Enzo

 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 weeks and the feeling on Monday; no one will ever convince me it wasn't my spirit telling me about Enzo. If only I had recognized it and called him. If I had paid more attention, maybe a phone call could have kept him here longer. I'll never know though, and that thought will linger with me for life. The only thing comforting about that dread and how I felt on Monday is this: that's how close I was to Enzo. I knew. I simply knew without knowing. 

At approximately 9 p.m. on February 28, 2022, my son took his life in Woodward, Okla. with a self inflicted gun shot wound to his right temple. He called 9-1-1 first, reported a suicide, and waited until they arrived to make sure trained professionals were near. 
Once they arrived and saw him, they called out him and he immediately stepped behind a semi truck where no one could see him and there was no chance of him harming anyone else. He used a pillow to muffle the sound, then pulled the trigger.

It took about 3 hours for two police officers to show up at our door and knock. It's a moment I will replay for the rest of my life. It was the hardest words I've ever heard in my life. 

"You know Josiah Brooks... we regret to inform you he passed away. We are so sorry." My entire world, my life, and my soul crumbled. Instantly, I felt separated from my own body and couldn't even cry.
I had Enzo put me down as his emergency contact when he lived with us. I had asked him just a few weeks prior if I was still his contact. Yes. 

The officers gave us the detective's contact information left after a few moments. Brad and I stood in the living room. I have no idea what we said or how long we stood there. My first thoughts included his biological family. I had to make phone calls and couldn't process that Enzo was no longer somewhere on Earth, anywhere on Earth. 

I went to the bathroom and called his sister. I told her. Once I said the words, my tears started and they haven't stopped since. After a brief conversation with his sister, I called my daughter, his "chosen sister." I won't go into details here, but Keirsey left to come to our house almost immediately. My next call was my boss, then my parents. At some point, Brad must have made some phone calls, too because our oldest daughter, Shauna showed up.

Time was still and quiet but my body and mind were screaming with what I can only call torture.

From 1 a.m. to 3  a.m. on March 1, 2022, our living room housed family closest to Enzo We grieved and wept the most bitter tears a human can cry.

I know the next day, I spoke on the phone to many people and can't recall a single one. It's blurry, but I know my sister in law and mom showed up.  I know they held me as I wept for my son. 

My son. Enzo was my son in every single aspect that's possible except biologically. Neither of us cared about that and I stopped trying to label our parent/child relationship a long time ago. All that mattered is he came to our house for holidays. He got an Easter basket every year. I blew up his phone all day with messages on his birthday. We talked so often and sent each other Snapchats every single day, more than once. Sometimes, dozens and dozens  of Snapchats a day. I told him just about everything. 

Enzo was the one that listened to me as I began to deconstruct my faith and question things I was taught could never be questioned. He was patient with me as I explored new thoughts and ideas and our conversations grew more and more intense and lively as I listened to books he suggested or YouTube videos he asked me to watch. 

Enzo. My son. I will grieve for you the rest of my life. All the pictures in the world will never be enough. A lifetime with you as my son would never be enough. My only comfort left in all this, is that somehow my soul knew. A momma's heart always knows. If only I could've told you.