Time Marches On

Originally posted by me as dakotaismyson March 13, 2020

One of the hardest things to deal with is the fact that life continues around me like nothing happened. Like my (and my family’s) world wasn't just rocked to the core. I don’t blame anyone for that… they all have their lives and their joys and struggles and routines to deal with. I don’t want to burden them with the ‘misery loving company’ thing… so to the rest of the world (outside of my parents, daughter, and hubby) I hide behind a mask. Maybe even them, to some degree. Yesterday and Tuesday I really realized that I can do that… wear a mask. People at work started being “normal” around me. People who hadn’t said “mornin'” or anything else started to speak again. Employees came to me with issues. Boss came to me with assignments. I guess this should be expected.

My son only died 3 weeks ago. I find it amazing that the world falls for that mask. I guess it’s easier for them. Its exhausting for me. Utterly exhausting to be “ok”. Every night I’m ready for bed by 8 pm.

I still find myself looping through my last talk with my son. I stand by my statement that, if this was going to happen, at least he knew his mom loved him and was trying to get to him… that the last voice he heard was mine. But the plague of that is that I can’t seem to stop replaying it. I’m always telling myself what other things I should have said. I’m always asking myself if saying “that” would change where I am now. I can never know. Funny how knowing I can never know doesn’t stop me from asking.

How can life be so cruel to someone so inherently and genuinely kind, like my son? He couldn’t stand anyone or anything hurting. His nature was to save things. Turtles on the road, dogs abandoned in the neighborhood, kids who couldn’t stand up for themselves, people who had it bad, challenged individuals, you name it. He never said mean things. I can’t remember one time that he was ever mean or cruel, even if he was mad. The only exclusion to that rule is if he felt someone else wasn’t behaving on a kind manner… that could trigger his anger. Maybe he always turned it inward, I don’t know.

I would give up my own life to protect my kids… to allow them happiness in their own lives. I’m sure a majority of moms would. Being a mom is a gift… even now I wouldn’t trade my time with Dakota unless it were a sacrifice to save him. Why couldn’t the world pile his struggles and strife on me? I would carry that for him (and my daughter, too). As parents we learn to carry huge loads for our family, and I’d gladly and gratefully accept Dakota’s or Jess’s burdens for them. It’s my primary role in life: love and protect my kids.

And I failed.

I couldn’t/didn’t help. I couldn’t/didn’t protect him from himself.

My parents are religious and firmly have faith they will see my son again. What a beautiful thought. What a beautiful and comforting belief. I was raised that way and have no idea what I believe. My dad said if he’s wrong and that isn’t what happens, at least Dakota is still at peace. Either belief is, to some degree, a comfort.

It’s this survival thing that is tough. This being left behind. This learning how to “cope”. The gaping hole in my life and soul that sucks the color from my world. The devastation on our lives. The lack of hope and joy. The anger at having zero recourse. The guilt of failing someone you love so dearly. The falling asleep with heart aching only to wake up and be surprised at how many tears you still have left. The unexpected lurch of agony when a certain song plays or someone says something.

I usually end these blogs saying I miss my son. Those 4 words don’t even come close to conveying what that means. It’s a loss so complete. It’s an ache that penetrates my soul. It’s understanding for the first time in my life what “bad days” really are. Its constant worry that I am failing my family because this grief consumes so very much of me. Its fear that I won’t ever be able to move past it. Its fear that I dont want to because it will be moving on… which still equates to betrayal in my head and heart.

I miss my son.