I Need Therapy . . .

Today is just one of the many hard days.  I think the ratio of good days vs. bad days should be changing anytime now, and then I tell myself the truth.  This is forever, and I'm pretty sure at day 167, that this isn't going to get any easier.  In fact, I think it may be getting harder as the days pass and I can't see John.  I miss him.  Did you know there was an app for keeping track of days? Yep.  It's on my phone.  I like to know how many days/months it has been.  How sad is that that someone designed an app to track the days in between?  I'm sure they meant it for special countdowns - happy countdowns, but still.

I should anticipate these bad days when I'm at home all day.  These days are bound to pop up. After all, last night was a precursor, as I had to finalize the verbiage on John's headstone (unless I change my mind . . .again).   I also woke up today to another article in the local newspaper.  At least his picture wasn't included.  That will stop your heart - seeing your child's face in the newspaper. Especially in the form of an obituary.  The obituary that I wrote for my son. Who is no longer living? Jeez. Those are hard words to pen and impossible to say out loud.  I really cannot believe it myself. Or how about picking out a photo to immortalize him with on a granite headstone, that costs thousands of dollars?  Another thing I wasn't aware of.  I did shop around, I wanted the most headstone I could get.  Hey, do you need one? Shoot me a message - I pretty much doubled the size for the same price as I was quoted locally.  I'll hook you up. 😢  

I picked out a headstone that incorporated a bench.  I think it's really nice. Sturdy.  I wanted a place to sit when I go visit.  It has a built-in granite flower pot too.  That was another big decision. Can I keep that looking good all year around?  Is it manly enough?  Is it worth the extra $400?  Or is it going to have dead flowers in it when I go visit, and cause me to shed even more tears at the foot of his grave?  Can you imagine having this conversation with yourself?  Can you imagine going to a cemetery where your son is buried and thinking about his body down below the earth in a box? We drove by on a seriously cold day and I thought maybe I should have buried him with his "woobie" after all.  (A woobie is an army blanket they use with their sleeping bags). But I couldn't give it up. He loved that stupid blanket so much, you would have thought it had a soul. But in hindsight, maybe I would have felt better if it was still by his side.  

At this point maybe you're asking yourself if I understand that his soul isn't in that box and he doesn't need a blankie where he is at.  Yes, I do.  I know he is basking in the light of Jesus.  A light so bright that Heaven doesn't need the sun.  Yes.  My rational self knows that and understands that. But my heart says my baby is cold, in the ground, in a box, and that I'm never going to see him in that exact form again.  I'm just plain not going to see him.  And then my heart heaves and the tears flow.  Hey, (she says, changing the subject) you know what else that headstone has?  It has a special hole to put the little VFW flag in.  Yep. And it has another one on the other side, in case I want to put an actual flag there, or a little fresh flower vase.  That way, when people come to visit, and they bring flowers for John, they won't have to lay them on the ground.  

These are all things you are forced to think about. All day long.  Can I tell you about my reaction when I found out we wouldn't have the headstone in place for Memorial Day??  I felt like an absolute failure.  Yeah, I know.  It's out of my control and it's not that big of a deal.  Not to a rational person, but then a grieving parent is anything but rational. And can I share with you a word that makes me cry every single time?  Failure.  I spend a lot of time feeling like a failure. As a parent, a mother, a friend, a daughter . . .I feel like I failed John.  I should have been able to help him.  And I didn't.  If we are being honest here.

We also decided to put the Army emblem on the stone.  I think John would like that.  Along with his photo, which we decided he may or may not like, depending on which one we decide on. I'm using the word we a lot, but mostly, it's just me. Brian is often emotionally unable to make these decisions, or he can't, or he doesn't want to, or he doesn't have an opinion, or he just plain trusts my judgment...which is the truth more often than not.  And I don't ever want anyone else to blame themselves, or feel like a failure too, so I make these decisions myself.  When I can't, or I need a second opinion, I call Kate.  In fact, just looking at headstones made Brian cry, so I stopped showing him pictures until I was ready to make a decision.  So please don't think I'm not being kind to him, I really am.  He always tells me how strong I am.  He relies on me to be that.  And I can, usually, be that for him.  Anyway, In addition to all those lovely aforementioned headstone features, and the bench, we will have our family name inscribed nice and big.  And on the bottom of this granite monolith, will be John's life verse and the verse he had tattoed on his ribcage.  1 Corinthians 16:13.  If you keep following my blog, you may have it memorized!  Repetition you know!!  

Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong.

I liked the picture we used for his obituary very much, and I think he would have too.  But, it looked a little blurry the man thought, for the headstone.  So, I gave him John's military photo. But John didn't like that photo . . .so that's still being discussed.  With myself.  Yeah, you're starting to understand my mindset, maybe just a little bit.  I am doing things that I never thought I'd have to do.  I'm being asked questions I never thought I'd have to answer.  I'm thinking about a future, without my son, that I never thought I'd have to contemplate.  And frankly, it sucks.  I used to have two kids, and now I have one. (And she's exceptional).  However, we used to have a son to carry on the family name, and now we do not.  Instead of our family expanding to include a daughter-in-law, we lost half our kids.  I emailed the headstone guy five times last night with different versions of "Son of Brian and Kristin and brother to Kaitlin".  I thought we should say beloved, then I thought maybe loved and remembered, or missed . . .he told me to ask Kaitlin.  I said I already had.  I just didn't think "Beloved son of Brian and Kristin, Beloved brother of Kaitlin" sounded quite right.  I mean a headstone is a serious piece of granite.  They chisel those words in there and they are there forever, pretty much.  So you really want to get it right.  Make it last - no regrets, and hopefully honor John in the process.   

I also went into John's room today, (big mistake) and I looked at his phone (yep, another big mistake).  I like being in John's room normally, but not on a vulnerable day. I keep searching and searching for something that will make all this make sense to me.  But, it will never make sense. I even asked other grieving parents if they felt the need to search like a crazy person.  I'm not alone. I look at the last message, the last phone call, the last photo, the last everything.  Dear Jesus, what would our night have looked like had we any indication it was our last?  In all honesty, it was a pretty darn good night.  Even not knowing. How many people can say the last thing they heard was "I love you guys".  

Well, I don't know about you, dear reader, but I'm exhausted.  I'd fill you in on the rest of life, but frankly, I think my words are done for today.  If you are struggling with the death of a child, or a child lost to the opioid epidemic, or any other horrible life event, know this.  You are not alone. God hears your prayers and He is holding you.  He lost his son too - He reminded me that Jesus was here on Earth for 33 years, and then another 40 days after his resurrection.  So he knows what it's like to miss someone.  Even if he is God.  We have a Savior that understands our heartache, our loss, our tears.  He is not unmoved.  If I have to wait 33 years to be reunited with John, I'll be 86.  And I'm pretty sure I'm still going to miss him like it was yesterday.  Unless I have dementia or Alzheimers, and then quite possibly I won't care. That's not funny Kristin, yeah, I know.  Grandma had it, and it wasn't funny at all.  But, she seemed happy, so there's that. 😏

And did I mention that blogging is my therapy?  At least for now.  Thanks for popping in.