76 Days

Haven't had the urge or the desire or the energy to blog.

How many times can people tolerate hearing me say that my son killed himself?

That my son shot himself in the head?

That my 20 year old son, my firstborn child, is dead and will not celebrate his 21st birthday this weekend?

Can't imagine that anyone wants to hear me say ANYTHING anymore. All I have to say is sad. And depressing. And miserably pessimistic.

I don't feel like this is getting any easier. In many, many ways, it's getting harder. With each passing day, my reality becomes more obvious. A reality I hate with every fiber of my being.

My son is not coming back. Ever.

Ashes are all I have left.

Of my son.

My firstborn baby.

Awesome.

And I currently hate life. I do. Honestly.

I love John. I love Connor. I love my friends and family.

But I hate life in general. Which is so not me. Not at all. And it's a horrible way to feel.

And I cry. A lot. Tons and tons. At home. At work. In my car. In the shower. In bed. I cry so much. Poor John and Connor can't walk through the house most nights without finding me weeping. Nights suck. So much.

What else?

People seem to think I'm doing ok....such a joke. I'm not. I'm functioning because I have to. But I'm not ok. At all.

And now that I'm writing, people will think I'm even better.

I'm not.

I'm just sick of talking to myself.

I'm sad. And scared. And guilt laden.

I have a horrible movie that plays over and over in my head of CJ's last 5 minutes of life. Try being ok with that. Not easy.

I replay those moments PRAYING that the ending will be different. That my last words with him weren't what they were. That the last exchange we had wasn't a heated exchange. A fight. Angry words.

Try being ok with that. Not easy. Not easy at all.

Have I said I hate my life?

People have been wonderful. They reach out. They share their stories. And thoughts. And prayers.

And all I think is I WANT MY SON BACK.

NOW.

And some days they don't reach out. And it's quiet. And I hate that.

And all I still think is I WANT MY SON BACK.

NOW.

I barely answer people back. Probably most think I don't care. But I do. And I read it all. Just don't have the energy most days to say anything.

How long will people put up with me basically ignoring them?

And I worry about everything. ALL THE TIME.

And I'm much more random in my thoughts than I ever was.

But by know, after reading this, you know that. Obviously.

Again, how long will people put up with that?

I kiss his urn each day. I touch it when I walk by. I pat it.

And I think, HOW EFFED UP IS THAT? What mom wants to touch her son's urn?

I miss him so damn much.

His birthday is Saturday.

He would have been 21.

Don't forget to think about my son.

Light a CANDLE for him here. Or HERE.

Write something about him on his memorial site. Or on his FB page.

PLEASE?

I die a little bit inside each time I think he might be forgotten.

Truly a mom's worst nightmare.

I Will Never Again Read It Aloud But I Find Myself Returning To It Over and Over

"Standing here in front of you all today is the single hardest thing I have ever had to do. And standing here in front of you all today may not be the best idea. Because apparently, it’s not the norm to have a mom choose to eulogize her child. But for those of you that know me, you know I’m anything but a normal mom. And for those of you that knew my baby, you knew he was anything but a normal child. But that’s ok, because instead of ever being normal, CJ was always extraordinary.

Twenty years ago, John and I met this extraordinary little man. An adorable, mostly bald headed little guy that would change our lives forever.

And on that summer day all those years ago, as they placed him in my arms, I was the very first person to say hello to him.

Today, with my heart shattered in a million pieces, I will be the very last person to say goodbye.

It truly is the last gift I can give my beloved Shmoopy.

CJ was the light of our lives. He came into this world when John and I were practically babies ourselves. Yet, as young as we were, CJ’s arrival instantly felt right. We had no idea how to be parents and we had no idea what the future would hold, but we knew we loved that little man with an intensity that shocked us both.

Oh, how we loved him.

And we weren’t the only ones. CJ had a way, even as a baby, to make everyone love him.

I can honestly say, as I stand here, that my boy did that throughout his whole life.

CJ was, in the simplest of terms, a lover. A lover of life, a lover of friends and most importantly, a lover of family.

And for those of us that he loved, we sure knew it. Because CJ made us know it. And he made us remember it.

Thankfully, I have 20 years of memories of CJ loving on us. And although those memories will sustain us as we somehow find the strength to move forward without our precious firstborn, I can’t help cry out in anger that I don’t get to make more memories. That our future no longer holds the promise of many tomorrows as a family of four.

As CJ lay in that hospital bed, I told him how mad I was at him. How very, very mad I was that he took away my right to grow old watching my two boys live life to the fullest. But really, I wasn’t mad at all. I was and am, simply crushed. Crushed that I won’t get to see CJ be the man that I absolutely know he would have been, to see him be the wonderful daddy that I always knew he would be, and to see him walk proudly by his brothers side as they leaned on each other to navigate this crazy world.

