Saturday, January 11, 2014

Grief is a funny creature. For several hours a day it is a shadow lurking behind you. Then suddenly for no noticeable reason it springs, covering you to a point of near smothering. Sometimes during the day I can be distracted to the point of enjoying myself. Then the overwhelming guilt takes over.

There are moments of clarity. Yesterday a woman came in and was complaining about her day. She casually said that she shouldn't complain because there was always somebody having a worse day than you. Feeling sorry for myself I thought, "No, I'm pretty sure I'm having the worst fucking day imaginable." The next customer is a lady I know well. Her daughter was born with a serious disease that for eight years has kept her confined to a bed, or a stroller on outings. She is not expected to live much past her childhood. Yet I have never seen this woman sit around feeling sorry for herself. It hit me that I have so much to be thankful for.

I loved watching Jason during his childhood. He ran, climbed, jumped. I watched him play football, baseball, basketball. He had girlfriends. He had fathers chasing him out of houses. I sat with him all night after his first broken heart.

Jason was one of those people who was honest to the point of embarrassing people. He would tell stories of his late night escapades at the breakfast table. My mom would say, "You just said that to your grandma!" One evening, after visiting his girlfriend, he came home and pulled off his shirt. He asked me if he had scratches down his back. Lee is watching television and says wryly, "We get it; your getting laid."

There are tons of things Jason is going to miss out on. There are moments that as his mother I am going to feel as if my heart is getting ripped out. Much like Prometheus I am going to constantly be healed only to be opened up again. This will continue for the rest of my life. Happy moments are going to be as bad as the sad ones, because he won't be there to share them with us. However, I do have many beautiful memories of my son enjoying life. I realize things like this in moments of clarity.

Then, while in a crowd, watching Lanes basketball games tears spring to my eyes. The thought that my boys will never all three be together again crushes me. All of the best days of my life are behind me.

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