day.

If you knew Patrick, you’ll recognize him in this list immediately. If you didn’t get the chance to meet him, may you get to know him a little better.

Patrick:
1. loved red tennis shoes
2. loved numbers and everything to do with math
3. was learning computer programming
4. was fascinated with space and especially black holes
5. had a beautiful singing voice
6. wanted his own youtube channel
7. enjoyed being read to more than reading on his own
8. never learned to tie his shoes
9. had some signature Patrick dance moves
10. had a big heart and loved you unless you gave him reason not to (he was kind of like his momma on this one)

Holidays and Grief

I’m certain that I have written about the holidays before. Every year it feels a little different yet it sadly feels the same. It’s never a good feeling and there’s no anticipation to celebrate. It’s ‘oh god I have to do this again.’ I try to change my frame of mind, stay busy, all that stuff, but the holidays basically suck the life out of me. I survive and move on. Like I said in my last post though, I’ve been doing better.

But today I was caught off guard by one of those weird experiences that happens from time to time. It used to happen a lot right after Patrick died. You think you hear him or see him or know he’s there, but he’s not. It’s common at first because just the day before he was there and you were talking to him and playing with him.

This morning I was attempting to make some apple fritters (which by the way was about a 40% failure, but that’s another story and we still ate them, so maybe only a 35% failure). At some point my blood pressure medication kicked in and I had to go pee. Somewhere in that minute of going to the bathroom and getting back to the kitchen I told myself that I needed to hurry and get back to Patrick. Oh god where did that come from? For those few seconds I had slipped back into my previous life and it felt so good. I never got a minute alone in the bathroom when the kids were little and that seemed like such a luxury to be in the bathroom alone… Then reality hit and I had to remember that no one was in the kitchen waiting for me…. just some dough and apples that I had mixed up. So, on and off for the rest of the day I have dealt with Patrick not being here. Hello grief, welcome back to Thanksgiving 2021. Quickly make your exit… I have to prepare for you to show up again for Christmas 2021.

Preparing for Thanksgiving 2017
Me: Patrick what ONE food do you want for Thanksgiving?
Patrick: Turkey but make sure it’s crispy and juicy. Oh and mashed potatoes but make sure they are hot and then macaroni and cheese and cherry pie.

Thanksgiving Day 2017
Patrick: This cherry pie is so good. I love the little cherry balls the best. Is it okay if I call this turkey leg a chicken leg?

One month

I thought I would do a little update here since it’s been a couple of weeks. Last time I wrote on here I was at a low point. It was probably one of the lowest if not the lowest point I’ve been at since Patrick died.

I don’t necessarily believe everything happens for a reason but whether we want it or not, things happen… all the time. One decision leads to another and sometimes things turn out okay and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes one decision leads to a whole bunch of little things that change your whole direction.

I resigned from my teaching position and I’ve never felt so much relief. I can’t explain how good it feels to be out of the classroom. I never thought I’d be the one saying that because I have been adamant that I go back to teaching. I remember 2 weeks after Patrick died, I was like I want to go back to school… foolish, I know, but I couldn’t imagine life without being in the classroom. Fast forward almost 4 years later and my teaching has run the gamut. This school year was unlike any I had had before and for the first time, teaching felt wrong to me. I was on the wrong path and definitely not enjoying it. Just like everyone else in the world I did not want to give up a steady income. That part really scared me. I don’t know how it will all work out but I’m going to have faith that it will. The bills are all paid and we aren’t going hungry.

It’s been a month since my doctor gave me a prescription to try. I have been medication resistant as I’ve talked about before. I’ve tried just about all the popular ones and they have either done nothing or exacerbated my depression. This one seems to be working. The first couple of weeks were a little touch and go but I’m finally getting some real sleep, and I have more energy to get out and do things. I’m not running the roads, being Ms. Sociable, or throwing any big parties, but I am living my life, setting boundaries, and enjoy the days. I’ve even been to a bible study… and I’m still not sure where I stand with Jesus but I kind of wanted to be around people so I went a second time… I don’t know if I’ll continue, but it’s progress and shows that I am getting better and not becoming a recluse.