Mostly though, I am crushed that I won’t get to see that smile again…that smile that has truly been melting the worlds heart since day one. CJ could and did light up a room simply by walking into it and flashing that big, beautiful, no braces necessary cheesy smile. It’s the cheesy smile he’s had since he was a toddler. It’s the cheesy smile you could see even when he happily toddled around with a giant rubber pacifier in his mouth. It’s the cheesy smile that was so big it touched every part of his face. It will forever and always be MY cheesy smile.

It’s a smile I hope you all remember as you think about our beloved son.. as you remember how you met him, how you knew him or how he touched your life. I hope that each and every one of you thinks of my baby now and again, with a smile on your face…a big fat cheesy smile if you can manage it. And I hope with all my might that his legacy of joy and his zest for life lives on within us for eternity.

CJ, you were my everything. And I’d give ANYTHING to have you back.

*I want you back so you can poke me over and over and over until I’m just about ready to scream.

*I want you back so you can hug me more in one setting than any one person can actually tolerate.

*I want you back so you can argue with me and roll your eyes, as if to say, “yeah right mom, whatever."

*I want you back so you and Connor can argue over what color jello to bring dad and I in the nursing home.

*I want you back so you can strut around in front of the mirror and tell us how truly good looking you really are.

*I want you back so you can walk through our front door and yell out, “well, hello there” to announce your arrival.

*I want you back so you can steal my Diet Coke and I can threaten to ground you if you don’t give it back.

*I want you back so you can tell me that I didn’t fail as your mom.

Mostly CJ, I just want you back to drive me crazy. Cuz boy oh boy, Shmoops, did you drive us crazy. You were not easy to parent, not easy at all. You were an old soul from day one and you sure knew how to push our buttons. But I’d give anything to have you push them all at one time again. Crazy, huh? Bet you’d never think you’d hear your mom give you permission to do that CJ, did you?

And I know CJ, that you CAN hear me. Because parts of you live on in others even as I speak. Can’t believe that it was just one year ago that you sat in Boston and listened to me read the letter I wrote to the family that donated a heart to your grandfather. You sat and cried as I thanked that family for giving the greatest gift any family can give to another. You hugged me and told me how proud you were of me.

And now today, I sadly sit on the other side of that equation. Today, because of you, not only do I know what it’s like to have a loved one receive the gift of life, but I now know what it’s like to have a loved one give the gift of life. And you know what CJ? I would have preferred to have never known that second part. Leave it to you to make me really put my money where my mouth is. Guess you knew that Dad and I would have the strength to carry out your wishes and give of you to help so many others. You really did like to have the last word didn’t you kiddo?

CJ, I pray that you’ve finally found the peace that you were looking for and that you are no longer suffering. I pray that although we will never truly be completely happy again, that you are now happier than you’ve ever been. I pray that you will watch over us all and help us each find a new normal without you. I especially pray that you stick close by Connor and help guide him on his journey. You may not be with him physically anymore but as your mom I INSIST you stay with him in spirit. He’s going to need to know that his big brother will always be there for him as he will always be there for you.

CJ, when you were about 2 ½ years old, and you wanted something from us, you would place your hands on daddy’s or my cheeks, look straight into our eyes and boldly ask, “ARE YOU SINKIN’ WHAT I’M SINKIN‘?

Well now CJ, it’s Dad and I that hold your precious face as we ask you the same thing. “Are you SINKIN’ what we're sinkin’?"

“Are you sinkin’ that we will miss you every day of our lives? Are you sinkin’ that we are honored that you chose us to be your mom and dad? And are you sinkin’ that we will always love you with that same intensity that we felt from the get go?"

CJ, I may not ever be able to tell you what to do again, but I’m telling you now as the last mom words I ever get to say to you, you BETTER be sinkin' those things.

Cuz Shmoopy, no truer words have ever been spoken.

I love you.

It's like losing you all over again.

As if saying goodbye to you on April 15th wasn't hard enough.

Why did THIS news hit us so hard?

Can't stop thinking how sad it is.

I wanted to believe your heart was out there beating...somewhere.

That poor family.

To have had only a brief chance.

I grieve for them.

But for us, more.

Selfishly, I want your heart with us.

If it couldn't work for someone else, I wish it was with your ashes.

Makes no sense.

I know.

But true.

I know it was no more important than any other organ.

Three people woke up today because of you.

A man with your lungs.

A man with your right kidney.

A woman with your liver.

But your heart.

Is gone.

As is your left kidney.

Those people died...trying.

How tragic.

Yet reality.

My baby.

Your heart.

Is gone.

I know it was no more important than any other organ.

But it was.

It was your heart.

I miss you Shmoops.