It's selfish and not realistic but I wish everyone would be as sad and miserable as me. Or at least not as happy as they are. Seeing everyone so cheerful and excited for the Christmas season is hard....REALLY HARD. I know that they should be happy and that life didn't stop for anyone but us but it's still painful to watch all the joy play out.

I am simply dreading December.

And the urge to pull away from it all, to pull away from everyone, keeps getting stronger and stronger. I sit in the house knowing that isolating myself is exactly the opposite of what I should do. But I can't stop it. And I can't change it.

Depression like this is daunting.

Any parent that has lost a child understands it.

Any parent that has lost a child to suicide REALLY understands it.

It is the single most painful thing I have ever experienced. It's been over 7 months since CJ shot himself yet I can see every second of that day as if it's still happening. I replay it over and over and beg him in my head NOT TO DO IT.

When I'm not thinking about it, when I'm distracted for even a moment, reality crashes into my chest like a sledgehammer. It literally takes my breath away. I can't tell you how many times EACH DAY that one single thought slaps me in the face....CJ PUT A GUN TO HIS HEAD AND PULLED THE TRIGGER.

I don't want to think that.

I don't want to hear those words.

I don't want those effing words to be true.

I feel like we're living in a nightmare that won't end. I want nothing more than to wake up and have him give me a bear hug. I want him to be here to wear the shirt I have draped over my headboard instead of me clinging to it at night like a life preserver. I want him home to use all the body spray that I stocked up on instead of me keeping all those bottles in my nightstand so that his shirt never NOT smells like him.

Spent time over this holiday weekend writing back to the man that received CJ's right kidney. He and his wife wrote to us. And sent pictures. So I wrote back.

People spent the long weekend shopping and decorating.

I wrote a letter to a man that got a PIECE of my child.

If you want to know what hell looks like, spend a day inside my head.

I've started to realize that time is both my enemy and my friend. My friend because I truly know that time is the ONLY thing that will make this pain less than what it is. Nothing else can dampen the burning despair I feel inside my heart and my head...hell, even my skin, EVERY SECOND OF EVERYDAY. Time is the only thing that will offer me the numbness that I crave. It is the only thing that will allow me to ever function even partially normal again.

But it's also my enemy because with each passing day, comes one more measurable chunk of time since my son chose to leave. My enemy because my entire life is now measured in time....time before CJ left and time after. Nothing but time so clearly reminds me of what I've lost. I can tell you down to the minute how long I have been the mother of only one. Pathetic.

The holidays are simply wrong and should not happen this year...at least in my world. We will do nothing this Thursday - nothing that reminds us even REMOTELY what we no longer have. We will not cook a big meal. We will not gather with our extended family. We will not sit around the table staring at the 4th empty chair.

Enjoy your holiday with your family and your loved ones. For us, it's just another sad day of the week.

I want Connor to have a nice Christmas but I can't give it to him.

I hate that our choice, our need to avoid the most special time of year for our family (well it used to be) will ultimately effect my youngest child. I feel terrible about it - the guilt is horrible. But I can't do anything about it. I just can't. Wish there were magic elves that would swoop into our home and ensure that CJ's suicide and John's and my subsequent serious depression would not ruin Connor's Christmas. Just doesn't seem fair. Crying just thinking about it.

CJ loved Christmas.

I just can't believe he won't be here to celebrate this (or any other) Christmas season with us ever again.

I feel dead inside.

I really don't know what to say.

I feel horrible tonight. And I'm having nonstop flashback thoughts.

Can't stop envisioning where we were 7 months ago today. What we saw. How our lives ceased to exist as we know it.

I try to remember what that tiny patch of hair on the top of my Shmoopy's head felt like as I carefully caressed it without bumping the blood soaked bandage cradling his head.

I try to remember how it felt to kiss his feet as I needed to touch all parts one last time.

I try desperately to remember what that last hand hold felt like, as my first borns swollen hand rested in my heartbroken hand.

