April Showers

Our vacation did exactly what I intended; distract me from the first holiday season without my son.  It was only a couple days after Enzo died, I knew I couldn't be at home this Christmas. I told Brad I didn't really care where we went, but I wanted Christmas Day to not be in our home. There are too many holiday memories in this house. We still have glitter on the wall from our years with the Glitter Bomb Christmas Tree fiasco. Sometimes, I still vacuum up glitter.  I couldn't be at home this year. Not this one.  And my support group has taught me that's ok. It's quite normal and there's nothing unhealthy about it. There's no wrong way to grieve. So the best gage for your grief is doing what seems right. So, we booked a cruise. Months ago, because part of the healing was in the anticipation of trying something new. No one in the family has been on one, so it was perfect. Our youngest, Keirsey, decided she didn't feel comfortable going. While that was sad...

I've known it was coming for about a month.  A breakdown. A moment. A time. A mourning.  I spoke about it to my counselor. "There is a time coming where I'm going to lose it. I'm going to be alone and I'm taking out his clothes and I will lose my shit." Today was that day. Coming home from the grocery store, I knew it would be over 3 hours before Brad would be home. I'm suppose to shampoo the carpets and bake a pie. Enzo's favorite pie. Sweet Potato Pie.  But instead, I took 3 ibuprofen (grieving gives you all kinds of body aches) and made a Dr Pepper Zero.  I poured a shot of whiskey and toasted to my son.  "I miss you, kiddo."  Downed it.  Kiddo. I called him that from day one. I called all my boys in Anderson Home that.  They're all still kiddo, no matter how old they get.  Enzo made sure to let me know he loved being called Kiddo by his mom.  "A term of endearment only you use for me. That's a mom thing," he ...

I think anyone whose suffers tremendous loss can say life is split in two: before and after.  Oh, that was before. Well, after I lost my son... I remember because it was 5 weeks after. I bought this dress before they died. They never got to see this shirt. This trip was 1 year before we lost her. And on and on. I've bought 5 bottles of hairspray since Enzo died. I know this because everytime I have to buy something, even as simple as deodorant, I feel like it takes me further away from the last hug, the last time I saw him. I desperately want to hold on to everything I had when he was alive as a way of holding onto him. I guess I can understand why some people start hoarding after tragedy.  It's stupid stuff. Shampoo bottles. My razor. Shoes. Eyeliner. Everything I own is split into one of two places: before or after.  Yet, the things that should be more meaningful and sentimental, I can't bring myself to look at. Like the socks I bought for him that he had in his suitcas...

My support group asked the question:  What's a new rule your family has since losing your loved one to suicide?    You mean that's normal? That's ok? It's not a negative thing we have to eventually give up doing?  Because now, we can all check on each other via Life360. Anytime, just see where we all are. We very rarely call or text to ask "where are you?" bc we can look. We can see each other, though we are miles apart.  Enzo refused to be part of Life360. He didn't want us to know his location. We would've been alarmed at his unusual activities I think, and he knew that. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's what I believe.  Now, it's not so much an option anymore. We're all on Life360 and I check on my family several times a day. We respond quicker to missed calls and texts.  New rules created in your family after a traumatic loss are not bad. It's normal. And I'm so glad to learn that. 

The support group I attend mentioned that journaling could help during grief. They also said writing down all the awful, terrible things you can't say out loud, then burning it, is therapeutic. I plan to try that soon. I have awful, terrible things I need to say, to acknowledge. But I can't say them. I can't put them down here, in a blog.  The support group, while exhausting, is exactly what I need. The things I think about are being discussed. I'm not crazy. I'm not out of control. It's ok that I'm not as social right now. And there are others that hurt like I am, but that's just it. I'm hurting. I'm not suffering.  I was suffering the weeks following Enzo's suicide. Pain is a healthy, normal response. It hurts but it's not wrong. It will soften over time.  Suffering is extra. Added. Expanded. Suffering doesn't soften. It gets worse until it's interrupted. It must be changed.  I suffered. And then I started counseling. I started ...

