The Guilt is the Worst

No matter how many times I have been told that there was absolutely nothing that I could have done to prevent the death of my son, Alex, I still conjure a way in my mind that I am completely responsible.  I should have looked in on him, I should not have taken a bath before I went to wake him for his appointment, I should have known that he was dying (if I was a good mother, that is), or any number of reasons that it was me who was at fault for his death.  The fact is that he was very sick and had spent the majority of his life in unbelievable pain.  

I learned today that just weeks before he left this world to be with his father, he told his favorite uncle that life was getting too difficult for him.  He said that Alex told him that each day was a struggle, the pain (emotional and physical) was escalating and he felt he could not make it for much longer.  

I am able to look back and see that the choices that he had been making in the recent years really weren't for him.  No.  They were for me.  He had asked Manuel and I five years ago if we would allow him to die.  What a horrible thing to hear from your sweet 25 year old son.  After a few counseling sessions, we were able to go to him and say that we would support whatever decision that he made.  Shortly after that he met a woman and fell in love.  Now he was willing to do whatever it took to stay alive, for her.  She may not realize it to this day, but she gave me a miracle!  I had five extra years with my son because of her.  

I suppose that what this means is that my guilt is unfounded.  He was a sick man who was going that morning of his death to an appointment with a surgeon to confirm and set the date for one more surgery that he did not want.  After all, his wife was no longer with him, he was living at home with his mother, unable to work, unable to play his beautiful music, and his mind and body were failing him.  I believe that we all have the ability of making a choice about when we die.  How many times had I seen it as a nurse?  A family member would stay by the side of the dying patient wanting to be there at that time.  But, it is the precise moment that they leave to get a cup of coffee or go to the chapel that the loved one takes the opportunity to leave his earthly body.  My dear Alex was no different.  He knew that he did not want to disappoint me by declining the surgery, but he did not want to go through anymore.  It was no coincidence that he died that morning.  

I also believe that the process of dying is a very private and personal one.  If I had come in at that time to check on him, to remind him of his appointment or to heed a motherly feeling, things may not have gone as they were planned to go.  

So, there.  With all of the guilt and myriad  'what if's', I was not to blame at all.  It was his time.

Now I will wait while this knowledge slowly flows from my head to my very broken heart.  

Grieving for Two

Although my husband has been gone for three years,  I am constantly brought  back to a place where I have to face his death as if it happened yesterday.  This is an unavoidable outcome when the death of a loved one is so public.  There are the yearly reminders where we sit at the site and view the memorial, listen to the politicians and others commend all those that were there that horrific morning to help.  As our memories bring tears to our eyes, the media are attempting to shoot just the right picture that will tug all the hearts.  We all know that last year,  that was my beautiful son Alex.  

It is not only those days, but the many legal things that come up.  I could be having a good day, turn on the TV to watch a poker game, and there it is!!  That day has collided into the world that I am living in now forcing me to feel the feelings, smell the smells, and hear those unbelievable words, all while the tears flow over from my eyes, down my cheeks, around the crevice of my nostril, to my lips and on my tongue, then meeting as a small creek they collect and run down my chin and to my neck.   No amount of tissues could keep this flood back.

Now, with the death of my son Alex, I find things a little confusing.  He died two weeks before the third anniversary of my husband's death.  It was Friday, January 11, 2008 that I mistakenly went into my son's room thinking that I would be waking him up for one of his many doctor's appointments.  He was sitting up in bed.  He could not lay flat due to his medical afflictions.  While he was living with me, Alex was forced to use the small single bed that we had purchased for him as a child with the up and down controls.  No matter who asked, or how nicely we asked, his wife refused to allow him to use the adjustable Queen sized Select Comfort bed that we bought for him.  OK.  I said it!  

I stepped over the small gate because he was not responding to my calls.  His mouth was opened as if he was snoring, but I could not hear any sounds.  I quickly walked closer to him. I felt his cold arms and saw his blue lips.  That was the beginning of another day that will be relived over and over in my mind.

I was like Humpty Dumpty after the death of my husband.  I did not believe that anything or anyone would be able to put me back together again.  In the beginning of this year, I felt as if some of my pieces were fitting together and that there was hope for this crazy messed up life after all.   Now,  the fragile pieces, fitting together by a thread, were being dropped from a twenty story window.  There it was for the world to see:  My heart, my soul, my life, my yesterdays, my hopes and my dreams shattered across the seas, over the mountains and to the ends of the earth.   Could this truly be happening?  

Grieving for a child is quite different from mourning the loss of a husband.  I will save the explanation of this for another day.  But, the distinctive pain completely mirrors one another.  It is not the emotional pain that I am speaking of.  No.  It is the physical pain that is associated only during these times of great loss.  First, there may be a thought or a memory that crosses through my mind.  The thought remains while my lips become numb and my face gets hot.  Then my chest is flash frozen, and my arms ache down to the fingertips.  It is seconds before my face cools, my lips awaken, and my chest slowly warms.  There are times that it absolutely takes my breath away.  I wonder if this is just me, or could this be happening to others in this position.  Now, take a deep breath.