A year ago today

My life completely changed today. It was a year ago, but every year, on this day, it will be THE day all over again. My children’s lives, my husband, my son’s father, every person my son ever touched…forever never the same. I want to say it’s easier. I want to say it doesn’t hurt so much, so often. I cant. It does. 

Everyone in this world has lost someone at some point. I understand that. I acknowledge how painful that is. I can empathize since I’ve lost others as well. I can without doubt say however,  that there is no other pain in this world near as painful, as placing your baby in the ground. 

My son Austin and I had always tread through troubled waters. He had faced insurmountable pain from abuse I did not see. Even when I did, and attempted all I knew how to get justice, it failed. I felt like I was nothing more than a trigger to him at times, and fought to determine my place in his life. Mental illness in someone you love is terrifying and I lacked the confidence to think I knew what to do. I made decisions  the best I could. I educated myself as much as possible. I attended all the meetings. I made the hard choices. I practiced tough love as I had been instructed so that I may always be consistent with him, and that he would know his best interests came before my own. He never had the chance to know this. He never reached an age where he could understand as an adult, what I was trying to do for him. To say this is a regret, is a understatement of epic proportions. I can blame others for his manipulated feelings. I can blame others for using their dislike for me to harm me through my son. Sure, I could do that. But after a year of facing every feeling a human is possible of, it doesn’t change the end result. My son died. His coping mechanism became drugs, he overdosed on heroin, he died. He died knowing that everything I tried to do, wrong or right, was because I loved him so much. 

We talked a lot in the weeks before he died. Thank god, he asked me some of the questions he had only let others answer for so long, and got real answers. I finally had the opportunity to speak for myself and tell him how I accepted him as himself always, that I never felt ashamed of who he was. My biggest regret? Not trusting myself to help him. When he told me he was struggling with alcohol, I suggested a talk with his doctor. Why didn’t I say, what can I do?! When I learned he was not taking his medications, I said, please call your doctor and I will pick them up and bring them to you. Why didn’t I say, I’m on my way, let’s go see someone together?! Why didn’t I just go get him.

Fear.

Fear that I would do something wrong. Upset this delicate balance we had finally found. Fear that I would do something wrong, say something wrong. Fear that again, I wouldn’t know what to do, and fail. From this, in the last year, this is the only step forward i have made.

I learned that even in that fear, you must be there. You must go, and try, and maybe you will fail..but that in failing, they will at least see you trying. Never again will I think that my presence is more damaging than good. Never again will I let others make me feel powerless. 

A year ago today, I sat in a parking lot on my phone and heard that I would never again hear your voice. Hug you. Hear you laugh. See you yell at me. Play with your duck. Talk fast when your excited to tell me about something new. See your number come up   my phone. Draw, run, sleep…breathe.

A year later, that pain finds its way I to every waking moment of every day…riddled with regrets and guilt of time lost. I try now to honor him every day by refusing to make the same mistakes. Because of him, I will always be there for all of my children. I will risk not knowing how to do something right, by showing that I am trying. I will remember and suffer each shortcoming I had with you so that I will not repeat it. 

I love you Austin. I will through life and death. Please rest easy my child, in a peace you knew nothing of in life. I’ll see you again porkchop.