I've been avoiding the grocery store. I knew I was doing it, but I think I understand why now. That's been a big deal for me, knowing the "why" behind the decisions I make as this new person. I used to LOVE the grocery store, the shopping, running into people I know and having a quick chat. I'm a social person and I loved everything about shopping and being out. I would plan an entire day to just be out and about; visiting my favorite shops, smiling at strangers. It was soothing to me. The way some people want to be home, I wanted to be out. Just out. Just going and doing things.  But over the last several weeks, Brad and I have gone without food to cook. I've simply sat in my chair, my stomach aching with hunger and I just... sat there. After awhile, we would order food to be delivered or Brad would grab something on his way home. I would rather spend $1,000 on a single meal than go to the grocery store. I would do anything to NOT go. Why? Why the sudden chan...

Dear April, Its that time of year! You love it, don't you?! It's exciting; deadlines to met, students enrolling, and lots of places to be! The hustle and bustle of back to school is reminiscent of the holiday season. The rush with one goal in mind. But this year is different and you're keeping yourself laser focused on WHY this year is more difficult instead of just letting it be. So let's talk. Listen, it's ok that you can't handle as big of a mental load right right but it's not ok for you to degrade yourself because you are struggling. This is a season with more to do, but you have to acknowledge that you have an extra heavy load this time around. It's the year of firsts for you. Allow that. Let that happen. Take an extra hour when you get home to sit. No, I mean JUST SIT. Your brain is trying to restructure after suffering something it does not know how to fix. Right now, your mind is grappling with loss. It's desperately trying to connect to som...

 Enzo set up Tweets to go out for 6 months after his death. While this is morbid and it absolutely destroys me to read them when they go out, it's also VERY Enzo. He talked about this very thing with Brad and I several times, about how funny it would be and controversial. The conversation always ended with "No, but really...." as if to indicate it could happen. For awhile these Tweets became my life. Every notification from Twitter sent me into a tail spin of emotions and panic attacks. That's subsided, thank the universe. Now I read them with the weight of everything on me. I know what most of them say because those closest to him saw the Tweets he set up just a few days after he took his life. So it's nothing I haven't seen already, but the words going out into the void of the internet- it's shocking. My son is still talking after his death. Seeing his thoughts after he's gone, there are no words for that.  "My body is gone, but my spirit remain...

I've been reading the book "The Body Keeps the Score." The entire book I've thought about Enzo and the Why? behind his suicide.  The answer is very clear. Stark. Loud. Screaming, yet a hateful whisper. It's a tortured sound with no actual noise. It's sinister and abhorrent in the ugly truth that it tells. If you knew Enzo well enough, you know instantly what it is. I'm not making allegations, I'm telling my son's story when people ask me why. If you want to know, you can simply read the book. Enzo's story is in there, between the lines and revelations of what trauma does to your body and mind.  It's inside this book I've seen what he was trying to say, I can hear the voices, the suicidal thoughts that haunted him and kept coming back, over and over. I understand now how it was impossible for him to control or conquer those thoughts. He didn't have the right tools. And my soul breaks, it mourns in an entirely new way that only a hand...

There exist a place where you are forever 24 and I am forever happy to be your Mom. You are forever 24 but no where in sight. I'm learning to find you in strange and odd things that are forced on me, like sunset that has a little extra beauty when it dips behind the horizon and the peace lily that thrives on the porch. You told me several times the sunset is where you will be. So it's there I look for you, but even then- there is no conversation. There is no healing in the silence. I find myself dreading Mother's Day. You're not here to text or call me. This year, there will be no acknowledgement of my place in your life as Mom, yet you were always so clear about it. "You're my mom, so deal with it." You told me that more than once, several times actually.  "I chose you, so there you have it. You're my Mom."  I find myself wanting to scream from depths I never knew existed. I want to crumble, like I did when the police officers stood in my li...