Yesterday at counseling, I told my counselor that I’m still sad because it’s just sad to lose your child, but I am able to pull myself out of despair instead of letting it overtake me. She wrote a note in my file and smiled. I made my counselor smile–a few weeks ago we were both ugly crying at just how sad this all was.

I feel like there’s a little sunshine above my head. I’ve got some ideas rolling around and I’m making good use of my time at home. I feel happy and it feels good.

Don’t Pretend to Not Know What You Already Know

I think I got that title right… my friend has been telling me this or something like it for the past several days. It makes perfect sense even if I can’t remember exactly how she said it.

I was diagnosed with PTSD after the accident. I really didn’t know that much about PTSD. Before the accident if someone asked me what it was I would have equated it to something that military personnel are diagnosed with. I’ve since become familiar enough with it to know that anyone that has gone through a traumatic event can be diagnosed with PTSD.

I’ve dealt with the triggers as they came, prepared for some, and dealt with the fallout of when some caught me off guard. I knew going back to elementary school teaching there would be some triggers. I felt a little more prepared this time. Loose teeth… Patrick had 2 loose teeth when he died. Ok I can deal with little kids showing me their loose teeth. Birthdays…kids turning 8. An age Patrick never got to be. A party that we had already starting planning even though it was 6 months out. Ok I can deal with kids turning 8. That’s what kids do. They get a year older every year. I can handle this. Kids being in a rage and hitting me. That is foreign to me. No one has hit me since I got my last spanking at 14. My husband has never hit me. My kids never hit me. I’ve never had anyone so angry with me that they just decided that punching me repeatedly over and over was a good idea… that is until I taught 2nd grade. It was enough to trigger my PTSD, that until that moment, was held in check and well managed.

I knew that day that I was not in the right place, nor was I equipped to handle such behaviors in the classroom. That wasn’t the only behavior I was dealing with in the classroom. However, it is the one that has profoundly affected me. It’s the one that makes me never want to be in a classroom again. It’s the one that makes me want to grab that child’s parent and shake them and ask them what in the hell is going on here that makes your child behave like this. It’s the one that has me pondering and questioning those in authority and why they choose to see this as some kind of normal behavior and suggesting that I just need to deal with it, that somehow it’s my fault.

So back to pretending. I pretended for a few more weeks that I could handle this particular classroom. I was a good teacher. I did know what I was doing(contrary to the belief of some). Those things were real. I am a good teacher. I did know what I was doing. But I couldn’t keep pretending that I was in the right place. I couldn’t keep pretending that I could help this class. I couldn’t keep pretending that I could make a difference. I couldn’t keep pretending that I could do this everyday from 7:30-4:00. So I stopped pretending. Yesterday when I made the decision my body physically relaxed and I felt relief. Today I feel a little sad… I’ll deal with the fallout of knowing I will not be going back into a classroom, losing my income, feeling like I quit or gave up… I’ll deal but I will not pretend.

PTSD: What You Need to Know

Self Care Monday, Pedicures, and Fried Chicken Sandwiches

I went back and looked to see if I had written about self care. I was certain that I had, and I was right.

I’m working on self care again. A lot of times my self care is just a bubble bath, Dateline, and trash TV (which amounts to whatever stupid YouTube videos catch my attention).

I went and got a pedicure today. It felt so good that I decided to get a manicure, too. Later this evening I got to really thinking about self care. When you think about self care, what do you think about? I think I’ve been programmed to think of it as being selfish, taking away from what really needs to be done, putting myself and my needs ahead of other people. Those are the things that usually pop in my head when I hear the phrase, ‘self-care.’

I remember right after Patrick died a group of friends wanted to take me to get a pedicure or at the very least give me a gift card for one. I refused over and over again mostly because I did not want a stranger touching me. I still feel that way but I eventually relented and went and got a pedicure. I don’t need one all the time but when I do go get one, I spring for the most expensive one and I always come out thinking, ‘why did I wait so long to do this?’

