We are all displaced and flailing about, desperately grabbing any piece of you that we can hold on to. Letting you go is not possible. I’m not confident it ever will be. Your clothes have lost your smell, so I have been parting with some of them, but I cannot part with them all. Losing your scent was one of my hardest discoveries. In those days after your passing, I always had your scent, and now it is only a memory.
Your firstborn is struggling, but you always knew that he would, had he ever lost you, and we’ve talked about that before. I always told you, “what would Tyler do, if something happened to you?”, when you weren’t taking care of yourself, or making healthy decisions. It always worked, because you KNEW Tyler would be destroyed, without his best friend. He is in a very dark place, and he fights with that every day by working too much, and taking mini trips away from reality, and everything that compels him to face his loss head on. He can’t hold your hand the way he did when he was a child, and you were driving him back to his mother, and he just wanted to stay with you.
And Reagan….he misses you, Ross. I know you used to joke around, that the kids didn’t miss you when you traveled, because you would come back home, and they would say, “did you bring drinks?”, and we would all laugh. The thing is….it was never about that. Reagan LOVED you with every ounce of his being. You made him laugh more than anyone did, and you brought such joy to his days. You were the one he always wanted to make proud, his daddy. Now he cries every day, gets upsets easily over small things, and he relives that day over and over. If I could take anything AWAY from him, it would be for him to NOT be here, on the day that you died. If I could GIVE him anything, it would be a peaceful nights sleep and sweet dreams. He woke up yesterday morning, in a fit of sweat and tears, calling for you. I wrapped myself around him, and we cried together. It was a gut wrenching cry, Ross. He told me about his dream, and it shattered my heart into a million pieces. I debated on blogging about his dream, and I decided that this is my blog, and my choice on what I want to share or not share. If someone doesn’t want to read this, then please don’t. I only have room in my life for those who are willing and able to emotionally support me and my children, so please reframe from any comments to me personally that will hurt me any further than I already am.
You came home, and you hugged us and we all were so happy. It was a good dream, Reagan said, and even as he was telling me the story, his eyes were dancing. But then he told me that you were covered in dirt, as if you had risen from the grave, and the dream became the nightmare that woke him up. I wish I could erase this nightmare from his memory, my dear sweet boy. The harsh reality of him leaning over you, trying to revive you……will never leave my soul, and that is what haunts me more than anything.
I had a dream as well, and it was a nice, loving one. You came home, as you always did. We heard your noisy diesel truck in the driveway, and it ran for awhile, which it did sometimes, because you were almost always stuck on the phone for work. We all waited in anticipation, even the dogs!! I remember thinking, “do NOT go out there, because what if it isn’t him, or what if we are imagining him?”, so I didn’t move a muscle, and neither did the kids. The dogs paced back and forth anxiously.
You entered, and it was hysteria and happiness and tears and whimpers!! We cried and spent real quality time with one another, and then we decided to go for a drive, because the day was lovely. We rolled our windows down, and we turned the music up. You did your little dances, and made up your silly words, and the kids and I giggled at your antics. It was the most wonderful drive we’ve ever taken, and we wanted to drive forever. Going back home was not an option, because going back home might mean losing you again.
I’m not sure what it was that woke me up, but I reached up and my face was wet and cold. I remember the rage I felt, and I fought hard to fall back asleep, and get back into that truck, with the sunshine through the sun roof, and my stomach aching from laughter. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t go back to you and our drive on that beautiful breezy day.
I HAD solace that Bailey’s autism was shielding her, and keeping her in a state of normalcy, but that is not the case. She is HEARTBROKEN. She asked me if I was going to die next. Will SHE die next? Is it HER fault that her daddy died? Why hasn’t he come back? She said, “he always comes home”, and I lost my composure, and there we were, in this heaping mess. My beautiful daughter, so full of confusion and such a deep sadness. It is more than any mother can bear, seeing their children drowning in such an overwhelming sorrow.
Our family is broken now, and all we can do is push forward and start rebuilding. We are moving to New Braunfels in 11 days, and all I can think about, is how I am leaving you behind. I am leaving you, to start this difficult journey without you. What if you come back, and I am not there? What if you are watching me from heaven, and you are hurting because I am moving away? And these are thoughts….they flood my mind, implode my heart, and keep me awake every night. I am not ready to give myself permission to move on. I am not happy to have bought a house with money that I received because of your death. I am not ready, and I’d rather have you back. It’s time for you to come back.