30 Nov confessions
They say confession is good for the soul… and my soul could use some good right about now. I am so tired, so sad, so lonely. I hate being alive, even during those moments when I defiantly raise my fist into the air and declare, “I will thrive!” the truth is I am dying on the inside. I feel myself withering away, shriveling up. My former ‘hard wired for faith’ self is being whittled away and I find myself questioning the power of prayer and the validity of God’s promises. I believe, yet I don’t. I have faith, yet I question. I hope for an eternal reunion, but I cannot find any proof of such a thing.
This is my confession: I am an absolute mess. I smile for the camera, I post happy pictures, I laugh with my friends, I act normal most of the time, but I am a crumbling, shattered, broken effing mess.
When I walk out of my bedroom in the morning, heading for the kitchen and my beloved Keurig, I still look to the left. To the left. The left is where the hallway is. The left is the path that leads to Mason’s wing of the house. I still look, hoping to see him there. Hoping to cross paths with him, to greet his sleepy, beautiful face. To hug the grumpiness out of him. I still look. Every single time.
When I come home, I enter the house from the garage door. I still look up to the loft where he usually would be playing games with friends online. “Hi Mama!” He’d call down to me when he heard the door. “Hi Shmish!” I’d call up. “Are you hungry? Whatcha doing?” Every time I walk into my house, I look up. I listen for his sounds, for his laugh, for his strong voice directing his team on the online raid they were doing. I still look up, I still pause and listen.
This is my confession: I am angry that he is gone. I am jealous that other people still have their kids. I am beyond destroyed. I hate myself for every single parenting mistake I have ever made and wish I could tell other parents to stop – to listen – to love more and hug more and just be present. People call me and email me for advice and I think, “Who am I? What do I know? My son is gone. I don’t have any answers for you.”
Thanksgiving came and went. I spent the day with family and friends and was thankful to not be alone. I received the most beautiful gift: a painting of Mason’s face. They set it out in their family room so it felt like he was here with us. I didn’t look at it all day. I just couldn’t. Then I proceeded to drink all day, skip the meal entirely, and got super ridiculously drunk. Black out drunk. Missing pieces of the day drunk. Funny, laugh a lot drunk. Mean comments drunk. Inappropriately, socially unacceptable drunk.
This is my confession: I am a wreck. I have done a pretty good job staying away from self-destructive behaviors, and I have read a lot about the stages of grief to know what happens when people go off the deep end. I have stayed away from things that can hurt me, and resisted the temptation to sit in my garage with the car running or down a bottle of Xanax one night, just to end the pain. I am not suicidal, I promise. I will never, ever take that route. I do want to die and every day I ask the Lord to end my life for me. I volunteer to take the place of someone else… someone whose family would miss them, whose kids need them to come home. Yet day after day, God ignores my plea and leaves me here. I’m not crazy. I’m just hurting, and ok maybe I am just a little crazy.
So here I sit, in my bed, immobile and unable to make myself get up and do anything. I should go shopping, have lunch with a friend, find someplace playing Christmas music and soak it in. I just can’t. I feel like I can’t. I want to go off the grid for a few days. Disappear, you know? Miss all of this fun and festive stuff and pretend it doesn’t bother me one bit.
But, no. I am going to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I’m going to leave my room, look left for Mason, make a cup of coffee, and think about the day. I’m going to find the energy to do something, maybe that energy is in my coffee cup. I am going to raise my fist into the air, yet again, and say, “I will thrive!” Then I’m going to find a way to take one small step forward.
This is my confession: I am strong, and I am weak. I have faith, but I doubt. I need your prayers, but I don’t believe they’ll help. I am thankful to the Lord, yet still feel abandoned. I feel foolish exposing all of this, but need someone to see me.
My last Thanksgiving with Mason…