Last night I wanted to die, really, really die. The end. We’re done. I was pretty close to the bottom. I somehow managed to fall asleep and wake up this morning. Later today I paid a stranger a wad of cash to rub my legs, feet, hands, paint my toenails and fingernails. You know what? I don’t want to die tonight. Am I still sad and depressed? Yes, but that couple of hours probably saved me from myself today. That and a husband and a best buddy that is here with me, monitoring me, making me check in, reminding me how much I am loved and how much I am still needed here. I still don’t know where to go from here or what to do, but today, right now, I know that I am loved and it is worth it to take a few hours to put myself first. Self care is not selfish. It is life-saving.

Some of my favorite self-care activities:

pedicure
bubble bath
trash tv
reading
writing
chapstick
chocolate
going for a ride
beach
junk food
fried chicken sandwich

Some self-care that is necessary but not always fun:

doctor appointments
counseling appointments
telling a trusted spouse or friend the truth about how you feel
eating healthy

Where Do I Go From Here?

It’s Sunday morning and I’ve started what is to hopefully be a week long reset and self care.

I’m back at square one. It’s a familiar place. I visit it often. I keep asking myself how do I keep ending up back here. Well for one thing, grief is not linear and the grief process should never have been shared as a list, like a grocery list that can be checked off.

Grief affects and usually is the driving force of many of my decisions. It’s a hard thing to balance knowing when you should listen to it, follow it, or dismiss it.

I probably should have listened to it more and even followed what it said in as far as trying to stay in my chosen career of teaching.

It is damn hard to be surrounded all day by children of any age when yours is dead. There are so many rapidly identified triggers and then there are the sneaky ones that you never anticipated, yet they both bring you to instant tears and anger.

You can’t teach when you’re crying or angry or both all the time.

Pushing aside my own trauma and triggers there’s plenty to be crying and angry about. It compounds the tiredness of my already weary and overloaded body and brain.

I’m in the wrong place. I chose to transfer campuses because I recalled with such fondness teaching younger students. I loved the buzz and the activity of an elementary classroom. I loved the silly stories they share, their unique look into how this crazy old world works, the incredible moment when I’ve really taught them something and they have really learned it. It’s magical. Elementary school is magical.

This year is not magical. My own flaws are hideous and puncturing into the magical force field that should protect my students and my classroom. Their innocence of what childhood should be like gets ripped away more and more every day. Everyone is hollering it’s covid, they’ve never had a normal school year. These things are true but that’s not 100% the culprit.

This year I’ve been hit by students, my classroom is destroyed by students on a weekly if not daily basis, things have been stolen from me in plain sight,, students have come to school without supplies, but when given the needed supplies they immediately destroy them. They come to school unbathed and in dirty clothes. They come to school abused and hurt. They lash out, they say mean and horrible things to one another. The vulgarity of their actions and vocabulary is the same as a hardened and crude adult. I don’t think it’s a covid issue. Covid might have amplified it, but this is not covid.

All those behaviors are an indirect trigger for me. I have such a hard time watching children behave this way everyday. I was told I need to normalize these behaviors. I cannot and will not make this normal. I cannot provide the wanted excuse to say this is okay. It is not okay.

Inside I am screaming these are precious gifts. Do you not realize what you have here? Do you know how much love, nurturing, accountability they need? Do you know that you are failing them? Do you know the hurt if one of them is lost?

I answer all of the questions in a whisper “I do.”

Where do I go from here?

Grief, Junk Food, and Why I Like Country Music

Well it has been a hot minute since I’ve updated the blog. Truthfully, not much has changed. The grief is still palpable as ever. I find solace in junk food and old country music. My brain has become trained to expect the sugar and chemicals. It satisfies for the moment and brings a weird contentment. The country music is familiar. I know all the words. No one is going to change the words in the middle of the song. I know the words by heart.