I have looked at the pictures we took of each of holding his hand for the last time. Of Connor holding his big brother's hand. Of John holding onto his dying son's tender fingers. Of me gripping my babies fingers in an attempt to never let him go.

We took those pictures for us, and only us. They will never be shared publicly. They will never be posted on FB or this blog. They are simply moments captured in time of pure and utter grief. They are truly all we have left of our beloved son.

I look at those pictures and die a million times over. I want my son back.

I can't stop crying. My life is a mess. I just don't have the coping skills to deal with this loss.

I needed you in my life forever CJ. I needed you around so I could tell you how proud I am of you even when I didn't necessarily agree with your choices.

I hope you are at peace and I'm glad you're not hurting anymore.

But now, it's my turn to hurt. And suffer.

Cuz honestly Shmoops? If it wasn't for your amazing brother and father, I wouldn't want to be here. I COULDN'T be here.

Losing my child to suicide is too hard to deal with.

Please come back CJ? Please? I would give anything to NOT have had that fight with you. To have said I love you. To have hugged you. To apologize for being a shitty mom in those last moments when you needed me most.

I would have taken that gunshot for you baby. I would have laid down my life for both you and Connor.

I just miss you so much. I can't stop crying Shmoops.

I love you.

I am not mad at CJ.

I have not been mad at him for even one second of one minute of one hour of one day of the last almost seven months.

I have not screamed at his urn, yelled at his pictures or shouted at the shirt draped over my headboard...the shirt he had just changed out of before ending his life.

I have not been mad at my son.

Because I am NOT mad at my son.

And I'm tired of people telling me that I SHOULD be.

That I AM and just don't know it.

That if I'm not YET, than I WILL BE.

For almost seven months, I have literally been dying inside. From a pain that I can't describe. A pain that I wouldn't wish on anyone.

And for almost seven months, I have clung to the words that people have offered me. The kindness and friendships extended to my entire family from people we've known forever and people we have yet to meet. It's been those words and that compassion that has truly allowed me to exist in this painful and unalterable reality.

Without those words and that contact, I'm not sure I could function.

And although I DESPERATELY want those words and that contact to continue, I decided I had to risk losing it all. That I needed to clear the air so that those people that claim to know what I'm feeling can REALLY KNOW WHAT I'M FEELING.

I AM NOT MAD AT CJ.

I refuse to be mad at someone that hurt so much inside that placing a gun to his head seemed to be the only answer.

I am not mad at CJ.

I am just simply crushed.

I miss you Shmoops.

I've been wondering a lot lately. About everything. And nothing.

Someone told me today that I seemed "better." That she could see some of the "old me."

And I sat there and wondered.

I kept thinking that that can't be true. That it's not possible. For so many reasons. More than I can list. But mainly because I'm not better. And there really is no more of the old Hallie left.

How could she think I'm better?

Sure, lots of people say that I'll get back to that person, or at least MOST of that person, someday. Somewhere. Somehow.

But I know that's not true. It really isn't. And it really can't be. Because when CJ died....when CJ left us...when CJ pulled that trigger...old Hallie died with him. People don't like when I talk like that. And they definitely don't like when I say things like that. But it's true. Really, really true.

And I don't have the energy or the interest or the desire to make them understand. So I just say it. And then I sit and quietly listen and stare as they tell me what THEY know. And what THEY think.

And I start wondering.

About so much. And so little.

I loved my son with every fiber of my being. Yet that wasn't enough.

Instead of planning his 21st birthday this year, we planned his funeral.

Instead of buying him the first alcoholic beverage we would ever give him, we bought a granite urn to hold his ashes.

Ashes. My Shmoopy is ash. Ashes contained in a black granite box.

I think my heart is in that box with him.

I wonder if that's possible.

So many questions, so many thoughts swirling through my head.

I can sit in complete silence yet it will never be quiet.