I've noticed something in the last week.  I've been trauma dumping on a couple of acquaintances. Not my friends, these are people I don't know very well and I'm spilling my guts to them about my grief. I instantly recognized it and knew it was very unhealthy. I think it's my way of protecting my friendships and family relationships, I don't want to burden my loved ones and friends, so I've overshared with people that know the situation, but don't know ME that well.  In case you might not know: trauma dumping is unlike venting. According to Google, it's "sharing trauma without permission, in an inappropriate place and time, to someone who may not have the capacity to process it."  The second time I did it, I walked away in shame. Thoughts bombarded me like "I can't even grieve correctly. Why can't I control this? What's wrong with me? Why am I such a complete fuck up? Get your shit together, April." Easy to recognize th...

When I was 11 years old, my parents took me to a craft show on a Saturday afternoon. Boredom from hell is the only way to describe it. I wanted to leave. I shuffled my feet and looked at the floor, only glancing up ever so often. We turned the corner and there was a booth with handmade items, mostly stuffed animals.  I saw him instantly. A monkey. His face, his eyes, they all called out to me.  Running over, I picked him up and realized he was a puppet. EVEN BETTER! Instantly, my eyes teared up. There was something special about this handmade monkey and my heart nearly burst with excitement. I was 100% in love! "Mom, Can I have him?" Somehow, I knew this monkey was a boy.  "Please, please, please," I begged, but this wasn't your normal "Can I have this candy bar" begging. I don't ever remember feeling so desperate for anything. He cost $20. In 1988, that was a little more than my parents wanted to pay. "No."  I was stunned. "Mom, you...

When two police officers stood in my living room just after midnight on March 1st to tell me my son had taken his life a few hours before, I doubled over to my knees. I groaned, but my voice had lost all power.  I kept saying "no" over and over. I repeated it and added "he's my baby boy," thinking it would somehow make him appear in my living room. What I did not do was cry. There were just no tears. None. I instantly thought "Does this mean I don't love him? Why am I not crying?"  I know now why I didn't cry. I think my body wasn't ready. I think my body knew how much I would cry once reality set in, once the officers left and Brad and I stood in our living room in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Once I called Enzo's biological sister. Once I called his chosen sisters. Once I called my parents. Once I called my boss.  March 28th marked one month without my son. I had mentally prepared for the day. I carried my crystal. I was ...

 The Letter I Read at Enzo's Memorial When you lose a loved one, every always says “so in so was different. So in so was unique and special.” And they are right, but when I say that about Enzo- there’s something deeper behind that. There’s something beyond just saying he is different and unique. Enzo operated on a different frequency than everyone else. He experienced earth, relationships, love and all of life in another dimension. Each of us are limited by our conscience and Enzo strived to go beyond his. Enzo felt restrained and held back by his own body. He wanted to taste life outside of what his mental capacity would allow, and he expressed his feelings and thoughts on that often. We discussed parallel universes and timelines outside what we are experiencing right now. These discussions were foreign to me. I had never thought about life other than what it is. Just life. At first, I listen to him in silence but as these conversations happened more and more, and I started list...

 For weeks I felt something, sensed something. A premonition? A sense of dread? I don't know how to describe it. I did not mention to anyone. How do you do that anyway? "Hey, so I've been feeling like something absolutely terrible is coming. What do you think that is?"  Everyone would have said "I mean, ok, but that's probably nothing. Just pray," or whatever you say to someone that feels a sense of horrible awfulness.  On Monday, something was off. I felt a deep hurt in my stomach. Maybe I was getting sick? I was in the bathroom a lot that day. I had several thoughts.  "This doesn't feel like a bug. It's something else. It's weird. I've never felt this before, but I definitely do not feel good." I had no idea it was connected to the premonition, the gut feeling that something was coming that would ruin me, devastate me. These are not thoughts you say out loud. Ever. Looking back, over a week later, I know. The dread I felt for ...