We’ve been through another of Patrick’s birthdays without him here. He would have been 11 this year. There is still this weird part of my brain that thinks he’s just away somewhere and is going to come back, pop through the door, and yell, “SURPRISE! Did y’all miss me?” Then we’d hug each other and laugh at this silly little joke that he’s played on us the last few years.

A friend of mine kindly and gently said “There is such a difference in your pain and fatigue than that of others. I can’t imagine what you deal with physically and emotionally every day…” Truth is she gets grief. She understands the toll that it takes on my mind and body every day.

This year I decided to make a change. I knew within a few days I had probably made a huge mistake. I can’t for the life of me figure out why I have this deep desire to keep teaching. I think a big part is that I don’t want to be portrayed a quitter. This was the plan when Bryan started college and Patrick started kindergarten. I would teach, but then Patrick died.

I keep trying to fix it and get back on track. I keep trying to do what I’m supposed to do. I keep trying to appear normal and act like everything is fine and that somehow I have conquered grief and have moved on with my life. But, I have not done any of those things. I’m still stuck on March 14, 2018.

I have not conquered grief. It has invaded every piece of my life. It directs my path and leads me to painfully dark places. It torments me and keeps me awake at night. Grief guides my thoughts and it understands all too well that good days aren’t deserved. It quickly snatches away what little happiness I find. At the beach this weekend, I thought it would be just as good a time as any to just keep walking out farther and farther into the water. I chose to stay here again… If there was a foolproof and painless way I’m almost certain I would take it.

I am bitter and unkind. I tire so easily of everything. I’m not ‘on the ball’ or ‘on top of my game.’ I am a spectacle to be judged by those who do not know the toll that grief has taken. I am on high alert. I am fragile and overly sensitive. My physical body feels old and worn out. Molehills quickly become mountains. I cannot cope. I feel desperate and sad.

Conway Twitty fades in and out…”But it’s only make believe…”

Friendship

friendship: the state of being friends

One of the hardest things to deal with after a death is the way people treat you. There are those people that are genuinely concerned for you and are with you every step of the way. There are the nosy ones who just want information so they can inform everyone else or feel important because they ‘know’ something. There are the ones that you thought were your friends but you never hear from them again, and then there are the ones that were there for awhile but have drifted away for one reason or another. I’ve experienced all of these types of friends in the last year and a half.

Friendship has become a tricky thing for me since Patrick died. Growing up and even well into adulthood I always had few close friends. I was not Ms. Popularity and didn’t have the need to be surrounded by a lot of people. Then Patrick came along and demanded people in our lives! I had plenty of friends, good friends. In the last few years I never doubted the depth of my friends’ loyalty, I could count on them and they could count on me. It seemed to me that for the first time in my life friendships were easy and abundant.

Now sometimes, I feel like I’m the new kid at school, screaming desperately inside, ‘pick me!’ Sometimes I’m left wondering what happened, where did you go? Did I talk too much about Patrick? Did I cry in front of you? Are you afraid if we stay friends your child might die in some freak accident, too? Did I not react the ‘right’ way and follow some predetermined model of a grieving mother? Are you afraid if we talk about Patrick I’ll be sad? A year and a half ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about people coming and going out of my life. It’s life. People get busy with their own lives. Everyone has a lot going on. It’s just the way things are and chances are we’d eventually reconnect when our individual lives settled down to some kind of ‘normal’ routine.

But in grief, it’s different. I found myself craving to be around people. I needed a good solid friend, someone who truly was OK with whatever I was feeling or thinking. I also needed to relearn that lesson we’ve all seen where Madea tells us to ‘let folks go!’ I was expecting too much from friends. I was expecting branches to be roots.

I think I’ve found my new tribe.

You can tell them bad news and they’ll listen. You tell them good news and they will help you celebrate.
Jordan Peterson

Angry

Talk about bouncing around the stages of grief… Lately, I feel like one of those super bouncy balls. I’ve been through every stage of grief this past month and sometimes I’ve been through every stage in a matter of minutes ala M’Linn in Steel Magnolias at the cemetery.

