So, today was a bad day. No, not really, it started off decent and then an hour ago went to shit. You see, I’ve been with my boyfriend for 15 months and his brother passed away recently. Some days I’ll be fine and then other days I’ll go to bed crying. To say the least I’m polishing off a vitamin water bottle filled with apple cider flavored booze and then going to sleep. I guess you can call this a bad day. At least I won’t remember crying.
My son died. It now defines who I am. I am a man whose son has died. It has been a little over 4 years and sometimes I still think I see him. One quick moment, out of the corner of my eye, while I am occupied in some other way, any other way, I think… “It’s…” But of course it’s not. It can’t be. He is dead.
One of my best friend’s brother died suddenly Christmas Eve at the age of 19. We used to hang out all the time, played baseball and basketball in high school together, and dated two girls who were best friends also. I hadn’t seen him in almost a year before the funeral. After he was done speaking to the congregation at the memorial service, he walked straight over to the casket, knelt on one knee while putting one hand on the head of the casket, and then rested his forehead over his hand for several minutes. It was one of the most heartbreaking things I’ve ever seen in my tragedy filled life. Lately I’ve been having dreams where the roles were switched… he and his brother were watching my brothers and sister kneeling with their heads on my casket. I wake up with a terrifying combination of emotions, feeling depressed to see my own siblings mourning and hurt, joy that his brother is alive, and guilt that my subconscious could be so selfish to dream of such a thing.
I am forever sorry for taking out all of my past grievances on you. I’m sorry my mother’s death makes me so scared of us.