Reaching Out

Originally posted by me as dakotaismyson March 10, 2020

Today I discovered 2 things:

1. My mom and dad read my blog. Kinda nice to know people who love me are sort of watching out to make sure their kiddo doesn’t lose herself in “this”. (Hi, momma and papa)

   
   

2. Reaching out to strangers who have been through this isn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be and the supportive “I’m so sorry for your loss” text – coming from someone who knows – held comfort.

That said, next Monday my hubby, daughter, and myself will attend our first “survivors” support group meeting. I sent the coordinator a text and let her know that I am, frankly, quite scared to go. I mean, this is all very raw and I wanted to make sure there was no real expectation that I stand up and say things if I wasnt ready. I was assured that isnt the case.

What made me finally call isnt even grief or guilt that I failed in my foremost duty of protecting my son. It’s that I need comfort that isn’t platitudinous and possible anger issues. I rediscovered today that I absolutely suck at taking my own heart felt advice. I tell Jess to be patient and kind with others… something my Dad seems good at from what I learned. But me? Bull in a China shop. I’ve lost my temper with a few people I care about at work and I had to forcibly keep myself in check with the hubby over the weekend. He – above all else – loves me like no other and I know he means me comfort. I almost barked (again he was a survivor before I started dating him) at him with a “but it isn’t your child!” Thank the dogs I didn’t. He is a rock and I love him and realized I need an outlet. I need other moms. Maybe he needs this, too. I think Jess does.

I think I do.

Today wasn’t A Bad Day. Sure, I lost it at work once and snipped at my boss for trying hard to say kind and inspiring words. But I only broke once. Dad made me feel a little better about my momentary insanity the other day when he said I just reacted to that text because that has been ‘normal’ for so long. He’s right, but I’m still a bit aghast about that moment.

Still no death certificate in the mail. I need that but I’m scared of it, too. My whole life I’ve never been scared of much. I’ve always been one of those “I dare someone to try because I’d…” types. One of Dakotas lifelong buds told me at the memorial service how Dakota always thought I was a “bad***”. Well, I suppose a naive person who never realized what she had to lose can afford to be that way. Now I’m likely clingy with my daughter, realize the power of words and scared I’ll hurt hubby by not thinking before speaking, feel like crap for letting my ex find out about Dakota thru the rumor mill, worried to death that my parents live too far away and I’m not there enough for them, and that I’m failing at work because my mind gets lost down a chasm at the most random times. I went from worry free to worrywart at 12:23 a.m. on the 20th.

One instant and the world I spent nearly a half century building shattered. I lost my son…. and my sun. It’s like a solar eclipse… there’s light draping the land, yet not for me. For me it’s darkness and worry and fear and loss.

I wear this darkness and sadness like a banner draped across my shoulders because somehow it’s my mantle of love. The grief is mirrored by the love I have, so it’s a very thick, full banner and I’m terrified to let it go… to ease my grip. If I let that go at all… it feels like I’m letting go of my son. I can’t bear that.

I wish I could adequately explain my son. He was awesome at finding corny jokes to tell me because he knew I have a deep love for “Dad jokes”. Sometimes I would even tell ’em to my dad almost immediately (as a Dad, he of course appreciates a good dad joke). My son was just learning who he was growing up to be. He often mirrored his stepdad (antique car… long hair) and over the last few years as he grew fond of my ‘new’ hubby he started to pick up some of his traits. Hair was cut short and neat, beard trimmed… he was learning some IT functions and thinking about going back to school. What makes all of this even more tragic for me is I felt Dakota’s life coming together. He was looking at real estate, investing in stocks… asking me “random adulting” questions, doing his laundry without my whining about it, got the job he worked so hard to get. It was all lining up. Then… this.

I read last night that depression is like a cancer… sometimes you can look at someone and see they are battling it but most of the time you can’t. Some people beat it, some don’t. Like depression, it’s a disease that takes it’s toll and, sometimes, the person loses their battle. Depression is like that… those of us who have never had it don’t have the ability to comprehend what that fight must be like. And it isn’t usually visible to the outside world… and we cant know how progressed it is unless we’re told or too late, as was the case for Dakota. But depression is a killer, too.

I feel like I’ve written a ton today but it’s never enough to really empty my head. No matter what I write, the loss of my boy is always the primary all-consuming thought… the last thing I think of before sleep overtakes me and the first thing when I shush my alarm.

I miss my son.