This morning I wanted to cuss the charging cord in my car, the super thick sliced bacon, the humidity, and anything else that didn’t sit right with me this morning… and believe me, there is a long list today.

I want somebody to fix it. But, it can’t be fixed. It’s mine to deal with. Oh God is supposed to be there, all that never forsake you and so on but I can’t seem to find God for myself. He seems just out of reach for me. If he did show up would I even recognize that it was God? I don’t know what do about God so I mostly stew and stay mad. I’m still mad that my prayers went unanswered. I still want to know WHY? What purpose is this serving? Where’s the good in it all? I’m trying to put the puzzle back together but someone took some of the pieces and they won’t give them back!

What I want most in this world, I can’t have. There is no fix. I want to spend the day with Patrick. I want to hug him forever and talk to him. I want to make him some soups (yes, he called it soups 😉). I want to spend time looking at every box of lego and telling him he doesn’t have enough money to buy the set he wants, only to give in and buy it for him. I want to take him to the park and hear him get upset when it’s time to leave. I want to hear him humming and singing, running through the house, jumping on the couch and pulling all the cushions off. I want to hear him beg for just 5 more minutes before bed or ask for 1 more chapter to be read. I want to hear him talk about his day. I want to hear him call, ‘Mommy air hug I love you!’ from his room. I want to tell him how much I love him and how proud I am of him.

September has been an incredibly hard month. Yesterday was 18 months since I held, talked to, played with Patrick. 547 days. 21 hours. 59 minutes. 59 seconds.

No title…

Note: I've sat on this post and thought about whether to publish it or not.  I started this blog to show my true feelings about losing Patrick and how I deal with the day to day grief of losing my child.  This is not my best post but, it is honest about how I am feeling today.  And we all know the truth about feelings--they are tricksy(yes, tricksy), ever changing, and are easily manipulated.

Not much left to do today–I plan to wipe down the kitchen, have to go to the hospital for blood work, have a chiro appt. and then hopefully get some sleep tonight because tomorrow my little Patrick is going to be here!!!!!!!
Me 9/8/2010

I had so many things I wanted to write out today but when I try to write it’s just not there. Anything of substance that I wanted to say is replaced with a searing red hot anger and self pity. Anger that Patrick is not here. Anger that this is my life. Anger with the decision I made to take a road trip on March 14th. Anger that the people driving behind me were not paying attention. Anger that everything in my life is forever changed. I want to kick and scream and have a fit! I want somebody to give in and let me have my way. It’s not fair that I went from the pictures above to the picture below in 7.5 years.

Tomorrow is a day I have to endure. There will be no joy or excitement of waking up, snapping a picture first thing in the morning and singing, ‘happy birthday’. There’s nothing that anybody can say or do to make it better–Oh how I wish there were! I’d line them up and let them tell me it all day long! There’s no amount of distraction that will make the day easier. Will I feel like Jesus is there with me making the day somewhat bearable? Probably not; but, I’ll pray anyway, maybe… Then tomorrow will be over and the next day I will have to get up and go on about my life again like everything is fine. It’s never going to be fine again. There is nothing to erase the pain. It’s never going to be okay and the days ahead are never going to be as good as they could have been. There’s always going to be that pang of sadness no matter how good of a day it was. Some(ONE)thing will always be missing.

Grief is this daunting and continual climb out of a deep, muddy, and slippery pit. It’s been a long while since I’ve been this far down in the pit. I get tired of climbing. I want to escape the feelings that weigh heavy in my heart and keep my brain from settling down, the feelings that make my stomach hurt and my head pound. I want to feel normal again. I want to experience life again without the constant knowledge of crippling grief. I want to be free of knowing that it all can change in a second.

I won’t sleep tonight. It won’t be the same kind of sleepless night I had 9 years ago. No, this one will be full of tears, regret, a wish for a do-over, and a prayer that tomorrow morning never gets here.