13 Sep i’ll keep writing
I saw him in my dream a few nights ago and he was so beautiful! In his early 20’s and so amazingly handsome and confident, he had a backpack slung over one shoulder and a relaxed grin on his face. He showed up to travel with me. I was so excited. I cried in my sleep. I just miss him so much. I hate this.
Some days, life just hurts more. Today is one of those days. Sleep problems are so debilitating and they make for a very raw, emotional Holly. I’m full of sadness, regret, and longing this morning. I look around at my stuff in bags & boxes and wonder what the hell I was thinking. I’ve just turned my entire life inside out and now I am unsure why. I sold everything I owned. I moved in with a friend, temporarily. I chopped all of my hair off.
I am propelled forward by some restlessness within. What is next? I used to believe I had some sort of control over my own life. I believed that by working hard to provide for my son, fending off the hurts of the world, and protecting him from harm, I could create a wonderful life. I was right for a while. Life was so wonderful. And then, in the blink of an eye, the snap of fingers, the sound of a single thunderclap, my whole life changed.
I don’t know anything anymore except that I have absolutely no control.
I stopped writing a few months ago. I just wasn’t feeling it… I was at a loss for words as the sadness grew and the pain of loss intensified. It was like the grief that stole my breath also took my words. My ability to breathe, to fill my lungs with life-giving air, to inhale peace and exhale pain left hand in hand with my willingness to give words to the sadness within. May turned to June, and along came the one year anniversary of my son’s death.
My son’s death.
Words I never imagined writing, or saying, or experiencing.
Yet here I am, living a life I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, walking through the saddest of days, repeating the same wishes and prayers, and pleading with the God of all things to have mercy on me and give my son back. I haven’t found a new thing to say that would convince the Universe to bring him back to me. I haven’t found a black hole or glitch in the matrix or some secret portal to take me to my baby boy. I am looking, though. Every single day, I am searching. I am constantly reviewing and examining and inspecting my beliefs to see where the crack is that will get me from now to then, from today to yesterday, from this moment to last year.
I haven’t found anything remotely close.
No words of comfort resonate. No advice provides relief. It’s like moving through cement. My limbs ache, my heart is like a heavy stone. I’d like to reach in and pull it out and throw it in the street and run over it with my car. I’d like to eviscerate myself and cut out the pain but it is impossible. It’s not in my flesh, but in my soul. My invisible, unreachable, immaterial soul.
Instead, I’ll find the words and put them to paper. I’ll rinse this infectious sadness out with the stinging tears that refuse to stop. I’ll keep pouring it out until one day, I hope to God, it ends.
Or I find the portal.
Until then, I’ll keep searching. I’ll keep writing.